That night, Hana sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the moonlight spilling across the floor.
Mi-Ho entered quietly, no anger left in his posture. Just exhaustion—and something softer.
He sat beside her, neither of them speaking.
Finally, Hana whispered, "Do you regret it? Us?"
Mi-Ho leaned back, hands behind him. "No. But I regret how much pain you had to hide alone."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I didn't know how to ask for help."
"You don't need to ask anymore," he said. "You're not alone. Not anymore."
She turned, meeting his eyes.
"I believe you," she said, voice raw. "But I'm still scared."
Mi-Ho reached for her hand, gripping it gently. "Then let me carry that fear with you."