Jennie POV
Sometimes, late at night, when the lights are off and the house feels too big, I find myself remembering.
Not just thinking — remembering. The kind that creeps into your chest and squeezes until it hurts. The kind that makes you wonder if it ever really happened or if your mind just made it up because it needed to believe in something.
I remember the way Taehyung used to love me.
God, it was everything. All-consuming. I used to think the universe made us for each other — dramatic, I know, but when you grow up with someone, when they become your best friend, your first kiss, your first everything... it's hard not to believe they're your destiny.
It rained on our wedding day.
Everyone said it was unlucky, but I thought it was beautiful. The sky felt soft and quiet, like it was bowing down to our love. I remember standing in front of him, hands shaking, dress clinging to my body from the rain. And he looked at me — really looked at me — like I was his entire future.
"We made it, baby," he whispered. "You're mine now. Forever."
And in that moment, I believed I'd never need anything else.
I don't even realize I'm lost in the past until the front door clicks open. The sound makes me flinch.
Taehyung.
I quickly sit up on the couch, tucking my hair behind my ears, smoothing out my apron. I'd been staring at the wedding photo again — the one on the mantle. We looked so happy. So young.
"What's for dinner?" he calls out, his voice dull, like I'm a roommate, not a wife.
I clear my throat. "Kimchi stew," I say, trying to sound cheerful. "I kept it warm for you."
He doesn't answer. I hear him toss his coat somewhere — probably not where it belongs — and I already know he won't say thank you.
But still... I set the table like I always do.
Chopsticks on the right. Spoon on the left. Napkin folded neatly. He likes things neat.
"Do you want rice?" I ask gently, peeking over my shoulder.
He shrugs without looking up from his phone. "Whatever."
That word sinks into me heavier than it should. Whatever.
I used to be his everything. Now I'm just... whatever.
Still, I go to the rice cooker and scoop a perfect mound into his bowl. I place it in front of him like I'm serving royalty, even though he doesn't even lift his eyes when I do.
I sit across from him, quietly. Watching. Waiting.
Hoping.
But he just scrolls. Eats without tasting. Doesn't ask how my day was. Doesn't say he missed me.
And I still smile. I still pretend this is okay. Because I don't know how to be anything else anymore. Because I loved him so hard, I forgot how to love myself.
Even now... I still think he's the only thing I need.
--
I wake up before him every day.
Always have. It's automatic now — my body just knows. I slip out of bed carefully, like I might wake a sleeping lion. I don't want to annoy him first thing in the morning. That used to be cute — not wanting to wake him. Now it just feels... necessary.
