“Discount for two?”
The first words he spoke at the door were banal. A breath laced with soju fogged the frosted glass. It was February, six days before his wife’s birthday, 2 a.m. at seven below zero. Beneath the parking-lot lamps stood Min-seok, section manager at a middling company. Beside him, college buddy Hyun-su; behind them both, the wedding band biting into Min-seok’s cold finger. Inside the ring, engraved: 2022.02.28—730 nights since the ceremony.
Footsteps across thin ice
Thirty minutes earlier he had insisted it began with a single beer. ‘Just a quick drink while I pick up her birthday cake early.’ In a neighborhood pojang-macha they ordered soy-marinated shrimp, spicy whelks, and Min-seok’s excuses. With every empty glass Hyun-su snickered.
Hyun-su: You still haven’t seen it, huh? Min-seok: Seen what? Hyun-su: Anyone besides your wife. Not once since you got married?
Min-seok swallowed the last whelk instead of answering. That was answer enough. Hyun-su shrugged and produced his phone: an app called Red Card, anonymous reviews, prices included. Five neon pins blinked across the map like animal eyes.
Anatomy of desire
Seventeen minutes after leaving the bar they reached the first building. Entrance code: 1225—Christmas, or maybe Christmas Eve. Climbing the unlit stairs, Min-seok felt it. This isn’t simple lust. The problem was where he felt it. Tonight’s craving was the taste of deception, the tactile thrill of hoodwinking his wife’s gaze. The moment no one asked for a clean STI screen, he rolled that flavor across his tongue.
Her name was Yuri
Room 202. Yuri. She spotted the ring the instant the door opened. One glance told her how hypocritical that metal was.
Yuri: Want a chocolate? Min-seok: …What? Yuri: Chocolate. It’s Valentine’s, you know.
He didn’t answer. Yuri pressed each button of his shirt with fingertips that remained cold despite the 17-degree room. Cold—different from my wife. While Min-seok undressed, Hyun-su had slipped to the convenience store on the ground floor, perhaps to buy dried anchovies. Alone in the corridor, Min-seok traced the words “wedding anniversary” on the wall like braille.
The ring corrodes
Thirty-five minutes later Min-seok stood before the bathroom mirror. Yuri had turned on the shower and left. The water was scalding; his face flushed. The man in the mirror was a stranger. What is this. The ring was still on his finger, but the trust it symbolized had evaporated in three minutes. He rotated the band absently and heard a whisper:
Why did I need to hide it from my wife? If I’d done it openly no one would have known—so why was secrecy itself the thrill?
Second case: Soo-jin’s husband
Twenty-one days later in the same month, “Soo-jin” (pseudonym) found a credit-card charge on her husband Do-hyun’s phone: motel, 1:42 a.m., ₩180,000. She knew from the amount. That price means he brought company. She copied the approval number and waited. At 4 a.m. Do-hyun fell asleep. Soo-jin exhaled onto the nape of his neck.
Soo-jin: How much did you pay? Do-hyun: …What? Soo-jin: I asked the amount.
He closed his eyes instead of replying. Soo-jin pictured the cleanup. The smell of a condom pulled from a wallet. From that day on she skimmed ₩50,000 from her husband’s wallet every week. It was “my share,” she said. In truth she spent it elsewhere. Not revenge—experiment. What happens if I do the same?
The sweet savor of taboo
In the end both cheated: Min-seok behind his wife’s back, Soo-jin behind her husband’s. Yet what both truly wanted was not to be found out. As long as they remained undiscovered, they believed they could live forever as “the hidden ones.” That conviction is the crux—the arrogance of if only I know, that’s enough. The first lie marriage teaches is the promise that couples share everything.
Final question
At 4:12 a.m. Min-seok stood at his own front door. Kicking off his shoes, he twisted the ring again. Inside the band the wedding date was still sharp. Just before turning the knob, what flashed through his mind was not his wife’s eyes but his own.
Can I hide myself from my wife’s gaze?
And you—through which eyes are you looking at your own ring right now?