She takes the seat across from mine, nursing her mug of coffee. “Did he come home last night?”
I shake my head.
She sighs deeply but then falls silent as if deciding what to say. She’s tried to talk to Jin too, in her own way, but he’s as unreachable with her as he is with me.
“Maybe he just needs more time,” she offers finally. “Men grieve differently, baby. Some of them... they don’t know how to process their feelings. They push it all down, try to stay strong, and it comes out sideways.”
“It’s been amonth, Mom,” I answer, sounding harsher than I intend to. “I’ve given him time. I’ve given him space. He’s pushed me away and refuses to even talk about it.”
“Have you thought about counseling for yourself?” she asks. “Even if he won’t go?”
“I’ve thought about it.” I swallow past the thick lump in my throat. “I’ve thought about a lot of things.”
“Like what, Moni?”
“Maybe… I don’t know… maybe going home. My real home. Back to Philly.”
“But you love it here—” she starts, and then she cutsherself off as if realizing she can’t push too hard. Her brows connect in a worried line and she tries a different approach. “You both need time. That’s all. Everything’s still fresh.”
My phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the moment. I glance at the screen and see Kelly’s name, accompanied by a string of heart emojis and a message checking in on me.
Hey Monroe
Thinking of u
Here if you need me
Maybe we can go for coffee? No pressure
I pause, debating if I even want to bother with a response. Then I quickly type back something generic.
Yeah maybe sometime…
Kelly’s been checking in regularly since the miscarriage, offering to bring food or come over or just sit with me in silence if that’s what I need. She’s offered to take me out to get my mind off things.
Though deep down I appreciate the effort, I’m just not in the mood. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.
Maybe this can’t be fixed; maybe this is one of those things that stays with you for the rest of your life…
Jin comes home minutes before three in the morning.
I’m waiting for him in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket swathed over my lap and the television playing a K-drama I stopped paying attention to hours ago.
I told myself it wouldn’t be worth waiting up again. He’ll just do what he’s made a habit of and avoid any real interaction. He’ll go straight to the shower and then to bed as if there isn’t this huge trauma between us we need to heal from.
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Jin stalks inside looking like hell.
His shirt is soaked with blood—obviously not his own—and his knuckles are split and swollen, the skin broken and raw. His dark hair is more disheveled than usual, falling into eyes that are distant and emotionless.
He doesn’t acknowledge me as he crosses the room, sparing me no glance at all. He’s heading straight for the bathroom like he usually does.
I push myself off the couch and follow him.
“Where have you been?”
He doesn’t answer, footsteps away from the hallway when I reach him.
“Jin!” I yell, sidestepping in front of him. “Where have you been?”
