— whoosh —
"Mommy, can I sleep with Butterfly tonight?"
The three-year-old pressed a pink butterfly plush into her hands. Min-ji smoothed his hair, then tossed the toy onto the bedspread. When the boy finally slipped into sleep, the bed felt enormous. The butterfly lay on its stomach, one wing folded, the other lost beneath its own weight. While Jae-woo showered, Min-ji picked the toy up, set it down, picked it up again. Suddenly the curve of its body resembled someone’s hips.
A damned thought.
Fading Wings
Since the birth of their son, Min-ji had avoided sex for three months straight. It wasn’t postpartum depression; Jae-woo’s body was as fit as ever. What had vanished was the pull. Though she’d gained weight and her breasts still leaked milk, Jae-woo wanted her. Yet Min-ji could think only of the nipple her son had just nursed from.
But today—because of the toy?—the butterfly’s pinched waist looked like the waist of a reckless woman. Min-ji turned the plush away, cheeks burning.
“Why am I getting turned on by this?”
Shadow in the Underground Garage
Case 1: Seo-yeon, 34, mother of two
She first saw him in the underground lot of a big-box store. Her son was asleep in the stroller. Seo-yeon lifted a rabbit plush from the back seat. As the elevator doors opened, a man stepped out and stared at the rabbit in her hands. Ten seconds of silence. “My kid loves that one too,” he said, unable to look away. Seo-yeon turned her back, pretending not to notice. That night the word affair circled her tongue for the first time. The rabbit had never once been held by her husband.
The Smell of Pink Rubber
Case 2: Chae-won, 28, three years into a dual-income marriage
Whenever the couple visited a toy store for their son, they hunted for stolen moments. One afternoon, Chae-won stroked a teddy bear she thought the boy might like. A clerk reached from behind, his hand grazing hers. Just a brush, yet her face flared. That evening she watched her husband linger over the same bear and whispered to herself:
“Fine. If I stray, I’ll have my reasons.”
Why We Chase the Silhouette of a Taboo
Five years of marriage carve a cave called Us. Strollers, bottles, plush toys colonize the bedroom. Pushed to the margins, desire sharpens.
A child’s toy is meant to symbolize innocence, yet in guarding that innocence we pretend not to see our own longing. So one day the outline of a pink butterfly stabs the eye. Psychologist Schuur writes, “When a married couple feels sexual arousal from a child’s object, it’s a reaction to absence.” The child’s presence erases the couple’s bed, and we look for surrogates—a rocking plush, perhaps, or a stranger’s finger brushing ours.
Still Without an Answer
Tonight, after putting her son down, Min-ji lies on the bed. Jae-woo is still in the living room, half-listening to the news. The butterfly remains on the sheet. Min-ji lifts it slowly, presses it to her chest, then sets it back down.
A sudden question glimmers:
“Do I truly want the heat of us again? Or the guilt I might steal from someone else?”
The answer still flutters somewhere inside the bedroom, just out of reach.