[Sitara's POV]

It felt like the ground beneath me had crumbled the moment Minji’s smug voice hit my ears. Her words echoed in my head, each syllable sharp and mocking. “Jungkook stayed up till 5 taking care of me until we... well… things got heated up and we ended up having some nice warm wintry sex…”

 She had smiled, that filthy smile, motioning toward his bare chest under the sheets. My stomach churned violently. 

My legs felt weak. 

My chest ached, like someone had driven a knife straight through my heart and twisted it for good measure.

I couldn’t stand there anymore. I turned and ran, barely noticing where my feet carried me. The cabin felt suffocating. My breath came in ragged gasps as tears blurred my vision.

He stayed with her. He loves her. The thought stabbed at me again and again. 

What the hell was I thinking? The kiss I’d initiated, the moment that had felt so right at the time—it now felt like the ultimate betrayal. But not of Taehyung.

MiNo. 

I didn’t care about betraying Taehyung.

 Maybe I should’ve, but I didn’t. 

He’d accused me so many times, treated me like trash because I couldn’t give him a child, that any guilt I might’ve felt for our broken marriage had evaporated a long time ago.

But Jungkook? I’d betrayed him. I’d stepped over the line, and it felt like I’d ruined everything. Not just his marriage, but whatever fragile thread connected my heart to his. 

God, what the hell have I done? 

The bitterness in my throat burned as I tried to swallow it down.

I collapsed onto the porch steps, my hands clutching my head. The sobs came fast, uncontrollable, and loud. The realization tore through me—this wasn’t his fault. It was mine. He’d been there for his wife, like a husband should. He didn’t cross any lines. I did.

I didn’t even hear Taehyung approach until I felt his hand on my shoulder. For a moment, I flinched, instinctively wanting to pull away. 

But then something in me broke even more. Without thinking, I turned and grabbed onto him, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing holding me together.

“I—I can’t do this,” I choked out, burying my face in his chest. My tears soaked through his shirt, but I didn’t care.

I felt his body stiffen for a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do, but then his arms came around me hesitantly.

He didn’t say anything at first. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I wasn’t even sure why I was holding onto him, the man who had made me feel so worthless for so long. 

“You’re crying,” he said quietly, his voice a strange mix of concern and frustration. “Why?”

—

[Taehyung's POV]

Seeing her break like that shattered something in me. Sitara had always been strong—unshaken, even in the worst of our fights. But now, sitting on the porch, clutching my shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to the world, she looked utterly broken. And it gutted me.

“Sitara,” I whispered, crouching down in front of her. Her tears were endless, her breaths shaky and shallow. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

But she wouldn’t answer. Instead, she let out these vague, cryptic phrases that made no sense to me.

“What does that mean?” I pressed, desperate for clarity.

Her head shook, her tear-streaked face turning away from me. “ I’m the cause of my own ruin.”

The words were like shards of glass in my chest. Was she talking about us? 

About the lies? 

The infertility? 

I didn’t know. 

But seeing her like this, so lost in her own misery, made me hate myself all over again. I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe, just maybe, I was the reason for all of this.

I reached out, gently grabbing her face to make her look at me. “Sitara,” I said softly. “If this is about us… If this is about what you hid from me… I can forgive it. I can move past it. Just… just tell me, please.”

Her eyes, wide and vacant, didn’t meet mine fully. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. The silence was deafening, but I couldn’t let it crush me. 

I pulled her into my arms again, shushing her like she was a child. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “It’s okay, Sitara. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

I didn’t even realize when the moment shifted. My fingers brushed her hair, and something inside me burned—desperation, longing, maybe even anger. 

I leaned in closer, my lips hovering over hers, and for a second, I hesitated. But the thought of giving her some sort of relief, even if it was just a kiss, pushed me forward.

My lips brushed hers, tentative and soft, but there was no response. Nothing. She was completely still, like she hadn’t even registered what was happening.

I pulled back slightly, staring at her face, searching for anything—any sign of life, of emotion. But there was nothing but that blank, defeated look. Still, I leaned in again, pressing my lips to hers, firmer this time, as if trying to ignite something.

Nothing.

The hollowness in her lack of response was worse than any rejection I could’ve imagined. I pulled back, my frustration boiling over into anger. Standing abruptly, I took a step away from her, running a hand through my hair as I tried to reel myself in.

“Of course,” I muttered bitterly, more to myself than her. “Of course, you can’t even kiss your own husband. Why would I expect anything else?”

She didn’t respond, just sat there, staring at the ground like she hadn’t even heard me. That only made it worse.

I turned back to her, my voice rising despite myself. “You know, Sitara, I’ve been patient. I’ve given you space. I’ve waited for you to come clean about everything, to at least try and fix whatever the hell is left of us. But all you do is this—this silent, bitter… nothingness!”

Her shoulders flinched, but she still wouldn’t look at me.

“You think you’re the only one who’s hurt?” I continued, my tone sharpening. “You think hiding everything—your lies, your cheating—makes it easier for me? Do you even care about what I’ve been going through? Or is it all just about you?”

Still, she said nothing.

I scoffed, the sound bitter and hollow. “You’re impossible,” I spat, taking a step back. 

“You’re so damn impossible to love, Sitara.”

—-

[Jungkook's POV]

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the suffocating stickiness clinging to my skin. My body felt heavy, like a lifeless corpse pinned under damp sheets.

A rancid mix of sweat and something else clung to me, thick and suffocating. My stomach churned before I even opened my eyes, dread coursing through me like venom.

When my lids finally fluttered open, it wasn’t the soft morning light that greeted me. It was the devastating wreckage of reality.

The room smelled of sex, the kind that doesn’t come from passion but from violation. 

My violation.

My eyes darted to the side, where she sat like a queen on her fucking throne. Minji. She looked proud, fucking smug, her bare shoulder peeking out from the fabric she’d casually draped around herself like a goddamn trophy.

I didn’t need her to say a word. Her expression screamed it loud and clear: she’d done this. 

She’d taken me. 

Used me.

My throat burned as bile rose up, the acid churning violently inside me. 

I wanted to throw up. 

I wanted to scream. 

I wanted to rip my own skin off just to escape the filth crawling all over me. But I couldn’t move.

I looked down at my body. 

Naked. 

Exposed. 

My skin was marred with faint bruises—marks of a night I hadn’t agreed to. My hands clenched into fists, trembling with rage, with shame, with the fucking betrayal eating me alive.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless, spilling over before I could even attempt to stop them. I didn’t try. Why the fuck should I? What’s the point of holding it together when you’re already shattered?

My chest heaved, breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as I tried to make sense of the chaos in my head. She’d done this. 

Minji had fucking done this.

I trusted her. 

I loved her. 

And she’d taken everything I had left, reduced me to a hollow shell with her selfish, monstrous actions.

I felt like screaming, but my voice caught in my throat, strangled by the weight of everything crashing down on me. Instead, my hands clawed at the sheets, gripping them so tightly that my knuckles turned white. 

I wanted to rip them apart. 

Rip everything apart.

I turned my head slowly, my gaze falling on her again. She had the audacity—the fucking audacity—to smile, like she’d won some twisted game. 

Her expression made me want to vomit, to throw the nearest object at her, to hurt her the way she’d just annihilated me.

But I couldn’t move.

I bit down on my lip until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. Pain. At least that was something I could control. Something real.

The memories were coming back in broken, disjointed flashes—the way she’d touched me, the way she’d fed me that drink, the way she’d taken my body while I lay there defenseless.

Fuck.

A guttural sob tore from my chest, raw and animalistic, echoing in the silence of the room. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

I was broken.

Completely and utterly fucking broken.

"See? It wasn’t that bad, was it?" She paced around the room, her voice irritatingly chipper, as if she hadn’t just ripped my soul into shreds. "A few more times like last night, Jungkook, and soon—" she spun around to face me, glowing with pride, "—I’ll have our baby. Our baby, Jungkook."

My head snapped up. That word—"our"—felt like a goddamn punch in the gut. She said it so casually, so fucking casually, as if she hadn’t stolen the very choice from me.

"Are you even hearing yourself?" My voice came out hoarse, trembling under the weight of my rage.

She paused, her brows furrowing slightly, but the smugness never left her face. "What? What’s wrong with wanting a family? Isn’t that what any married couple wants?"

"Do you seriously believe this is what we wanted? Or is it just what you wanted, Minji?"

Her smile faltered. Good.

She crossed her arms, her voice growing defensive. "You’re being dramatic, Jungkook. I did this for us."

"For us?" I barked out another laugh, shaking my head. "No, Minji. You did this for you. You couldn’t even ask, could you? Couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a fucking choice!"

Her face turned cold, but she tried to keep up her bravado. "I— I just knew you’d say no. And I— I couldn’t risk it, Jungkook."

I stood, my body trembling with a rage I could barely contain. My voice dropped to a low, lethal tone. "Do you know how many people in this world you can truly call yours, Minji? How many people you can say belong to you?"

Her expression froze, her past—the ugly, raw truth of it—hovering in the air between us.

"You think I don’t know what you’ve been through? I do. I know it all, Minji. And I’ve never held it against you. But here’s the thing—" I stepped closer, my words slicing through her like a blade, "—there’s no one, no one in this world who’s ever been there for you like I have."

Her lips parted, her eyes wide with shock, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

"Where were they, huh? Your family? Your so-called friends? When you were at your lowest, when you had nothing, who was there, Minji?" My voice cracked, but I pushed through. "It was me. Only me."

Tears welled in her eyes, but I wasn’t done.

"And how do you repay that, huh? By treating me like some fucking pawn in your twisted game? By using me like I’m not even a goddamn human being?"

She shook her head, her voice trembling. "I— I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jungkook. I swear, I just— I just wanted—"

"You wanted a baby," I cut her off coldly. "You wanted to fill that void in your fucked-up heart, and you didn’t care what it cost, did you? Not me. Not us. Just you."

Her tears fell freely now, her body shaking as she tried to defend herself. "I didn’t know what else to do! I’ve lost everything, Jungkook! Everyone! You don’t understand!”

"Don’t I?" My voice was sharp, slicing through her sobs. 

"You think you’re the only one who’s lost people? Who’s been through hell? Bullshit. But here’s the thing, Minji—" I leaned in, my words low and lethal, "—just because you were raised in abuse doesn’t give you the right to abuse others.”

—

[FLASHBACKS - MINJI'S PAST]

The house was no sanctuary. 

It was a cage, its walls echoing with screams and the heavy sound of fists striking flesh. Minji was six when she first understood that love didn’t live here. 

The smell of alcohol clung to her father like a second skin, and the air inside was dense with the stench of unwashed clothes and rotting leftovers.

“Where is the damn food?” her father bellowed one night, his voice a thunderclap that shook Minji to her core. 

She scrambled to her feet, clutching a bowl of rice she had barely managed to save from spoiling. 

But it was never enough. 

He grabbed her wrist, his grip like a vice, and sent the bowl crashing to the floor.

“Stupid girl. You think this is food? Do you want me to starve?” he roared, dragging her across the room. Her knees scraped against the rough wooden floor, and the sharp sting of his belt quickly followed. 

She bit her lip to keep from crying—she had learned early that tears only fueled his rage.

Her mother watched from the corner, cigarette in hand, her face blank as if she were a mere spectator. 

“You’re too loud, Minji,” she muttered, her voice slurred from the cheap soju she consumed daily. 

“Always making him angry. Why don’t you just do as you’re told?”

Minji’s body carried the evidence of their rage. Bruises bloomed like sick flowers on her arms, her back, her legs. 

The cane left thin, stinging welts that refused to heal. Her mother’s sharp nails left scratches on her cheeks, marks that faded but never truly disappeared.

When Eunha was born, Minji thought things might change. Maybe a baby would soften them. But her mother barely looked at the newborn, dumping her into Minji’s lap as if she were handing over a piece of trash.

“She’s your responsibility now,” her mother sneered. “Don’t let her cry too much. Your father hates noise.”

Eunha’s tiny cries became Minji’s alarm clock, her lullaby, and her reason to endure. She shielded the baby from the chaos, holding her close during the nights when their father’s anger exploded like a bomb.

One night, as Eunha wailed in her crib, their father stormed into the room. “Shut that thing up!” he roared. Minji threw herself between him and the baby, her arms outstretched.

“She’s just a baby!” Minji screamed, her voice cracking. But the cane came down anyway, striking her across the shoulder. 

She didn’t move, didn’t cry. She stood there, a shield of trembling flesh and bone, until he left the room.

Eunha was all she had. Minji would take the bruises, the beatings, the insults—all of it—if it meant keeping her sister safe. 

She would sit by Eunha’s crib, humming softly, tears streaming down her face as she promised, “I won’t let them hurt you. Not ever.”

But promises were hard to keep in a house like this.

There was no escape.

The kitchen, where her mother had thrown a boiling pot of soup at her for “being slow.” 

The living room, where her father had once slammed her against the wall for spilling water. 

The bedroom, where she would lie awake, listening to the muffled screams of her mother as her father’s rage turned into something else entirely.

Minji grew up fast. 

She learned to clean the blood off her clothes before anyone at school could see. 

She learned to swallow her pride, her pain, and her screams. 

She learned to survive.

For Eunha. Always for Eunha.

—--

[Minji's POV]

I can still feel the weight of his hand as it landed on her tiny body. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot, silencing even the creak of the old wooden floor beneath my knees. 

I froze, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. 

Eunha didn’t scream. 

She didn’t cry. 

She just looked at me, her wide, tear-filled eyes asking me something I couldn’t answer: 

Why?

She was only five. A fragile little thing, born too early, too small. I’d spent years protecting her, throwing myself in the line of fire over and over so she wouldn’t feel the sting of his belt, the sharpness of his words. 

But tonight, my shield broke. And it shattered me.

“M-minji unnie” she whispered, clutching her red cheek, her voice so soft it made my chest ache.

“Eunha,” I croaked, crawling to her, my knees scraping against the floor. My fingers trembled as I touched her face, the mark of his hand already beginning to show. 

My heart cracked wide open at the sight.

He had crossed the line.

“You think she’s different? You think I won’t discipline her too?” His voice was a growl, slurred from the alcohol that poisoned his veins. 

I didn’t look at him. 

I couldn’t. 

If I looked, I’d kill him, and I couldn’t afford that—not yet.

Instead, I held Eunha close, her little body shaking against mine. I whispered into her hair, a promise I’d made a thousand times before but never with this much fire behind it.

“Never again,” I said. My voice didn’t waver. It couldn’t. “Never again will he touch you. I’ll die before I let him hurt you.”

That night, as the house settled into its usual uneasy silence, I made my decision. We couldn’t stay here. 

Not anymore. 

The bruises on my body were nothing compared to the ones on my soul, but I couldn’t let her carry the same scars.

As I wrapped Eunha in the blanket, her tiny face resting against my chest, she looked up at me with those same questioning eyes.

“Where are we going, unnie?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Away,” I said firmly, brushing her hair back. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere he’ll never find us.”

“But... where?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted, my throat tightening. “But I’ll find a place, Eunha. I swear. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll give you the life you deserve.”

I felt her nod against me, her trust in me more powerful than any words she could’ve said. She didn’t ask again.

When I opened the door, the cold night air hit me like a slap, but it felt freeing. I looked back one last time at the house that had been nothing but a prison, a hell disguised as a home. 

My father’s snores rumbled through the walls, my mother’s absence as loud as the silence she left behind.

“Goodbye,” I whispered, not to them but to the pain, the fear, the darkness that had consumed my childhood.

And then I walked out, holding Eunha tightly, her weight against my chest a reminder of why I couldn’t fail.

Because Eunha deserved better. 

And I was going to make sure she got it. 

No matter what it took.

—-

The streets were colder than I imagined, and the ground was unforgiving. The world didn’t care that a 13-year-old girl and her baby sister were sleeping under a broken bus shelter, with only a tattered blanket and each other for warmth. 

The nights stretched endlessly, the days even longer, but it wasn’t the cold or hunger gnawing at my insides that scared me the most. 

It was the emptiness. 

The uncertainty.

I looked down at Eunha, her tiny body curled against mine. She was crying again, her frail shoulders shaking as she hiccupped between sobs. Her tears were sharper than any blow I’d ever taken.

“Hush, Eunha,” I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. “Unnie’s here. I’m here.”

But my words were hollow even to me. 

She didn’t need comfort.

She needed food. 

Real food. Not the scraps we’d been surviving on for three days.

I pulled out the small paper bag beside me, the one holding the last pieces of bread I’d managed to buy with the stolen money. 

My fingers shook as I unwrapped it, revealing three dry slices that barely looked edible.

“Look, Eunha,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “We’ve got bread. Your favorite.”

Her big, teary eyes stared at me, her lips quivering as she shook her head. “It’s not enough,” she whimpered. “I’m still hungry.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the weight of her words cutting deeper than any knife. “It’s okay, baby,” I said, tearing one of the slices in half. “You can have more.”

She didn’t need to know that the ‘more’ was my share.

I handed her the bigger half, watching as her tiny hands grabbed it eagerly. Her hunger outweighed her tears, and she took a bite, her little face lighting up with relief. My stomach growled in protest, but I ignored it, tearing the remaining slice into two uneven pieces.

“See?” I said, holding up the smaller half. “I’ve got mine too.”

I bit into it slowly, the dryness scraping against my throat, but I forced myself to chew. Forced myself to smile at her, even though my insides felt like they were caving in.

Eunha looked up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. “Unnie, are you not hungry?”

I chuckled bitterly, running my fingers through her messy hair. “Me? Hungry? No way. I’m full just watching you eat, silly girl.”

She smiled faintly, but the guilt was already setting in. She was only five, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew.

“Here,” she said, holding out the crust of her bread. “You can have this.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “No, baby. You eat it. You need it more than I do.”

“But—”

“Eunha,” I cut her off, my voice soft but firm. “You’re the most important thing in my life. I’d give you everything if I could. Please, just eat.”

She nodded slowly, taking the crust back and nibbling on it as if to make it last longer.

“Unnie?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes, baby?”

“Will we be okay?”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting my tears fall silently into her hair. “Yes,” I lied. “We’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

—-