I had never known him to be a womanizer or a flirt. If he had grown tired of our marriage—or of me—I would have noticed something, anything, out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. That was what hurt the most.
I couldn't understand why he would cheat on me. No matter how much I tried, the reason refused to make sense. Still, I wanted to see whether he truly meant what he had just said, or if he was merely trying to sweet-talk his way out of it. So I stayed silent, pretending to be indifferent while listening to his broken murmurs.
The night slowly passed.
John remained by my side, softly clinging to my legs as if afraid he might hurt me. His voice grew hoarse from sobbing and apologizing again and again.
Without either of us realizing it, morning arrived. The loud crowing of the rooster announced a brand-new day, followed by the soft chirping of birds as the world woke up.
When I finally opened my eyes, I stretched and yawned.
What I saw next left me stunned.
He was still there—still kneeling beside the bed, his hands and head resting against my ankle. His voice was rough, worn out from crying all night.
At that moment, I felt something shifted in my heart.
He was truly sorry. And maybe… just maybe, it had really been a mistake.
Even though I tried to remain cold and distant, I couldn't stop the guilt creeping in. I had never seen my husband like this before. I loved him—there was no denying that—and I knew he loved me too.
With the kind of man he was, I was certain he wouldn't humiliate himself like this just to lie again.
The longer I watched him, the more I felt that he truly meant every word he had said.
I slowly straightened my body, and without realizing it, a faint smile crept onto my face while tears gradually filled my eyes.
He was still kneeling when I made a small sound. Instantly, he loosened his grip on my legs, probably afraid he had hurt me. He was about to apologize when I spoke—the voice he had missed for so long.
He lifted his head slowly, but his eyes looked unfocused, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Then he lowered his head again, letting out a small, self-mocking chuckle, as though he thought it was just exhaustion playing tricks on him.
I didn't say anything more. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him.
The moment I did, his body stiffened. I could feel how shocked he was, how afraid he was to move, as if this might all disappear if he reacted too quickly.
"Darling,"
I whispered softly, "I believe you… and I'm willing to forgive you—but on one condition."
"Yes," he replied instantly, without hesitation. "Anything. I'll—"
"Darling," I interrupted gently, trying not to laugh,
"if you don't mind… you might be hugging our son a little too tightly."
He froze.
Slowly, he lifted his head. When he followed my gaze, he saw four dark, glaring eyes staring straight back at him.
"Wait," he blurted out, completely stunned.
"Why am I hugging my son instead of you?"
Despite everything, I couldn't help it—I laughed. He looked so embarrassed and confused that it broke the tension completely. He burst out laughing too, lifting Ragna high into the air.
Ragna, clearly offended, smacked him across the face with his chubby little fist.
John nearly choked from the pain.
"This little imp is strong," he said in disbelief, rubbing his face while laughing.
I covered my mouth, laughing along with him, while Ragna glared angrily, clearly upset that his air supply had almost been cut off. If John hadn't been his father, I was sure Ragna would have taken his revenge more seriously.
After putting Ragna back into his cradle, we returned to each other.
I rested my face against his chest and finally let myself cry. He held me carefully, as though I were made of glass, as if he was afraid I would disappear the moment he loosened his arms.
When I finally calmed down, he pulled back slightly and wiped my tears. It had been a long time since he had seen me cry like that. We held hands, smiling softly at each other, both of us afraid this fragile peace might vanish.
Then his stomach growled. Loudly.
Just like that, the moment was ruined.
I couldn't help but laugh when I saw the embarrassed look on his face. Since our quarrel, he had barely eaten—his guilt had drained him completely.
When he noticed me staring, he slowly stood up.
"Dear," he said sheepishly,
"Today, let this stupid husband of yours make breakfast for everyone."