From that day on, he visited her grave twice a day. Sometimes he would just sit and talk to her. Sometimes he would hug the stone and cry until he fell asleep there.
Weeks passed after that night. The rundown apartment stayed silent, its door locked, the body slowly decomposing inside. No one lived nearby. No one visited. The place had been abandoned for years—rent unpaid, utilities cut off. The smell eventually seeped out, faint at first, then stronger.
A month later, the stench had become impossible to ignore.
It started as a faint, sour whiff in the hallway of the building two doors down—something rotting, wet, wrong. The neighbor—an elderly woman who lived alone and rarely complained—finally called the landlord. She'd kept her windows closed for weeks, burning incense, spraying air freshener until her throat hurt, but the smell kept seeping through the walls like a living thing.
The landlord—lazy, cheap, perpetually irritated—didn't bother showing up himself. He sent one of his part-time workers, a bored twenty-something named Dong-hoon, with a master key and instructions to "just check if something died in there."
Dong-hoon unlocked the door with a grimace. The moment it swung open, the smell slammed into him like a physical force—thick, sweet-rotten, metallic, stomach-turning. He gagged, stumbled back into the hallway, retching dryly against the wall.
"Fuck… fuck no…"
He didn't go inside. He called the police right there in the corridor, voice shaking.
When the first officers arrived, they didn't need to step far. The stench rolled out into the hallway like fog. One of them—a veteran named Detective Park—pulled his collar over his nose and muttered, "Jesus… that's a body."
They entered wearing masks and gloves.
The apartment was dim, curtains drawn, air stagnant and heavy. The corpse sat slumped in a wooden chair in the living room, ropes still biting into wrists and ankles. The body was bloated, skin greenish-black and marbled with decay, face swollen beyond recognition. Fluids had leaked from the mouth and nose, pooling on the floor in dark, sticky patches. The throat wound was a wide, blackened gash—crusted and gaping. The lower body was discolored, soaked dark with old urine and blood, the stench of decomposition, piss, and rot so overpowering that even through masks the officers gagged.
The rookie turned away immediately, vomiting into the hallway.
Detective Park crouched a safe distance away, gloved hands on his knees, studying the scene with grim focus.
"Male. Middle-aged. Cause of death: exsanguination from the throat cut. But look at the rest…" He pointed with his pen. "Multiple stab wounds—thighs, arms, shoulders, stomach. Not frenzied. Deliberate. Slow. Torture. The ears are gone—sawed off clean. Tongue severed at the root. Genitals removed, flushed down the toilet—bowl still has residue. Shallow cuts all over the chest—ribs, sternum, collarbone—like someone was marking old bruises. This wasn't rage. This was punishment. Personal. Methodical."
The coroner arrived an hour later, confirming the same: massive blood loss from the neck wound. Time of death estimated at roughly one month prior—consistent with the neighbor's first complaints about the smell. Dental records and old fingerprints pulled from a decade-old missing-persons report eventually confirmed the identity.
Kim Tae-ho.
The husband who vanished the night his wife Ji-soo was murdered. The father who'd disappeared without a trace. The case had gone cold years ago—everyone assumed he'd run, or died somewhere no one would find him.
Now he was found.
In his own abandoned apartment.
Mutilated beyond recognition.
Detective Park sat at his desk late that night, staring at the crime-scene photos spread across his screen.
The ears missing. Tongue gone. Genitals castrated and flushed. Precise, shallow cuts mapping old injury sites. The throat slit last. The body left to rot slowly in a locked, forgotten room.
Park leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
"Whoever did this… waited a long time," he muttered to the empty office. "And they wanted him to suffer. Every single cut… every single humiliation… it was definitely rage."
He pulled up the old file on Ji-soo's murder—blunt-force trauma, domestic violence history, husband listed as prime suspect before he vanished.
Park closed the file.
They questioned the family briefly. The three sisters—Soo-min, Hye-jin, and Eun-ji—were brought in separately. They were young, still grieving their mother. They cried when asked about their father.
They said they didn't know where he went after that night. They said he had been abusive, that their mother had suffered. The police saw scared kids, not suspects.
Ji-yeon was questioned too. She told them the truth: she had been with Min-seok and the girls the night of the murder. She stayed with them after, helping them cope. She said she never saw Tae-ho again. Her story matched.
Min-seok was last. He was only thirteen, still in shock from losing his mother. When the detectives asked him about his father, he looked down at his hands and spoke quietly.
"I don't know where he is. I wish I did… so I could ask him why he did it."
His voice cracked. Tears fell. The detectives saw a grieving boy, not a killer. They asked if he had seen his father that night. He shook his head.
"I came home… and Mom was already gone. Dad wasn't there."
They believed him. He was a child. He had no history of violence. No motive they could prove and they didn't think a 13 year old could actually do something like this to anyone let alone those girls.
The case stayed open, but it went cold again quickly. No witnesses. No evidence. The apartment had been wiped clean of prints—whether by time or by someone careful, no one knew.
The police closed the file as a probable domestic dispute gone wrong. They assumed Tae-ho had run after the murder, maybe killed himself somewhere else. The body was cremated after a short investigation. No one claimed the ashes.
Min-seok never spoke of it again. Not to his sisters. Not to Ji-yeon. Not to anyone.
He carried the secret alone, just like he carried everything else.
Mi-Kyung felt Min-seok's body go rigid in her arms. His breathing changed—short, shallow, like he was holding something heavy inside. She didn't say a word. She just pressed herself closer, wrapping her arms around him tighter, her bare skin against his, trying to pour every bit of love she had into the hug.
She felt the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clenched against her back. His heart was racing under her cheek—fast, unsteady. She lifted her head slowly, just enough to look at his face. His eyes were fixed on the stars, but they were glassy, distant. A single tear slipped down the side of his face and disappeared into his hair.
She reached up gently and wiped the trail it left with her thumb. "Min-seok…" she whispered, voice so soft it barely carried over the night breeze. "I'm here. You don't have to say anything. You don't have to carry it alone right now."
He didn't answer at first. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Another tear followed the first. Then another. He closed his eyes, like he was trying to hold everything back, but it was too much.
Mi-Kyung shifted carefully, moving so she could cradle his head against her chest. She guided him gently, letting him rest right over her heart. One hand stroked through his hair, slow and soothing, while the other rubbed small circles on his back.
"It's okay," she murmured against his hair. "Let it out. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. Cry if you need to. Scream if you need to. I'm here. I love you."
A broken sound escaped his throat—half sob, half sigh. His arms tightened around her waist, fingers digging into her skin like he was afraid she'd disappear. Then the dam broke.
Quiet at first—shaky breaths, small hitches—then deeper, rawer sobs that shook his whole body. He buried his face against her breasts, tears soaking her skin. His shoulders heaved. He cried like he hadn't cried in years—deep, wrenching cries that came from somewhere buried so far down it hurt to let them out.
Mi-Kyung held him tighter, rocking him gently. She kissed the top of his head over and over, whispering into his hair.
"I've got you… I've got you, baby. Let it all go. I'm here. I love you so much. You don't have to be strong right now. Just let me hold you."
She didn't rush him. She didn't try to fix it. She just held him, stroking his hair, rubbing his back, letting him cry as long and as hard as he needed. His tears ran hot against her chest. His body trembled in her arms. She felt every shudder, every broken breath, and she absorbed it all, loving him through every second of it.
After what felt like forever, his sobs slowly quieted. His breathing evened out, still shaky, but calmer. He didn't lift his head right away—just stayed there, face pressed to her chest, arms still locked around her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Mi-Kyung kept stroking his hair, her own eyes wet. She pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"I'm never going to ask you about him again," she whispered. "I promise. And I'm never going to leave you to carry this alone. Whatever happened… whatever you did… it doesn't change how much I love you. You're still the kindest, strongest, most beautiful person I know."
She felt him swallow hard against her skin. His voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
"I… I wanted to kill him. Not after what he did to her. Not after what he said."
Mi-Kyung's heart clenched, but she didn't flinch. She just kissed his hair again.
"I know," she whispered. "And I'm not going to judge you. You protected your family. You did what you had to do. I'm proud of you… for being strong enough to survive it. For still being the man who takes care of everyone. You're not a monster. You're my hero."
He lifted his head slowly, eyes red and swollen. He looked at her like he couldn't believe she was real.
"You really mean that?" he asked, voice cracking.
She cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing away the last of his tears. "With everything I am. I love you. All of you. The strong parts… and the broken parts. I'm here for both."
He stared at her for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed her—slow, deep, full of gratitude and love. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered.
Mi-Kyung smiled softly through her own tears. "You do. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you that."
She pulled him back down, guiding his head to rest against her chest again. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her like she was his anchor. She resumed stroking his hair, humming softly—the same lullaby he used to sing to her.
They stayed like that for a long time, naked under the stars, wrapped in each other's arms—two broken souls finally finding peace in one another.
Mi-Kyung kissed the top of his head one last time.
"I love you," she whispered. "Forever."
Min-seok squeezed her gently. "Forever," he answered, voice steady for the first time that night.
And under the stars, they held each other—safe, loved, and finally home.
Mi-Kyung felt Min-seok's breathing slow and deepen against her chest. His arms, still wrapped tightly around her waist, gradually relaxed, but never let go. His head rested heavy between her breasts, his face soft and peaceful in sleep. The tears had dried on his cheeks, and for the first time that night, the lines of pain on his face smoothed out completely.
She smiled tenderly through her own wet eyes, brushing his hair back gently with her fingertips so she could see his face better. He looked so young like this—so vulnerable, so trusting. Her heart swelled with a fierce, protective love.
'He's finally resting,' she thought, her chest aching with warmth. 'After everything he's carried… after all the nights he's stayed awake for his sisters, for me… he's letting himself sleep in my arms. I'll protect this moment. I'll protect him. I swear I'll never let him feel alone again. I love him so much… more than I ever thought I could love anyone.'
She pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of his head, careful not to wake him. Her own eyelids grew heavy, but she fought sleep just a little longer, wanting to watch over him for a few more minutes.
'He's safe now,' she whispered in her mind. 'I'm here. I'll always be here.'
She lifted her gaze to the night sky, finding the bright star Min-seok had pointed out earlier—the one he called his mother's. It twinkled softly, steady and warm, like it was watching over them both.
Mi-Kyung's eyes filled with fresh tears, but they were gentle ones this time—full of awe and gratitude.
'Ji-soo…' she thought, speaking silently to the star. 'You raised the best son. Look at him… so kind, so strong, so gentle even after everything he's been through. He has your heart. He has your courage.'
She smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
'You were so strong, Ji-soo. You carried so much pain in silence so your children could feel safe. You suffered every day… and still gave them love, still smiled, still held them. I'm so sorry for everything you went through. You didn't deserve any of it. But you were perfect. The greatest mother who ever lived.'
Her eyes drifted back down to Min-seok's sleeping face. His lips were slightly parted, his expression calm and peaceful, like all the weight he carried had finally lifted for a moment.
She looked up at the star again, her voice a quiet, solemn promise in her heart.
'Ji-soo… I promise you. I'll do everything in my power to make sure this peaceful look never leaves his face again. I'll protect his smile. I'll hold him when he's weak. I'll love him the way you loved him—with everything I have. I won't let him suffer alone anymore. I swear it.'
She pressed a soft kiss to the top of Min-seok's head, then rested her cheek against his hair.
'Sleep well, my love,' she thought. 'I've got you. Forever.'
Eventually, exhaustion won. Her head settled against his, her cheek resting on his hair. Her arms tightened around him one last time, and she let herself drift off, completely wrapped in his embrace.
Min-seok stirred slightly in his sleep, instinctively pulling her closer, his nose nuzzling into the soft skin between her breasts. Even unconscious, he sought her warmth.
In his dreams, he didn't see blood or graves. He saw her—Mi-Kyung smiling at him, holding him, loving him without fear. For the first time in years, the nightmares stayed away.
As he slept, a quiet thought floated through his mind, soft and clear:
'She's still here. She didn't run away. She's holding me… and she's not letting go. I don't have to be strong alone anymore. She loves me… all of me. I think… I think I can finally rest.'
His lips curved into the smallest, softest smile against her skin.
They slept like that—naked, tangled together under the stars, breathing in perfect rhythm, two hearts finally beating as one. Safe. Loved. Home.
A/N: If my story made you smile even once, that's a win for me. That's what I want to live for—brightening dull days and reminding people that joy still exists. My dream is to keep getting better, to someday reach a legendary level of storytelling.
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