Even If You Run Away (Completed)

A small plate and a coffee cup sat on the island counter. Pale dawn light spilled over Taeheon as he rose from the stool.

He was already prepared for work. His neatly slicked-back hair and the watch on his wrist suited him perfectly, completing his polished, immaculate appearance. It was impossible to imagine this man, who radiated composure and elegance, attending to a woman drenched in sweat and disheveled from exhaustion.

Yein couldn’t help but marvel at her husband’s unrelenting perfection. He was flawless, self-sufficient, and required nothing from anyone else. With or without her, he would remain whole.

“I spoke with Mother. From today onward, don’t meet with her.”

The dry announcement jolted Yein from her thoughts.

“This won’t change my mind,” she said, steadying herself.

Being resented by her in-laws was something she could endure. She had deceived them, after all, and had long accepted that this was the price she had to pay.

But what was far more agonizing than their hatred was enduring their love. It always had been.

“Let’s get a divorce.”

She couldn’t allow herself to be swept away any longer. Taeheon’s expression, however, was even more composed than when she’d first broached the subject.

“What else do you need?”

He asked calmly, his demeanor unshaken, as if her request were a mere trifle.

“If this isn’t enough, tell me everything you want. I’ll give it to you,” he added after a pause, his voice resolute.

“Everything except divorce.”

Yein frowned, baffled by his obstinance.

Here was a man so busy they hadn’t seen each other in over two weeks. There was no real emotional connection between them. Their marriage was nothing more than a union orchestrated by their families.

Or at least, that was how he saw it.

For Yein, it had been different. She had loved him.

At first, it was a quiet, hidden affection. Over time, it had grown into a fervent, all-consuming passion, accompanied by the foolish hope that they might someday become a real family.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Taeheon. As Mother said, I’m not even a useful wife to you.”

It had always been an unattainable dream. She didn’t belong by his side.

“I told you from the start,” Yein said, her voice trembling slightly. “If I ever became useless to you, we’d divorce.”

“You’re not useless,” he replied firmly.

“Where, exactly, am I useful?” she shot back. “You know just as well as I do that you’ve had to endure constant pressure from your father because of me.”

“Pressure?” Taeheon let out a short, incredulous laugh, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “From him? To me?”

The laugh was brief, tinged with mockery, as though the very idea was absurd.

But Yein knew the truth. She had seen how he suffered. The splitting headaches after meetings with his father. The nights he couldn’t sleep, clenching his jaw so tightly she worried it might cause lasting damage.

She worried about the man who didn’t even realize how much he was suffering. But she knew—he wouldn’t need her concern.

“I’ll decide what’s useful to me. So, is this conversation over? If you’re going to keep bringing up divorce, stop beating around the bush and tell me the real reason.”

Excuses.

Yein swallowed hard.

“I’m exhausted,” she admitted.

“That’s why I told you I’d cut back on your contact with Mother. I’ll handle most of it myself, and you can skip family events from now on.”

“I’m tired of living with you,” she said, her voice raw, the words clawing their way out of her throat.

“Just… I don’t want to live with you anymore, Taeheon.”

Yein forced herself to meet his gaze. Even the simple act of looking him in the eye felt insurmountable.

“Why?”

His expression was one of genuine confusion. She bit her lip to suppress the rising tide of emotions.

“Then why don’t you want to divorce me?”

“Because you’re mine.”

The sheer selfishness of his words took her breath away. He had ignored her, left her alone, barely looking her way—yet now, here he was.

“Do you hate being near me?”

“And if I do? Will you do something about it?”

“I can adjust how often I’m home. But forget about not seeing me at all—it won’t happen.”

“And if I said I don’t want to sleep with you anymore?”

Taeheon’s relentless momentum faltered, just for a moment.

“Are you saying we should do it less often?”

Yein let out a hollow laugh. Even now, he treated this as a negotiation, something that could be bargained over like any other trivial matter.

“I don’t want to do it at all.”

“…”

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

The distance between them closed in an instant, and Yein instinctively held her breath. Taeheon’s eyes, so dark they seemed tinged with blue, bore down on her from just inches away.

“You seemed to enjoy it plenty. What exactly are you saying no to?”

His next words sent a flush rushing to her ears, his deep, honeyed voice sending shivers down her spine.

Before she could step back, Taeheon wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. She found herself trapped once more in the embrace that had held her all night.

“You cry when I touch you, soaking wet before I’ve even started. Is that what you call ‘not wanting it’?”

“Stop it.”

Her breasts pressed against his firm chest, and the friction made her nipples, already sensitive from prolonged torment, ache. The thin slip she wore did nothing to conceal the way her hardened tips pressed against him.

“What exactly are you saying no to?” Taeheon’s voice dripped with mockery.

This was who her husband was. He always pushed her to the edge, watched her crumble, and then ridiculed her for not knowing how to handle him.

I’m not strong like you. I’m not unshakable or invulnerable.

Is that such a crime?

Sometimes, Yein wanted to scream those words at him.

“Don’t… treat me so carelessly,” she whispered.

Her voice, fragile and trembling, barely carried her feelings. Taeheon’s grip on her tightened, his strength overwhelming.

“You still don’t understand how considerate I’ve been to you,” he muttered, his tone harsh and biting.

It hurts.

No matter how much she struggled and pushed, Taeheon didn’t budge. His body felt as though it were made of a completely different substance—hard, unyielding, and heavy.

“Do you know how much I have to hold back just to keep myself this polite?”

Sometimes, even Taeheon mocked himself, his words dripping with disdain.

What do you mean by someone like you? What kind of person do you think you are?

Even now, when she had resolved to end things, Yein couldn’t help but wonder about him. Why was love so persistent, so unrelenting?

“And if you didn’t hold back?”

She wanted to know the parts of him she had never seen.

The arms that had been suffocatingly tight around her gradually loosened. The closeness, so intense it felt like he might kiss her at any moment, faded as Taeheon pulled away.

“You’re better off not knowing.”

As always, he brushed past her. Yein stood frozen, unable to stop him as he walked toward the front door.

Not once did he look back, not even as he stepped outside.

“I’ll be back as soon as I finish work, so stay home.”

The door closed with finality. Click. The sound of the lock turning echoed through the quiet space.

“You say that like I’ve ever had anywhere else to go,” Yein muttered, her words directed at the closed door, at the retreating figure now out of sight.

She straightened her crumpled slip, trying to steady her breath as her throat tightened.

Why do I still care about that man?

When sadness overtook her, her thoughts always returned to the day they first met. He was the man who had stopped the rain. The one who wiped away her tears. Looking back, it must have started then.

In her long, lonely days, he had been the only person she could lean on. How could she not have fallen for him? And yet, at times, her fragile, desperate affection felt shameful and pitiful.

“It’s a relief you can’t hear anything yet,” she murmured, pressing her hand against her chest. Slowly, her hand drifted down to her abdomen.

“Don’t worry about a thing. Mom will protect you.”

She vowed never to let her child experience the humiliation and pain she had endured. Her child would grow up knowing they were loved, truly loved. She would make sure of it.

The thought of the pregnancy test suddenly came to mind. She wasn’t ready for Taeheon to know yet. Yein hurried to the guest room, her heart pounding as she reached under the bed. Her fingers brushed against a plastic bag, and when she pulled it out and checked its contents, relief washed over her.

I’ll throw it away outside.

She grabbed her phone to prepare for an outing, only to see a message that had arrived overnight:

[Mom wants to know when you’re coming today.]

It was from her stepsister, Serin. Yein sighed as the forgotten plan surfaced in her mind.

Today was the day of Serin’s first exhibition as an artist. Checking the time, Yein realized she still had some breathing room.

[Hey. Your mother-in-law isn’t coming, right?]

When Yein’s father-in-law had been hospitalized, her mother-in-law had canceled all her scheduled events. She was supposed to attend the exhibition with Yein, but now Yein would have to go alone.

Serin was likely relieved. Both Serin and her stepmother often mocked Yein’s mother-in-law, calling her vulgar and low-class. They complained about how embarrassing it was to associate with her in public.

“She’s lucky she has a daughter-in-law to parade around with; otherwise, even the socialites wouldn’t bother with her. At least paying for the marriage was worth it,” they had sneered, lumping Yein and her mother-in-law together in their scorn.

Yein typed a response to Serin:

[Is your husband coming?]

The stream of messages made Yein sigh. She was tired of Serin’s attitude—either openly belittling Yein’s in-laws or poking at them with her insatiable curiosity.

[I’ll be there before lunch.]

Ignoring the other messages, Yein only replied with the time of her arrival.

After sending the response, she stepped into the dressing room. The thought of facing Serin was already triggering a headache.

Yein sank into the chair in front of the vanity as if her legs could no longer support her. A worn-out face stared back at her in the mirror. The woman trapped in the reflection looked desolate—pale and lonely.

“Why are you living like this?”

She asked, but the woman in the mirror didn’t answer.

Yein picked up a lipstick and applied it to her colorless lips, restoring a bit of life to her appearance. The touch of color helped her look slightly less pitiful.

She couldn’t welcome her child looking like this. Misery spreads too easily.

The faint memories of her childhood, of her own mother, blurred in her mind but now overlapped with the reflection. The tired woman with a perpetually tear-streaked face who never turned to look at Yein resembled the woman Yein saw now.

If her husband refused to divorce, she would have to find another way.

Letting go, after all, would be far easier than the years she had spent struggling to hold on.

Taking a deep breath, Yein steadied her expression. She had made her decision.

She would visit her in-laws to inform them of her intention to divorce. The humiliation she had endured every time she met her father-in-law still stung, but it no longer mattered. This would be the last time.

She didn’t want to go to Serin’s exhibition. But she would go anyway. This was precisely what Taeheon’s family had wanted when they brought her into the fold—events hosted by her family that were grand enough to bolster the family’s reputation. Events where she would be introduced as the wife of their son, mingling with others, exchanging invitations at the social stage.

Before the divorce, she would ensure she fulfilled her duties. It was a hollow sense of pride, but Yein clung to it. She wanted to hold her head high when she saw her in-laws one last time and be able to say, I fulfilled my obligations, just as you wanted.

Yein rose from her seat. The mirror reflected no one now.

The glaring lights of the exhibition hall greeted Yein as she entered.

The gallery, managed by her stepmother, was filled with Serin’s work.

The installation art, featuring glittering shards of colored glass and fabric, was ornate but obscure in its intent. It didn’t convey a distinctive vision, leaving the impression of something derivative, as if it had all been seen before.

Yein greeted familiar faces among the attendees with polite nods and moved further into the exhibition. Even after touring the first floor, Serin was nowhere to be found.

If Serin thought Yein was late, she wouldn’t bother asking questions before losing her temper. Yein was already dreading the inevitable confrontation when someone called her name from the staircase above.