Secret Husband

15

On the third day of my stay, just as the quiet calm of my temporary escape began to settle, my phone disrupted the tranquility with an incessant ring. Startled, I reached for the device, a nagging sense of guilt gnawing at me as I realized I had forgotten to keep it on silent, a small act of rebellion against the constant demands of the world outside.

A quick glance at the screen revealed a string of missed calls from Yoongi, each one a silent testament to his persistence in reaching out, despite my deliberate withdrawal from the mundane routines of daily life. A surge of conflicting emotions washed over me—gratitude mingled with annoyance, relief tempered by a sense of obligation.

I hesitated before returning the call, my mind racing with excuses and justifications for my absence. But curiosity got the better of me, and with a resigned sigh, I dialed my mother's number, bracing myself for the inevitable barrage of questions and reproaches that awaited me on the other end of the line.

“Where the hell are you, Y/N?” Her voice erupted in a mixture of frustration and concern, her words a stark reminder of the obligations I had momentarily abandoned in pursuit of solitude. “Yoongi called me, inviting me over for your department’s annual family gathering. You were supposed to tell me this, not him. Why haven't you called me these past days? Do you not care about me or your colleagues?”

With each accusation, my resolve wavered, a wave of guilt washing over me as I struggled to find the right words to explain my absence. But as her tirade continued, I felt a familiar anger rising within me, a stubborn defiance against the expectations and judgments that threatened to suffocate me.

“My whereabouts are none of his business.” I retorted, my voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and indignation. “And as for me acting like a child, let me remind you I'm not feeding off anyone's money. It's my own hard-earned penny that gives me complete authority over my life to go wherever I desire.”

The words spilled out in a rush of pent-up emotion, a defiant declaration of independence in the face of familial expectations and societal norms. And with a final goodbye, I hung up the phone, a sense of liberation mingling with the lingering guilt of disappointing those I loved.

Hanging up, I swiftly powered off my phone, frustration coursing through me like a current. Why was I always the one burdened with guilt for asserting myself? Neither my mother nor that man who's supposed to be my husband should have the audacity to blame me. Let him go off and marry someone else, for all I care. My nails dug into my skin, a painful reminder of the suffocating pressure I constantly felt. Can't I just breathe, without this constant fear weighing me down?

Determined to break free from the cycle of guilt and obligation, I made my way downstairs, where a short brunch break awaited. No mobile phone, no entanglements, just me and the present moment. I was reclaiming my freedom, one step at a time. Perhaps the elders were right—immersing oneself in technology while neglecting the world around can be detrimental. And as I took a deep breath, I could feel the weight of expectation lifting, replaced by a newfound sense of clarity and liberation.

༄❃༄

Sujong, your mother let out a heavy sigh after you hung up, a mixture of frustration and concern evident in her demeanor. With a sense of urgency, she dialed your number again, only to be met with disappointment as it went straight to voicemail.

Your parting words echoed in her mind, each one piercing deeper with its accusatory tone: “Do not call me again if it isn’t something important. Here I thought it was some serious situation only for you to mock and deride me. It's better off if you chose to adopt him and abandon me. I'd be happy at least without the constant comparing and curses you never forget to throw my way.”