Ransomed Fiancée (Michaeng)

Chapter 43: Darling, Honey, Sweetheart Part 3-(1) Through the Pages of History

Chaeyoung

"If you let your line to snap again, you might lose something more valuable than just a fish,"

I felt the familiar surge of anger bubbling up within, threatening to erupt like a volcanic eruption. My chest tightened, and my fists clenched involuntarily. Yet, in the depths of my turmoil, I knew I couldn't let my emotions consume me, not again. I heard her soft trembling voice muttering my name. I looked at her, our eyes locked in a vulnerable moment. No I couldn't let it happened again. Not again.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, feeling the intensity of the emotions that had slowly surfacing, the anger, the hurt, and the fear, but I couldn't let them spill over onto the person I cherished.

She wasn't to blame, Chaeyoung. She was never one to blame. It wasn't fair to unleash the anger on her when that woman had been nothing but understanding and patient. It was your own demons, your own past, and your own insecurities that were causing this.

I closed my eyes briefly, focusing on regaining control. It was a battle against myself, a struggle to keep my feelings in check and not hurt the one person who had been kind to me. Slowly, I unclenched my fists, feeling the tension ease from my body. When I opened my eyes again, the anger had suppressed. I knew that I needed to face my own issues, confront my past, and heal from my own wounds, even though it had been a failure.

I stepped closer to her and she flinched, taking a step backward, her head bowed. My heart ached, realising how much I have hurt her before. With a soft, apologetic smile, I slowly reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently, "Do you have feelings for her?" I softly uttered. She rose her head and stared at me, "If you do, does it have to be her, Mina? Can't it be anyone else? Why must it be her?"

She fell into silence, her brows furrowed and her stare shifted. It transformed into something tense, as if she wanted to say something but she held back. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy as our eyes locked in a silent battle of conflicting emotions. I released her hand and turned my eyes away, my words carrying a weight of uncertainty. "I forgot I have a meeting. I'll be back late. You don't have to prepare dinner," I stated. I didn't even know what I expected from this conversation – whether it was for her to deny my assumptions or to stop me from leaving. Yet, she did neither, and it felt pathetic that I had hoped for some sort of intervention.

Staying longer around her was becoming increasingly dangerous, especially when my own emotions were spiraling out of control. I didn't trust myself. I feared that I might unconsciously hurt her again, whether through my thoughtless words or reckless deeds. I had to distance myself from the situation.

I sat on a weathered bench in the park, surrounded by the lush greenery of tall trees and blooming flowers. I closed my eyes, trying to find solace in the midst of the bustling city. I inhaled deeply, trying to regain my composure. I'm the background, the world continued to move, and the distant voices of people created a soothing murmur, people chatting, birds chirping, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. But what caught my attention the most was the joyous sound of children playing in the sand playground nearby.

I listened to their innocent laughter and the soft swish of sand being molded into castles and sculptures, a nostalgic feeling washed over me. I opened my eyes and turned my gaze toward the playground. Watching those children, so carefree and full of wonder, sent me back in time to my own childhood, a time when my step sister had been my closest confidante.

"Son Chaeyoung peed her pants, peed her pants," they sang in a cruel chorus, encircling her, their taunts echoing in her ears. Her so-called classmates, who had been her friends last week, now reveled in her humiliation. She couldn't bear to look at them; she lowered her head in shame. What had once been a non-issue during her early childhood had developed into a source of constant dread. Whenever fear or anxiety gripped her, she struggled to control herself, often involuntarily wetting her pants. For someone her age, it was an unacceptable problem.