Page 58 of Tell Me Where It Ends

And as I sit here, in the suffocating, crushing silence of my own apartment, the resolve from last night solidifies from a fragile flicker into a hard, cold certainty. I don’t want to play anymore.

Running to either of them isn’t a choice; it’s a retreat. It’s falling back into a role I’ve already rehearsed. Both men, in their own loving, infuriating ways, are trying to save me. The problemis, I’m not sure the person they’re trying to save is someone I even want to be anymore.

***

A few days later, Shin corners me at the dining table while I’m pretending to read. “I think we should go to the police station,” he says, each word carefully measured. “Proactively. Before they issue a formal summons. It shows cooperation.” He pauses, gaze gentle. “We can submit a hair sample, too, if you’re okay with that. It could clear your name faster.”

I just nod, too tired to argue.

The trip to the station is grim and silent. We move through a sea of flashing cameras and shouted questions, a scene I’ve performed a hundred times before.

Inside, it’s all cold, impersonal efficiency. I answer questions in a monotone, my mind floating somewhere above the room, a defense mechanism I perfected years ago. I let them take my hair, my urine, a clipping from my fingernail.

I feel less like a person and more like a collection of evidence. A specimen to be analyzed.By the time we leave, I feel drained, exposed, and bare.

The frightened official email arrives the following Tuesday. I read it with my breath on hold:

From: Seoul Metropolitan PoliceDepartment

Subject: Final Toxicology Results

My eyes fly across the screen, skimming past the dense official jargon. Then, at the very bottom, one line stands stark and black against the white:

Final results: Negative.

I blink at it, expecting relief, maybe even joy. But instead, there’s… nothing. Just a hollow, strange emptiness, as if a storm passed through and left only the echo of wind. Relief, yes—but muted. Uncertain. Not triumph, just quiet, brittle clarity.

“Good news?” Shin asks, setting a bowl of soup on the coffee table.

“I’m innocent,” I say flatly, holding up my phone.

He reads the screen, and a slow, genuine smile of relief spreads across his face. “Min-hee, that’s… that’s wonderful.”

“Is it?” I mutter. “Congratulations, Yoon Min-hee. You’re not a felon. Your grand prize: freedom, a few auditions for B-list dramas, and a future as messy as your reputation.” I hold back, realizing I sound too bitter—especially in front of Shin, who’s just an innocent onlooker.

The silence that follows feels weirdly loud. It’s the“so… what now?”kind of silence.

Sure, I’m legally free, but my personal mess hasn’t magically fixed itself. The outside cage is gone, but I’m still stuck in my own head. And Shin—always there, quietly watching—hasn’t gone anywhere either. It feels a little… suffocating.

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady my voice. “Shin… I need you to leave,” I say, softer this time, the words carrying both resolve and care. “Not because of anything you’ve done. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I need to be alone. To figure out… me. On my own terms.”

He blinks, and I can see the hurt flicker in his eyes. “Alone?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Just for a bit. I need some space—to clear my head without someone hovering. I’ll be okay. I just need to figure this out on my own.”

A long silence stretches between us. He doesn’t argue. He just looks at me, eyes searching, measuring.

“Okay,” he says at last, voice low. “But promise me one thing. Don’t… ever think about doing anything reckless again. There’s a lot to look forward to now—more than you realize. Your name’s been cleared, Min-hee. You have a chance to start over.”

“I promise,” I say softly.

He nods once, then turns away. After a moment, he begins to pack a few things—his charger, his notebook, a change of clothes. Each movement is slow, like he’s buying time.

He folds the blanket on the sofa, adjusts a pillow, and tidies up the used mugs on the countertop, moving them to the sink. Everything he touches falls into place with the same neat precision as always—a kind of calm order he leaves behind wherever he goes.

Finally, he stands at the door, bag slung over one shoulder. He turns back to me, the professional composure he usually maintains giving way to something more human: a small, tender smile.

“The spare key’s on the counter,” he says softly. “Just… in case. And Min-hee…” He hesitates. “I’m a call away if you need me. Take care of yourself. Really.”