"Mom, he's taking medication—" lies.
Her mother waved the words away like she was swatting at an annoying fly. "Medication isn't enough! He'll still have episodes."
Seo-in's patience snapped. "You make it sound like he's some kind of monster! He's been managing his BPD for years. The episodes are rare, and when they happen, I'm there for him."
Her mother scoffed. "There for him? What can you do besides clean up the mess afterward?"
The implication stung — as if her worth existed only in what she could fix. Seo-in's hands curled into fists under the table, nails biting into her palms.
"You don't know him," she said, voice low but sharp as broken glass. "You've never even tried to."
Her mother opened her mouth to retort, but Seo-in didn't let her.
"Luca has never laid a hand on me — not once," she said fiercely. "But you? You yelled at Dad last week just because he forgot to buy your favorite tea."
The air froze. Even her father looked taken aback.
He cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. "...This isn't about us, honey," he said softly, though his voice lacked its usual steadiness.
A bitter laugh escaped Seo-in. "Isn't it? You talk about what Luca should give me — but it's your expectations that keep chaining me down."
Her mother blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then her tone hardened again. "We just want what's best for you—"
"What's best for you," Seo-in cut in, laughter sharp and trembling. "I'm not a trophy you can barter off!"
Anger flashed across her mother's face before she masked it again with cold poise. "Is it wrong to want the best for our daughter?!"
"Wrong? No," Seo-in spat. "Just selfish. Ever think about what I actually want?"
Her mother's patience finally shattered. "Listen, Choi Seo-in! If anything happens to you while that boy is lost in his blindness, theres possibility will never be justice! Suing a mentally disabled person is might be futile, even if they're lying!"
The words hit like a slap.
Seo-in shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor — heads turned. She'd never raised her voice to her parents before.
"You don't get to call him that," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "Ever."
Her mother recoiled, eyes wide — whether from shock or disbelief, Seo-in couldn't tell. But she didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
"And if justice is what you're worried about," she threw over her shoulder, voice cold as steel, "then pray I never end up like the woman screaming at that cashier earlier — because that kind of entitlement runs deeper than any diagnosis ever could."
And then she was gone — leaving behind the smell of burnt coffee, two stunned parents, and the bitter silence of a truth neither of them wanted to face.
Across the street, her parents lingered in silence near the café's glass windows. The mother pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
***
Seo-in pushed through the café doors, the sound of the bell above her head swallowed by the rush of evening wind outside. Her breath came in sharp bursts—half anger, half disbelief—as she tried to steady herself on trembling legs. The night air was cold against her flushed cheeks, and the distant hum of the city only made the silence inside her head louder.
She didn't know where she was going at first, only that she needed to move. Away from the stares. Away from her parents' voices echoing in her skull. Her heels clicked against the pavement in hurried rhythm until the familiar outline of her apartment building appeared down the street.
By then, her steps had slowed. Each one felt heavier, dragging her through the weight of everything unsaid. The tears came quietly—first as a blur in her vision, then as silent streaks down her face. Not for herself. Not even for Luca. But for the cruel realization that her own family saw him as a danger, not a man. That diagnosis mattered more to them than trust, than kindness, than the way Luca's hands shook when he held hers after a long day.
She stopped under a streetlight near her apartment, blinking up at the pale glow.
"Damn them..." she thought bitterly.
But beneath the anger, something small and trembling whispered: What if they're right? What if love isn't enough?
Her jaw tightened. "No," she whispered to herself. "They don't get to decide who he is—or who I am."
Across the street, unseen by her, her parents lingered near the café window. The mother clutched her chest, voice trembling.
"아휴 … 서인아. 혹시라도 무슨 일 생기면, 우린 평생 스스로를 용서 못 할 텐데…"
Her husband said nothing, just placed a steadying hand on her back. He'd already spoken to a psychiatrist and a lawyer the day before, convincing himself it was only precaution. But now, even he began to wonder.
Seo-in finally reached the apartment gate, punching in the code with shaking fingers. Inside the elevator, her reflection in the metal doors looked exhausted—eyes red, shoulders tense. When had she started looking this way?
In her room, the silence was unbearable. The clock ticked, the fridge hummed faintly, and somewhere outside a car door slammed—but none of it filled the emptiness sitting heavy in her chest.
She tried calling Luca. Once. Twice. Left a message. Nothing.
Maybe he was still working late at the restaurant. Maybe.
By the time the clock struck 12:47 a.m., she was sitting on the couch in the dark, legs curled under her, staring at her silent phone. Each second stretched thinner than the last until her mind began conjuring worst-case scenarios she couldn't silence anymore.
Then—
A faint sound.
Keys rattled in the front door lock.