That day was Tuesday, too. At 2:15, every sweep of Joon’s palm across my shoulder blade pricked my nose with my husband’s scent.
First Encounter
His hair, still damp from the sauna, clung to his forehead; the zipper of his jacket hung half open. Joon said nothing—only traced the silent command lie down with a fingertip. Beneath the white towel my body trembled at an unfamiliar temperature. Then my phone rang. My husband’s name glowed on the screen. I stared at it for a long while before switching it off and pressing my forehead to the table. Joon’s thumb settled on the back of my skull. A first.
No one knew it yet, but I had already begun the betrayal.
“Lift your arms. Higher.”
Joon’s breath grazed the shell of my ear. Each time his hands slid over my raised arms, my husband’s face flashed like lightning. Last Thursday’s text resurfaced: Running late—sudden company dinner. A lie. At that instant Joon’s fingers dug into my shoulder blade—pain laced with sweetness. I closed my eyes and whispered:
You built this moment.
Second Encounter
This time it was the back door of a conference room. As soon as the latch clicked we swallowed each other’s breath. Joon pressed me to the wall; a metal coat hook bit into my back, and even that ache tasted like sugar. My blouse slipped cautiously to the floor and pooled there like a secret.
From the crook of Joon’s wrist, my husband’s photograph glimmered. With shaking hands I opened my phone. A Kakao message: Dinner tonight? The place you love. I smiled, then fitted my mouth to Joon’s. Sweetness and salt mingled. My body no longer felt like mine—if it ever had.
Final Encounter
A rainy day. Dawn flared beyond the window. Joon’s apartment—sixth floor, far end of the corridor. Outside his door I began to cry. He drew me into an embrace viscous as a swamp impossible to escape. In his arms I forgot my husband for the first time. Forgetting, I realized, was another betrayal.
Joon’s chin grazed my forehead. My phone rang—my husband’s name again. With trembling fingers I pressed accept.
“Hello…?”
“Where are you right now?”
“…Home.”
“Don’t lie. I can see you from the window.”
Joon clasped my wrist. I closed my eyes and whispered:
“Listen, love. I’m about to confess.”
The confession ended. My husband’s silence stretched on. In that hush, Joon’s finger traced the back of my hand. Rain kept falling. I now belonged nowhere. One betrayal had bloomed atop another, and all that remained were a sodden towel and two people staring at each other across the wreckage.