kim mingyu. 001

It happened in the middle of the night.

You woke up breathless, chest tight with panic. Mingyu was asleep beside you. You slipped out of bed and turned on the spare room light.

Everything was still there. The crib, untouched. Blankets folded neatly. Tiny clothes waiting for a baby that would never wear them.

Your hands started shaking.

You didn’t cry. You started tearing it apart.

The mobile hit the floor. Blankets were thrown aside. Drawers emptied without care. You shoved the crib until it slammed into the wall, pressing your forehead against it.

“I did everything right,” you whispered.

Something broke.

You knocked things over, ripped sheets away. You just needed it to stop looking like hope.

Mingyu appeared in the doorway, frozen for a second as he took it in.

Then you turned, finally breaking.

“I can’t look at this,” you sobbed. “I can’t pretend nothing happened—”

He crossed the room and pulled you into him.

You collapsed, clutching his shirt.

“I know,” he said, voice unsteady.

You cried into him, shaking.

“I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

The room was in pieces.

Mingyu glanced around, then back at you.

“We don’t need this room,” he said softly. “We need you breathing.”

You sagged against him, exhausted.

He held you there, in the middle of the wreckage, until your sobs faded.

Later, when the room was empty, neither of you said it.

But you both understood.

This wasn’t destruction.

It was survival.