At 3:30 a.m., beyond the glass, only his blurred shoulders showed through drifting cigarette smoke. My husband had just pushed the stroller through the door, carrying one child and heading out again for the other. While I soothed the one still sobbing, the thought flashed like a blade: Can that man truly raise them?
Tear-Soaked Nipples and the Curve of a Husband’s Spine
My nursing bra was still open. The baby demanded the breast every hour, and the toddler called me not “Mom” or “Dad” but simply “Baby.” In our 500-square-foot apartment, two children three years apart turned life into shambles. Meanwhile, my husband’s spine curved ever lower.
A pose that began as sitting sideways on a chair, cradling a child, became lying on the floor next to the child, prostrate. Instead of saying “I’m exhausted, too,” he simply bent his back.
He is dying the same death I am.
In that instant I held in my mouth not love, but the word joint suicide.
The Silence of Desire
I confess: I wanted it. I longed to see his back declare, This is far enough—I give up.
Yes, fall apart. Only then can I survive.
How sordid. Even while raising two children and feeling my bones splinter, I took perverse pleasure in watching my husband’s collapse. This was more than fatigue.
- A primal instinct whispering: to save myself, I must kill the other.
- A twisted reassurance: only his ruin could justify my pain.
Two Scenes Unfolded Like Documentary Footage
Underground Parking Lot, 1:12 a.m.
Min-seok sat in the car, engine off. A tin of formula rolled across the passenger seat.
Wife: Still? (thirty minutes ago)
Wife: Come quickly.
Min-seok: Five more minutes.
Those five minutes had stretched past two hours. He couldn’t bear to leave. Once the elevator doors opened, he would meet the tear-soaked couch and the children’s cries blaring like speakers. So Min-seok simply … slept in the car.
At 2 a.m., as fog filmed the windshield, he realized he was living inside a narrow coffin labeled Dad.
Bathroom, 4:46 p.m.
Do-yeon sat on the toilet when her firstborn knocked.
“Mom, the baby pooped.”
Do-yeon nearly replied, So?
- So I must wipe it?
- So I’ll finally be loved the way you once were?
Still, she stood. Min-seok, sprawled on the living-room sofa, watched her pass. Her retreating figure looked like a living corpse.
Was that the woman I once loved? For the first time, Min-seok tasted bitterness in his mouth.
Why Did We Crave This Catastrophe?
A couple is two parachutes plummeting toward the same ground.
- When one slams into the earth, the other lands atop.
- Someone must be shredded first for the other to survive.
Parenting accelerates that fall. Raising two children, we tried to use each other as bait.
It’s fine if you break first. Such words are born here.
I remember, as a child, watching how fiercely my parents hated each other. My shivering conviction: Love is ultimately the act of killing someone.
An Answer Still Pending
The problem is: we both survived. And the living must decide how to look at one another.
Even now, Min-seok lies face-down on the sofa. After putting the children to bed, Do-yeon studies his back.
How will this man and I ever love each other again?
Or rather: How will we manage to destroy each other to the very end?
There is no answer yet. Only two unchanging truths: the children’s breathing grows a little deeper each night, and Min-seok’s spine bends a fraction more.
Are you, right now, staring at someone’s crumbling silhouette?