The sky was already a dull gray when Mimi stood in front of the apartment door she hadn't entered in days. Her fingers hovered above the keypad, trembling slightly. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until it hitched in her chest.
Her sparkly pink phone rested heavy in her pocket — not a single message. Not a missed call. Nothing from her.
She had been staying at her best friend Yubi's place for the past few nights, curled up under a fluffy comforter that didn't smell like her expensive-scented home or the lavender detergent she used to wash Kijo's suits.
She hadn't even planned on coming back.
But she forgot her school tablet. And the necklace her mom gave her. And maybe — just maybe — a part of her still hoped Kijo might notice she was gone.
She hadn't.
Mimi tapped in the passcode and pushed the door open.
Silence.
Cold air.
No lights.
Everything looked exactly the same — like she never even lived here. Her pink slippers were still by the door. Her strawberry-printed apron was still hanging on the kitchen hook. But the space felt like a hotel room. Sterile. Empty.
She stepped in slowly, the soft clack of her heels echoing on the marble floor. Her duffel bag bumped against her thigh as she tiptoed in, careful not to break the silence. She turned toward her room—
"Mimi."
The voice stopped her heart.
Low. Hoarse. Tired.
She turned.
Kijo was sitting on the living room couch, in the dark, still dressed in her button-up and slacks from work. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, her tie loosened, her hair slightly out of place. Her phone rested on the coffee table, untouched.
And for once, the cold CEO didn't look so composed.
She looked... tired.
"You're back," Kijo said, as if Mimi had just stepped out for a quick walk.
Mimi didn't say a word. She clutched the strap of her bag tightly and walked straight to her room, ignoring the sting in her chest.
She grabbed her tablet from the desk. Her necklace from the jewelry tray. She didn't want to cry. Not again. Not in front of her.
But Kijo followed.
"Mimi."
She didn't turn. She kept packing her things, moving fast, pretending like her hands weren't shaking.
"Mimi, stop for a second."
"Why?" Mimi's voice cracked. She turned to face her, eyes red-rimmed. "You didn't say a single word when I left."
Kijo blinked.
"You didn't call. You didn't text. You didn't even ask if I was alive."
"I figured you needed space," Kijo said stiffly. "You left without a word."
"Because I saw you," Mimi snapped, voice louder now, trembling with the hurt she tried to hide. "I came to your office to bring you your dessert box. I decorated it with strawberries and hearts. I was so excited, I even skipped lunch to drop it off—"
Her voice broke. She swallowed.
"And I saw you... with her."
Kijo's jaw clenched. "My assistant."
"Yeah, your assistant," Mimi said bitterly. "The one who was touching your collar and laughing like you were hers. You didn't even stop her."
"She was fixing my tie," Kijo muttered.
Mimi laughed — not sweetly, not cheerfully. It was hollow. "Right. Fixing your tie. Do you know what it felt like seeing that? After everything?"
Kijo said nothing.
"I cooked for you. Every day. Breakfast before school. Lunch packed with notes. Dinner even when you weren't home. I waited for you to walk through that door, even if it was midnight. And you didn't even notice I was gone."
Still, silence.
Mimi wiped her eyes roughly. "You don't even care, do you?"
Kijo's lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.
"I've been trying so hard," Mimi whispered. "Trying to make this marriage work. Trying to be good enough. Sweet enough. Lovable enough."
Her voice was shaking now.
"But it's not enough for you. I'm not enough for you."
"Mimi—"
"No," she cut in, voice cracking. "Don't. Don't say something cold again. Don't pretend to care just because I'm crying. I already know how you see me."
"You don't know anything," Kijo snapped suddenly, voice low but sharp.
Mimi blinked, heart slamming against her ribs.
"You think I didn't notice when you stopped coming home?" Kijo said, stepping closer. "You think I didn't realize the apartment was empty without you?"
"Then why didn't you do anything?" Mimi whispered.
Kijo clenched her fists.
"Because I didn't know how," she admitted, almost like it hurt. "I don't know how to be with someone like you. Someone who's... sweet. Who smiles so easily. Who cooks pink pancakes shaped like bunnies."
Mimi looked down, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"I don't need you to know how," she said quietly. "I just needed you to try."
Kijo didn't move. Didn't speak.
That was the last straw.
Mimi grabbed her bag and turned. "I'll come back tomorrow to get the rest of my things."
And just like that, she walked toward the door.
But this time, her heart felt heavier than ever.
Because even now — after everything — she still wanted Kijo to stop her.
She still waited.
She still hoped.
But once again...
Kijo let her go.