In The Ruins of “Us”

Chapter:1 — We Were Strangers Who Married

(2060 Year)

The years fell like this snow

silent, relentless, burying what was.

Forty five winters have passed,

and the cold still knows your name before mine.

I plant no flowers. They'd freeze.

I bring only this scarf you knitted,

the color of the life we wasted

trying not to hurt each other.

The ground is hard. So am I, now.

But somewhere under all this white,

I'm still waiting for you to scold me

for coming home late.

An old man stands hunched over a cane, a weathered red scarf coiled around his neck. Snow settles on the shoulders of his coat, on the granite, on the name carved into the headstone Do Do-hyun

His breath fogs in the air. Slowly, he draws a creased photograph from his inner pocket — Do-hyun, thirty - four and laughing, sunlight caught in her hair. His thumb brushes her face. His own is wet, though he can't tell if it's snow or something else.

The photograph disappears back into his coat, over his heart. His voice is thin, almost lost in the wind.

"It's been a while, Do Do-hyun. Forty five years without you… again. I'm sorry I kept you lonely. I'm sorry I kept you waiting for me. I'm sorry for everything. Again… and again."

He doesn't wipe the snow from her name. The red scarf lifts in the wind — a single spot of warmth in a world gone white. He stays until the light fails, because leaving feels like losing her twice.

"Grandpa."

A young man, college bag slung over his shoulder, steps carefully through the snow. He looks like Tae-joon did at that age — same eyes, same stubborn set to his jaw. Only the scarf is missing.

"Let's get going," the boy says, gently. "The snow's going to fall soon. If you catch a cold, you'll be sick again. I think Grandma wouldn't like it if you got sick again."

For the first time, the old man laughs. It's a dry, rustling sound, but it's real. They both smile — soft, knowing, the kind of smile shared by people who've carried the same grief in different bodies.

Tae-joon turns to leave, leaning heavy on his cane. Then he stops. Turns back. Looks at the grave one last time, as if memorizing it all over again.

His grandson stops too. Watches him.

"Grandpa… did you forget something?"

Tae-joon's eyes don't leave the stone. A gentle, private smile touches his lips — the same one he used to give Do-hyun when she caught him staring.

"No," he whispers. "I'll visit you again soon. Take good care."

Then he looks at his grandson. Really looks. And for a second, it's like he sees 'her' in him.

"Let's go, my grandson. Your grandfather is starving."

The boy grins, slinging an arm around the old man's shoulders to steady him. "Sure, sure. Let's eat something delicious. Your treat, right?"

"Cheeky," Tae-joon mutters. But he doesn't shake him off.

They walk away, two figures in the snow — one bent, one steady. The red scarf trails behind them, and for the first time in thirty years, it doesn't look like mourning.

Forty Five Years Earlier

2015

Do-hyun checked her lipstick in the hall mirror. Not too red. Tae-joon said red made her look tired. She'd picked the rosewood one today. Softer. Safer.

Her coat was new. Cashmere. A gift from him for their first anniversary. It still smelled like the department store — expensive, untouched. She buttoned it to the throat.

Something pulled at her. A wrongness. She turned back toward the kitchen.

"Miss Min?"

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway, hands damp from dishes. "Yes, Madam? Did you forget something?"

"No, no." Do-hyun adjusted her scarf. It wasn't the red one. She hadn't started knitting that yet. This one was beige. Department store beige. "Um… if my husband gets home, please tell him I'm going out with Ji-soo."

Miss Min nodded. "Of course. Ms. Kang Ji-Soo."

Do-hyun flinched at the name. 'Kang'. His cousin. Her ex-classmate. Her best friend. The only person she could call without rehearsing it first. The only person in Seoul she could call at 9 p.m. without apologizing for it.

"Right. Ji-Soo." She hesitated at the door, fingers on the handle. The house was too quiet. Tae-joon had been leaving for work before sunrise, coming home after she'd gone to bed. They'd passed each other like ghosts for three weeks now.

"And… tell him I'll be late," she added, too quickly. "Don't wait up."

Miss Min's eyes softened. She'd worked for the Kang family for fifteen years. She knew what "late" meant in a marriage like this.

"I'll tell him, Madam. Have a good time with your friend."

Do-hyun nodded. She didn't say thank you. She didn't say he won't be home anyway. She just stepped out into the March air, and the door clicked shut behind her — soft, final, like a secret.

Gangnam, 4:17 PM — A Wine Bar Ji-Soo Chose

"WHAT?!!"

The soju glass hit the table so hard the cabernet sloshed over Ji-Soo's manicured nails. Two ajummas at the next table turned to stare.

Do-hyun died inside. She grabbed Ji-Soo's wrist, hissing, "Shhh—sheesh, look at yourself. Stop drinking. It's only 4 p.m.—"

Ji-Soo yanked her arm free. Her eyes, glassy from 2 bottle of soju, locked on Do-hyun's. "Hey. Did Kang Tae-joon really do that to you?"

Do-hyun didn't answer. She couldn't. She just looked at Ji-Soo really looked and gave one small nod.

The air left Ji-Soo's lungs. She sat back like she'd been slapped. "I didn't even know if he's my cousin or not," she said, voice suddenly flat, sober. "He hasn't talked to you in months. Doesn't talk to you. Doesn't share a bed with you." Her laugh was bitter. "Is he really my cousin? How can he do this? That bastard."

The soju was making her honest. Or maybe it was just Do-hyun's silence. Ji-Soo had known Do-hyun since they were seventeen. She knew every version of her. This one — the one in cashmere with empty eyes she'd never seen.

And it made her furious.

She stood up without hesitation, grabbing her Chanel bag. "Let's go."

Do-hyun blinked up at her, confused. "Where?"

Ji-Soo looked down. And smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile she used in board meetings when someone underestimated her because her last name was Kang.

"Where else?" she said. "HR Company. Vice Chairman's office."

Do-hyun shot to her feet, panic overriding embarrassment. She grabbed Ji-Soo's sleeve, yanking her back down. "It's nothing—" Her voice cracked. "Maybe he's just too busy—"

Ji-Soo stopped. Tilted her head. And delivered the line like a knife:

"Or maybe he's cheating on you."

Do-hyun froze.

The wine bar, the ajummas, the 4 p.m. sunlight through the window it all went silent. Her brain couldn't form words. Couldn't even form thought . Because for three weeks, she'd told herself a hundred reasons. Busy. Stressed. Tired.

She'd never let herself think that one.

Ji-Soo saw her face and her expression crumpled. The anger vanished, replaced by something worse: pity. "Hey… Do-hyun-ah"

Ji-Soo saw Do-hyun's face. The color drained out of it when she said cheating. Instantly, she regretted it.

"Yah, Do-hyun-ah," she said, switching tones so fast she got whiplash. "Forget I said that. I'm drunk. You know I'm stupid when I'm drunk."

She grabbed the green soju bottle and poured a shot, sliding it toward Do-hyun like a peace offering.

Before the glass was even full, Do-hyun snatched the entire bottle. She tipped it back and drank straight from it.

"Hey—hey—hey, stop it!" Ji-Soo lunged, but Do-hyun was faster.

She came up for air, gasping, and glared at Ji-Soo with watery, furious eyes. "What can I do?"

And then she broke.

Not pretty K-drama tears. Ugly crying. Face scrunched, nose running, mouth trembling. Three years of quiet marriage and three weeks of silence pouring out all at once.

"I need your help," she hiccupped, grabbing Ji-Soo's hand across the table. Her grip was desperate. Drunk. Hopeful. "My best friend. Please."

Ji-Soo bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She wanted to laugh — because Do-hyun drunk was a mess — but laughing felt like betrayal. "Okay, okay," she said, squeezing Do-hyun's hand. "Really? How are you drunk from a few sips? You've always been a lightweight."

Do-hyun ignored her. She leaned in, eyes wide and glassy, almost sobbing. "What's the advice? Tell me. What do I do?"

Ji-Soo couldn't hold it anymore. A snort escaped. Then a giggle. Then she was full-on cackling, shoulders shaking.

Do-hyun slammed her free hand on the table. "Hurry—hurry—hurry!" she slurred, words tripping over each other.

"Okay, okay!" Ji-Soo wiped her eyes, still laughing. She leaned in, motioning Do-hyun closer. Do-hyun obediently tipped her ear toward Ji-Soo's mouth like a child waiting for a secret.

Ji-Soo whispered, dead serious: "Seduce him."

Do-hyun pulled back. Blinked. Her drunk, devastated face twisted into pure, offended disappointment. "Aishh," she groaned, collapsing back into her chair. "Did that actually work?"

Ji-Soo nodded, completely confident, completely shameless. "Yes. One of my co-worker did it. Her husband was working late for months. She showed up at his office in a dress. It actually worked. He's home by seven now."

Do-hyun stared at her. Then at the soju bottle. Then back at Ji-Soo.

"You want me," she said slowly, "to seduce the Vice Chairman of HR Company."

"Your husband," Ji-Soo corrected, pouring herself a shot. "Who you haven't talked to in weeks. Who might be cheating. Or not. But either way—" she clinked her glass against the soju bottle, "—you won't know unless you go see him."

Ji-Soo threw a twenty-thousand won note on the table and grabbed Do-hyun's wrist. "We're leaving."

Do-hyun could barely stand. Wine + soju + three weeks of silence = her legs forgot how to work.

"Where are we going?" she slurred, leaning all her weight on Ji-Soo as they stumbled out into the Gangnam twilight.

Ji-Soo's eyes gleamed. The kind of gleam that launched scandals in Dispatch . "Shopping. For you. For tonight."

Twenty minutes later, they were in Lotte Department Store, on the lingerie floor that smelled like Chanel and bad decisions.

"Try this on, Do-hyun!" Ji-Soo held up a scrap of black lace. It wasn't pajamas. It was a negotiation tactic with strings.

Do-hyun's face burned. She smacked Ji-Soo's shoulder, looking around in horror. "Put that down! Hurry! This is a public place. Everyone is watching you!"

Ji-Soo turned, slow and deliberate, and met the eyes of an ajumma clutching a Hermès bag. She lifted the lace higher. "Who cares?" she said, loud enough for the salesgirls to hear. "She's going to make up with her husband."

The ajumma choked. The salesgirl pretended to fold towels.

And something in Do-hyun's drunk brain snapped. The shame melted. Replaced by something reckless. Something desperate.

She snatched the lace from Ji-Soo's hand. "Yes," she said, nodding like a general accepting a war plan. "You're right."

They dissolved into laughter — loud, ugly, laughter. They clung to each other, stumbling past displays of silk and satin, two women who couldn't walk straight and didn't care who saw.

Security didn't stop them. No one stops a Kang.

---

*The Next Morning"

Do-hyun woke up alone.

Her hair was a rat's nest. Last night's mascara had staged a coup on her cheeks. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. The black lace lay on the hardwood floor, price tag still attached: ₩1,280,000. Crumpled. Discarded.

The other side of the bed was cold. The sheets, smooth. Perfect. Like no one had slept there in days.

She sat up, duvet around her waist, dark circles stamped under her eyes like bruises. The March sunlight through the house windows was bright, sterile, accusing.

When I am with Kang Ji-Soo, we never look like chaebols. We're just best friends who live like normal people. We get drunk on weekdays. We buy stupid, expensive things. We laugh until our stomachs hurt and forget, for a few hours, that our last names come with weight.

With Ji-Soo, I'm not Madam Do. I'm just Do-hyun.

She reached for her phone. No calls. No texts. Just a photo from Ji-Soo at 3:14 AM: the two of them in a taxi, Do-hyun wearing the lace over her coat, throwing up a peace sign with drunken, desperate triumph.

The night came back in fragments. The taxi. The quiet house. Her, kicking off her heels in the foyer at 2 AM. The soju made her brave. Or stupid.

She hadn't even put her coat back on.

She stood in the hallway in nothing but that black lace, skin goosebumped from the cold and nerves, and whispered into the dark:

"Tae-joon? I'm home."

He was there.

He stood at the end of the hall, outside his study. Tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, like he'd been working. He froze when he saw her.

His eyes dragged over her — the lace, the bare skin, the smeared lipstick, the drunk, heartbroken hope on her face. For one second, something cracked in his expression. She couldn't tell.

Then he looked away.

No words. No name. No touch.

He turned his head, walked into his study, and shut the door. The lock clicked. Loud as a gunshot.

And the silence that answered was worse than any fight.

Do-hyun stared at the lace on the floor. At the empty bed. At the phone with no messages.

"After I took Ji-Soo's advice, my husband and I never met in our own home again."

To Be Continued

End of Chapter:1 [ In The Ruins of "Us" ]

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