It was the third morning Mimi didn't come home.
Her toothbrush was still in the bathroom.
Her perfume still clung to the hallway.
But she wasn't there.
And Kijo noticed.
More than she wanted to admit.
The apartment wasn't just quiet anymore — it was hollow. Like it had been abandoned by something warm and soft. Something pink.
Kijo stared at the breakfast counter where Mimi usually laid out those cute little meals. Toast cut in hearts. Eggs with smiley faces. Tiny handwritten notes folded next to her chopsticks.
Now there was just... counter space.
Empty. Clean. Cold.
Her assistant had brought her coffee early that morning, as usual.
But it tasted bitter.
She didn't say anything, though.
She never did.
Across the city, Mimi sat alone at a bus stop, her knees tucked to her chest, wearing a soft oversized pink hoodie that barely hid how tired she looked.
Her makeup was lighter today.
Her cheeks weren't dusted with glitter.
Her lips were bare.
She looked... dim.
"Are you sure you're okay staying with me this long?" Aena had asked the night before, offering hot cocoa and a blanket.
Mimi had smiled.
But not the Mimi kind of smile — not the bubbly, heart-shaped one.
It was a polite smile.
Like saying "I'm fine" through a closed door.
"Yeah," she had whispered. "It's just temporary."
But deep down, even she didn't know if it was.
When Mimi walked into school, she felt like a shadow of herself. Still sweet, still soft — but drained. She went through the motions: smiling, nodding, saying thank you.
But inside?
She was somewhere else.
Everywhere she looked, there were couples — bickering, hugging, laughing, fighting, making up.
And here she was, married to someone who hadn't even said good morning in days.
A ring on her finger.
A cold space in her chest.
No honeymoon.
No memory.
No warmth.
Her friends noticed she wasn't eating again.
But they didn't ask.
And Mimi didn't offer.
That night, Kijo came home again to silence.
She stood in the doorway longer this time.
She saw the vase of flowers on the table — wilted. Leftover from a week ago. Mimi used to change them every two days.
Now?
They drooped like the apartment itself was sad.
Kijo took off her coat.
Unzipped her heels.
Then... just stood there.
She hadn't messaged Mimi again.
But her phone was in her hand anyway.
Just sitting there. Waiting.
She finally opened the fridge.
No food. No note. No dessert box.
She closed it.
Tighter than necessary.
Then turned to the hallway.
Something caught her eye.
A little pink napkin tucked behind the blender. Folded.
She unfolded it slowly.
It was old. Probably from a week ago.
But she read it anyway.
"You looked tired today... I made your favorite. I hope work didn't hurt too much. Sleep well ♡"
Something sharp twisted in her stomach.
And Kijo — cold, ruthless, untouchable Kijo — didn't know why her throat felt tight all of a sudden.
She set the napkin down.
Sat on the couch.
And for the first time in years, she didn't feel powerful.
She felt lonely.
And she hated it.
But she hated the silence more.
Across town, Mimi lay curled up on Aena's couch again, barely breathing.
Her phone sat beside her, the screen dark.
She hadn't looked at it all day.
Not once.
Because she was tired.
Tired of being invisible to someone she cooked for.
Waited for.
Wrote notes for.
Loved, quietly — in all the tiny ways Kijo never seemed to notice.
And tonight?
She didn't have the strength to miss her.
She just wanted to forget her.
But somehow, that hurt even worse.