Chapter 1 — This Is How We Began
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.
It’s been five years and several months since I first met Sarah.
Now she feels like a part of me—more precious than my own wife, as if her existence completes something inside me that nothing else ever could.
Who would’ve thought? I never imagined I’d be standing here, still entangled with Sarah for this long.
Before I met her, I had a stable job, a peaceful family, one child, and though we weren’t wealthy, I lived without greed. I had modest comforts, simple dreams, and a life that others might even envy—at least, until that incident.
If life grants you moments of success, it also sends crises creeping in silently, without warning.
Like many others, I suppose, I made one fatal mistake—co-signing a loan for someone I trusted. In an instant, all the carefully saved dreams I’d nurtured were wiped away. It wasn’t enough to lose just my savings; I was forced to take emergency funds from my company to cover the debt.
After that, the little ease I once knew vanished completely. All that remained were petty arguments with my wife and the harsh reality of living with less—of having to settle for scraps.
I kept wishing she’d be wiser, more understanding. I hoped she’d face reality head-on and start rebuilding our future together. But instead, our struggles only widened the gap between us.
Was it because I hated this reality so much? Or was it simply the overwhelming urge to run away?
Even when I had no energy left to care about anything else, Sarah quietly appeared beside me—her calm presence, her warmth, offering me temporary relief. More than relief. It was overwhelming.
At least, when I was with her…
Perhaps, deep down, I wanted nothing more than to bury myself completely in the warmth of her embrace.
On Sarah’s birthday, she got so drunk she could barely stand. Worried, I took her to a nearby karaoke room so she could rest for a while.
Singing or having fun was out of the question. I gently laid her down on the sofa, played some soft music in the background, and sat watching her face.
Her features, lit by the dim lights, looked incredibly youthful and beautiful.
Suddenly, an uncontrollable desire surged within me. I leaned closer, bringing my face near hers, studying her unconscious expression.
She wasn’t a heavy drinker, and it showed—her breathing was uneven, strained, as if each breath required effort.
I pulled back. This wasn't right. She was unconscious, unable to consent to anything.
I sat beside her, watching her breathe, letting the moment pass. The desire didn't vanish entirely—but I let it.
What I wanted had to be something we could share, not something I took.
I adjusted the blanket over her gently and sat in the chair, waiting for her to wake.
When she finally stirred, hours later, she looked at me with confusion.
“How long was I out?” she asked, her voice groggy.
“A while,” I said. “You drank a lot. I brought you here to rest.”
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
I nodded. “Always.”
There would be other moments—moments when we were both awake, both ready, both choosing each other. This wasn't that moment, and I was glad I hadn't let my impulses decide for both of us.