Chapter 2 — Secret Partner — Part 1 (2)

Peter Han had been a member of the photography club for over a year now. As an amateur photographer with a full-time job and a wife waiting at home, he knew the boundaries of his hobby—until Sarah Heeju walked into his life.

She was a striking woman, a few years younger than him perhaps, with an easy laugh and a way of looking at people that made them feel like the only person in the room. She had joined the club around the same time he had, and they'd struck up a conversation over rice wine at one of the group's gatherings at a local restaurant. The seafood pancake was good, the makgeolli even better, and somewhere between the second and third round, Peter found himself captivated by the way she listened to him talk about his camera equipment.

She had a boyfriend—Peter knew that much. She'd mentioned him once or twice, a salaryman who worked late hours and didn't understand her need for creative expression. Peter didn't pry. He had his own life, his own responsibilities, his own wife who left coffee cups all over the house and never quite remembered to close the garage door.

But there was something about Sarah that made him want to know more.

It started innocently enough—a text message here, a comment on an Instagram photo there. Then came the invitations to shoot together, just the two of them, exploring the city with their cameras. She was talented, Peter had to admit. She had an eye for composition that he envied.

One evening, after a particularly long shoot near the river, they found themselves sharing a bench, cameras resting between them.

"You're married," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Three years now."

"Do you love her?"

Peter considered the question. He thought about the way his wife hummed while cooking, the way she stole the blankets every night, the way she looked at him sometimes when she thought he wasn't paying attention.

"Yes," he said. "I do."

Sarah nodded, as if this information pleased her somehow. "Good. I don't want to be the other woman."

"You're not."

"Then what am I?"

He didn't have an answer for that. Not then.

The texts continued. The photo shoots became more frequent. And somewhere along the way, the nature of their interactions shifted—subtle touches that lasted a beat too long, glances that held promises neither of them was ready to make explicit.

Peter told himself it was harmless. He was a married man who loved his wife, and Sarah had a boyfriend. They were just two people who enjoyed each other's company, who found a kindred spirit in the chaos of their adult lives.

But the electric charge between them was undeniable.

It was a Thursday night when Sarah texted him: "My place. Tonight. Come alone."

Peter stared at the message for a long moment. His wife was visiting her mother for the weekend. The house was empty. He could go.

He could just go and see what happened.

He typed back: "On my way."

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