🌙 Chapter 2: I am her husband
A day before — Somewhere in Seoul, Korea
The automatic doors to the luxurious penthouse slid open with a gentle hiss, revealing the soft golden light that spilled into the hallway. The moment Kim Seojun stepped inside, the scent of fresh linen, baby powder, and warm jasmine tea welcomed him like an embrace. He loosened his tie, tired from meetings, but as he walked in further, a burst of energy replaced the weariness on his face.
"Appaaa! You're home!!"
The sound of small, hurried footsteps pattering against the hardwood floor echoed through the space, followed by a whirlwind of energy in the form of a little boy. Arms stretched wide and face lit up with joy, Taehyun ran straight into Seojun's open arms.
Seojun crouched instinctively and swept his son into a tight embrace, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. The little boy squealed in delight, his small hands clutching Seojun's shoulders tightly.
"My baby," Seojun murmured with a smile, kissing the top of Taehyun's head. "What got you so excited, hmm?"
Taehyun pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes shining with anticipation. "You said yesterday we're going to Paris! So I already packed my bag with nanny's help!"
Seojun's brows lifted with amused surprise. "Really? You did all that by yourself?"
"Yup! I even packed my sketchbook, just in case I want to draw the Eiffel Tower!" Taehyun puffed up his tiny chest proudly.
Seojun laughed, the sound deep and soft. "You're such a smart boy. I'm proud of you."
The two made their way into the spacious living room, decorated in warm tones and filled with small, cozy corners of childhood—a toy piano near the window, a stack of storybooks beside the couch, a worn-out teddy bear perched like royalty on the armrest.
Seojun settled onto the plush leather couch, Taehyun nestled in his lap like a puzzle piece that had always belonged there.
"So, what are we going to do in Paris, Appa?" the boy asked, kicking his legs lightly.
"Well…" Seojun trailed off for a moment, tucking a strand of his son's hair behind his ear. "Appa has some important work to do first. Just for one day. But after that, it's all about you and me, little man. We'll explore Paris together. How does that sound?"
Taehyun's eyes widened. "Really?! Will we eat croissants and take photos and see the glowing tower?"
Seojun chuckled. "Yes. The glowing tower, the croissants, and everything else."
The joy on Taehyun's face dimmed just slightly as another thought clouded his excitement. His voice came softer this time. "Appa… will we meet Momma too?"
Seojun froze for a heartbeat. The weight of the question settled in the room, heavier than anything else.
The little boy looked up at him with a hopeful glint. "Maybe... maybe she'll be there too?"
Seojun tightened his hold on his son, heart twisting. "Baby… Momma is still very busy," he said gently. "She's a superwoman, remember? She has important things to do right now. That's why she can't meet us yet."
"But… she'll come one day, right?" Taehyun's voice wavered. "Because she promised me in my dream that she would come."
Seojun closed his eyes for a moment, the ache in his chest impossible to hide. "She will, sweetheart," he whispered. "She will come. As soon as she can."
There was a pause, and then Taehyun, ever the hopeful soul, nodded with determination.
"Then I'll send her a message through her photo," he said with a bright smile. "If I press my hand on it and wish really hard, maybe she'll hear me."
Seojun gave a fragile laugh and kissed his son's forehead. "That's a wonderful idea, my baby. You do that. Momma will definitely feel it."
Taehyun slid off his lap, rubbing his eyes. "I'll do it now and then go to sleep, so we won't be late tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," Seojun nodded. "We can't miss our flight."
The boy leaned forward and kissed his father's cheek with a soft, "Good night, Appa," before trotting off toward his bedroom.
Seojun watched him disappear into the hallway, the sound of his small slippers fading into silence.
He leaned back on the couch, eyes drifting toward the framed photo on the nearby shelf.
It was a picture of a woman—smiling, radiant, her eyes holding the same softness that lived in Taehyun's. His fingers clenched into a fist on his knee.
Seojun's POV:
I'm sorry, baby. I never wanted you to grow up wondering where your mom went… or why she didn't come back. You've been strong for far too long. I promised you—and her—that I would bring her back to us. And now… maybe I finally can.
Because just days ago, a name surfaced—a whisper, a clue buried in a gallery invitation from Paris. One that led Seojun to accept the role of chief guest at an art exhibition overseas.
Not for publicity. Not for business.
But for a chance to chase the only lead he'd found in four years.
A chance to find the woman whose face haunted every dream, every canvas Taehyun innocently drew… and every beat of his aching heart.
He didn't know what he would find waiting in Paris.
But he knew he had to go.
---
We landed in Paris under the dusky hues of a fading afternoon sky. The flight had been delayed, and though Taehyun slept most of the way curled against me, exhaustion tugged at my bones. Still, I didn't waste a second. The moment we arrived, I left Taehyun with our nanny at the house we'd be staying in for the week—he had been too sleepy to protest, though his small hands clutched mine longer than usual before letting go.
"I'll be back soon," I whispered, brushing his soft hair back. "Be good."
Now, here I was. Standing before the grand art gallery that shimmered with light and elegance under the Parisian night. The exterior alone was breathtaking, but as I stepped inside, I was stunned into silence.
Soft lighting pooled across marble floors. Gentle music played from a distant corner. Artworks adorned the walls like sacred treasures, and the murmurs of admiration echoed in various accents.
Who built this?
I exhaled, loosening the collar of my shirt as I scanned the hall. Moments later, I was greeted by the event manager—an efficient man with a polite bow and a clipboard clutched against his chest.
"You must be Mr. Kim Seojun," he said. "We've been expecting you. Please, allow me to escort you to our gallery director. She's currently with some guests, but I'm sure she'd love to meet you."
I followed him through the crowd, each step bringing me closer to something—though I wasn't sure what. My heart was racing, pounding harder with every footstep.
And then... I saw her.
She stood with her back to me, in front of a large canvas bathed in warm light. Her posture, the soft curve of her shoulders, even the way she tilted her head to listen—it hit me like a crashing wave.
I knew her.
Even before she turned, before her name was spoken, my soul recognized her.
Jiwoo…
"Ma'am," the manager said politely, stepping closer to her. "May I introduce Mr. Kim Seojun—our chief guest."
She turned.
And in that moment, my world shattered.
Her face—her eyes—God, it was her. My Jiwoo. The woman I had been searching for like a madman across continents. The one I'd dreamed of, cried for, hoped for… for four long years.
She stood right in front of me.
Alive. Breathing. Real.
I couldn't speak. My feet rooted to the ground as I stared at her, taking in every inch of her face, terrified to blink in case she disappeared again.
But the warmth I expected in her gaze wasn't there.
Her eyes met mine—and instead of recognition, instead of joy—I saw something else.
Confusion.
Fear.
Pain.
I felt like the ground had been ripped from under me.
Why did she look at me like that?
Why did her eyes flinch when I moved a step closer?
What happened to you…?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and finally whispered, "Jiwoo...?"
Her lips parted, her brows furrowed, and then—before I could say another word—her body swayed.
Her eyes rolled shut, and she collapsed forward.
"No—Jiwoo!" I cried, lunging forward just in time to catch her.
Her body fell limp in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder as I cradled her like porcelain. Everything else—the gasps from the crowd, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of concern—faded to nothing.
"Jiwoo? Jiwoo, love, wake up!" I shook her gently, panic lacing my voice. "What's wrong? Look at me, please—wake up!"
But she didn't respond.
I didn't think.
Didn't care who watched.
Didn't care about appearances.
Without another word, I lifted her into my arms and stormed toward the exit, my jaw clenched and heart thundering with fear. The guests parted as I passed, the manager calling after me, but I didn't stop. Not until I reached the car and had her laid across the back seat, her hand still limp in mine.
---
Some time later – Hospital, Paris
The sterile white light of the hospital room did nothing to ease my nerves. I paced the hallway like a caged lion, glancing at every doctor who passed, hoping they'd bring answers. Every second felt like a century.
Finally, a physician in a long white coat stepped toward me.
"Doctor!" I said urgently. "How is she? Why did she faint?"
The man adjusted his glasses and studied me carefully. "May I ask… who are you in relation to the patient?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I'm her husband," I replied firmly, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.