On the doorstep lay a single glass-slipper key-ring and, inside a black plastic bag, a lace bra torn nearly in half. 75B—Jihyun’s size. I had lent her the money to buy it.
I stood there until two, no, three in the afternoon. A bleak December wind crawled under my skirt. In my hand, the last KakaoTalk she ever sent me.
*"I didn’t know until you left how pitch-black your desires were."
Sweet as a First Kiss for Thirty Years
Late one night in our second year of high school, we pressed our lips together for the first time. "This is a secret," Jihyun whispered, and her breath still haunts my ear. From that night on we devoured each other’s first love, first heartbreak, first taboo. After university she married. Her groom was a director at a chaebol, the family absurdly wealthy. I wired her wedding gift—five million won—before anyone else, texting, "Be happy for both of us." She called immediately.
"Tonight, you must come. I can’t do this without you." I went. On the marital bed lay the lace bra her mother-in-law had condemned. "It’s far too risqué…" the older woman had protested. Jihyun laughed softly. "Mom, my best friend gave it to me. I only wear it when I make love." Neither of us knew how prophetic those words would become.
Her Husband and the Wine in My Hand
Three years later she asked to borrow five million won, "for an urgent investment." I never refused her. I knew where the money really went—to hotel rooms with a man who wasn’t her husband. The problem was the night he came alone. "One glass?" he asked, holding the Moldovan red I loved. We drank. And drank. And—
"You know, too, where the money she borrowed—supposedly for our son’s tuition—really went." I laughed inwardly. And you know whose wife you slept with. After that night we were no longer friends. Jihyun grew suspicious; I could no longer trust her. Her jealousy touched my taboo. The words "Wasn’t that the bra you paid for? My husband with you…" began to throttle us both.
The Last Meeting, Lace on the Doorstep
"Come at three this afternoon. I think it’s time to end everything." I went. Jihyun stayed inside. On the doorstep waited the glass slipper and the torn lace bra. Inside the cup was a note.
"This was your gift. I wore it while I slept with my lover. The hotel room was paid with your money, and so were the things that satisfied me. So this is your share." The fabric was still warm. Someone’s body heat lingered. From inside the apartment her husband spoke. _"It’s over now. For you, for me, and for Jihyun."
What We Threw Away Was Thirty Years—No, Our Desire
Jihyun vanished. No call, no trace. All she left was the glass slipper and the lace bra bought with my money. I still keep the bra hidden in my closet. When I take it out, the warmth of that day rises again.
"We knew each other too well. That’s why we could no longer bear it." Jihyun’s silence still strangles me. The glass-slipper key-ring on my doorstep is both her final gift and her curse. The vow "Let’s walk together forever" had twisted into "Let’s fall into hell together." I have never escaped that day. After her husband left, I carried the lace bra home. Since then I have lived carrying the same desire she did—what she wanted, what her husband wanted, what I wanted. "Jihyun, where are you? I’m still here—inside your desire, inside your lace bra."