Officer, It’s Right Here! Right Here!
"I’ve kept my mouth shut until now, just letting things slide, but... how much do you think that measly civil servant salary of yours is supposed to cover? You keep acting so high and mighty."
"..."
She just stared at him, her mouth slowly hanging open as she began to listen to his words.
"I could earn that much just by sitting in the office for a day. No, that annual salary is less than a tenth of my yearly dividends, and you’re lecturing me? Do you think you’re the only one who earns money? Did I ever push you to work? Because I was nice, because I said you were doing a good job, you started acting like you held some kind of power, treating me like a servant."
"And now, what? You’re sorry? Now? You stab a person a hundred times with a knife, and then you think saying 'I'm sorry' makes it all okay? Ah, I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that I didn't die from the stabbing, or I wouldn't even have heard your apology. From the moment you walked through that door after work, I felt like I was suffocating to death."
"...If you had just told me, I would have..."
"Change? Don't make me laugh. Are you the type of person who changes?"
He let out a sigh as if the ground were collapsing beneath him.
"You say that, but you wouldn't change. You'd just tell me to deal with it because I chose it, wouldn't you? You always had that on the tip of your tongue. And honestly, I never had the slightest intention of getting married at twenty-six. I was aiming for at least thirty. But you said you were dying to get married, right? You said you didn't care about assets and just wanted to get married because you wanted to see me every day? Ah, I misunderstood. I guess 'wanting to see me every day' meant you wanted to see a 'housekeeper' who would work for you every day. I was a housekeeper. I was a servant."
"That wasn't it... I didn't have that intention..."
"Has the shit you've pulled for the last two years been anything else? You think everything you do is right. You don't know how to live by compromising with the person you live with. Because you always think you're the correct answer, you secretly design everything around you so that everyone else has to pick your choices. That behavior is called gaslighting. That’s what you’ve done to me all this time."
Originally, he had intended to send her off cleanly, but the image of her kissing him the moment she opened her eyes overlapped with the look on her face when she handed him the divorce papers the moment he dragged his exhausted body home, and his anger finally exploded.
"And for fuck's sake, the most disgusting part is that you act like you're something special, like you're some kind of sex goddess? Honestly, it was fine at first, but later on, you didn't even make a sound, there was no change in expression—I’d rather hug a mannequin, it would have more expression than that. I actually thought you were repulsed by sex."
"No, it’s not like that, I..."
"What do you mean it's not like that, you bitch? I want to record a video and show you your own expression. Even people who sell their bodies for money have better reactions than that!"
He had struck her with his words so many times in that brief moment. But he had no room to care.
"And where the hell do you learn those perverted behaviors? And why are you trying to force them on me? I don't want to do that kind of stuff. Honestly, the divorce? Yeah, like I said, there were reasons for that kind of bullshit. I was sick and tired of it, and that screeching noise you make the moment you open your mouth—I don't want to hear any of it. What did I do wrong? Is it a capital offense to stay in the shower a little longer because I wanted a proper wash? So you have to scream at the top of your lungs for me to get out, loud enough for the neighbors to hear? Is this country suffering from a water shortage? Are we dying because there's no water to drink tomorrow?"
"So that's why, I... no, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have done that..."
"There's no benefit to being with you anymore. I hate that weird sex, I hate the constant nagging, and I hate worrying about what excuse you'll find to scold me today. Why should I have to walk on eggshells around the person I live with? What did I do wrong? I can get angry too, but I'm holding it in. Because if I get angry, it turns into this mess. But you think that's your natural right, don't you?"
For the first time in her life, the husband she loved—no, her ex-husband—was genuinely furious with her. She couldn't even make an excuse. Her lips wouldn't move, and she only repeated the word she had struggled to force out: sorry.
"The sex with you isn't fun. It feels like you're doing it against your will. You don't want to make a sound, and—ha, it's audible to the neighbors... but you don't hear me yelling? Is it selective soundproofing or something? Anyway, you said you didn't want to do it, so I endured it even when you didn't make a sound, and I endured it when you did those weird things. But now you say you don't want to do it at all. You said I was a pervert. So I said I wouldn't do that either. And then you asked for a divorce?"
"Doing it like that was because of circumstances..."
"Don't give me that 'circumstances' crap. I don't want to hear your excuses."
He sighed once more and walked out. She scrambled to her feet, chasing after him to try and calm his heart even a little, but when she saw the state of the living room, she had even less to say.
"Ah, this."
"...All of this..."
"I'm doing everything I couldn't do while you were here. I really like games. I wanted to relieve all the stress I got at work through games. I wanted to use a really big monitor, and I didn't want to have to wear a headset to play."
"I... I, I just slept alone... because I couldn't do anything..."
"I guess that was just you."
She was shocked enough to faint at the sight of the living room. Honestly, she had thought he would be like her, curled up on the bed crying, or agonizing over whether to contact her or not. She had thought this anger was just a temporary flare-up because she had made a mistake the moment she woke up. She had thought there would still be items they had lived with or made together, but in a large box near the balcony, those things were shoved in haphazardly.
She slowly approached the box and picked up one item. It was a mottled scarf she had clumsily knitted herself, buying the yarn in the winter of their sixth year of dating, thinking of him interning at some company and wanting him to wear something warm.
"H-how can you..."
"Leave it. I'm throwing it away tomorrow."
"How can you throw this away, don't do that... please? This... I was thinking of you when I..."
"I doubt you were ever thinking of me."
When he wore this scarf to meet her on his way home from work, the photos she had taken of him still remained on her phone. At first, he had said that wearing something like this made him look cheap, but he had worn it every winter since. While doing so, she had secretly imagined, If a pretty baby comes along, should I try knitting baby clothes at home while I rest? Of course, that was something that could no longer be realized.
Her tears fell onto the scarf she had knitted, leaving it damp in various places.
"This, give this to me."
"Do whatever. But didn't you say you were going to die?"
"Ah, ah..."
As if she didn't care about his words, she tucked the tear-soaked scarf under her arm and rummaged through the box like a madwoman. The small pink thermos he had bought her, telling her to drink plenty of water because her throat would get damaged if she talked too much. The My Melody doll he had brought home after winning it at a claw machine while drunk in college, saying it looked just like her. The perfume she had gifted him because it reminded her of his scent and aura, the wedding album lying carelessly on the floor. There were so many things she hadn't been able to bring with her.
And then, something very small and sparkling inside the box.
"If you throw this away... you can't, Suhyun, this is... this, why..."
"This isn't it, this is... you can't throw this away, okay? Please, just this... just keep this..."
She approached him, sobbing, and showed him what she had found in the box. It was the wedding ring she had prepared when he said there was a nice restaurant and that they absolutely had to go today because it was hard to get a reservation. She had wanted to be the one to propose first, so she had secretly brought it and slipped it onto his finger before the meal.
She had looked at him, surprised and wearing a wide, happy smile, and said, "I hope you become a husband who is always on my side. Always... I will make you shine." It was a ring filled with such memories. And even as she mentioned that moment, she was filled with immense regret. He had fulfilled the requirements she mentioned before the divorce well enough, but compared to that, she hadn't kept the promise that followed at all.
Even so, she begged him to take the ring, just to keep it. She asked if he couldn't remember, but he looked at the ring with an expression as if he had seen something he shouldn't have, picked it up, and tossed it carelessly anywhere on the living room floor.
"What are you talking about? The very memory of being married is a trauma to me. If I could, I'd go back to the day I was proposed to—no, the day you first confessed to me."
"Th-then we can start over... I'll apologize, I'll always be good..."
"Bullshit. I'd go back and cut off contact, pretending I didn't know you. That would be a better future than this. I could meet a better woman."
She collapsed onto the floor right there.
Because he had been venting his anger without rest, he was in a state of exhaustion, and he sat on the sofa for a moment, closing his eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass. Meanwhile, she was terrified that he might open his eyes and yell, so she searched for where the tossed ring was, as carefully as possible. Then, because her foot slipped slightly, there was a scraping sound on the floor.
"Get out right now. How long are you going to stay?"
"I'm sorry! Really, .... just let me... find the ring..."
"Don't you realize that just being in someone else's house like that is rude?"
He told her to get out immediately. Her heart rate accelerated. She had to find the ring. She kept muttering the word ring to herself. Let's just find the ring and leave. No, let's take the scarf too. She didn't have the strength to carry the box itself. She thought, *If only he would help me—* but then she gave up on that selfish, nonsensical thought and tried to pack only what she could carry and leave.
And finally, seeing the sparkling object right under the sofa where he was sitting, she reached her hand inside, intending to take only that as carefully as possible—
"Ah, ah!!!! It hurts, ah, ah... how, I, ah...!"
"I told you to get out."
He, who had been sitting, stepped on her arm that had reached into the sofa as if he were crushing it. Whether he had put too much force into it, she bit her lip hard and told him to take the weight off her arm, touching his leg next to her, but he kicked her hand away as if brushing it off.
"Just this, I'll just take this, please, really... I'll give you, I'll give you money..."
"No, is money the problem? It's that I can't stand looking at you doing this in my house. Relax your arm, it hurts more if you don't."
She recalled the past. She had been watching the news with him about how domestic violence was frequent. It was probably about a month or two after their wedding. At that time,
"How can he hit his wife like that? No, how can you hit a person until they die?"
"I don't know. They must be crazy bastards."
"...Would you hit me if I did something wrong?"
"No. You're lucky, you married a man who doesn't hit."
"What's lucky about that, he's the abnormal one. Those kinds of bastards should rot in prison for about 30 years..."
And now,
"You said you wouldn't hit me, you said you weren't a man who hits... ugh, ugh...!"
"That was when we were married. Are you my wife now? Ah, this is complete trespassing and theft."
"...Theft, it's not theft... I, I'll really give you money... I have it, I'll transfer it right now, ah! Ah, w-wait, it hurts, just a second, okay? Why are you doing this to me... I really just... this, our memories..."
"There's an abnormal person in front of me. I think I should make them rot in prison for about 300 years."