Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 338: The Breaking Point

Three days had passed since Seo-yeon’s meeting with Yura and Joon-ho, and the memory of that afternoon lingered in her mind like a persistent echo. The image of Yura breastfeeding Nari, the tenderness in Joon-ho’s eyes as he held his daughter, the warmth of their connection—it had planted something in her heart, something that was slowly taking root and growing.

Today, she had agreed to meet her close friends for a day out—shopping and tea time, a chance to reconnect, to step away from the suffocating atmosphere of her marriage and the Baek family’s control. It was supposed to be a break, a moment of normalcy in the chaos of her life.

The group gathered at an upscale shopping district in the heart of the city, four women who had known each other since university, bound together by years of friendship and shared experiences. There was Min-ji, a successful marketing executive; Hye-won, a mother of two who had sacrificed her career for her family; So-young, whose husband was a high-ranking government official; and Seo-yeon, the tragic figure whose business had been stolen, whose life had been dismantled piece by piece.

They moved through the luxury boutiques, trying on clothes, exchanging compliments and criticisms, the conversation flowing easily between them. But as they settled into a corner table at an elegant tea house, ordering delicate pastries and fragrant teas, the conversation shifted to more serious topics. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"So," Min-ji began, taking a sip of her Earl Grey. "How is everyone? Really? No polite answers, no pretending everything is perfect. I want to know how you’re actually doing."

The question hung in the air for a moment, and then Hye-won sighed, her expression tired. "Honestly? I’m exhausted. The kids are wonderful, truly they are, but being a full-time mother is harder than I ever imagined. Some days, I miss my career, miss having something that’s just mine. And my husband—he tries, but he doesn’t really understand. He thinks I should be grateful that I can stay home, that I don’t have to work. But he doesn’t see how isolating it can be."

So-young nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean. My husband—well, you know who he is. His position requires so much of his time, so much of his energy. I see him maybe a few hours a week, if I’m lucky. And when I do see him, he’s exhausted, distracted, his mind still on work. I feel like a single mother most of the time, except I don’t have the freedom of actually being single."

She took a bite of a macaron, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes I wonder if he’s seeing someone else. Not that I have any proof, but—it’s the suspicion that eats at you. The late nights, the unexplained absences, the way his phone is always face down when he’s home. I try not to think about it, try to convince myself that I’m being paranoid, but the doubt is always there."

Min-ji reached across the table, squeezing her hand. "You’re not paranoid, So-young. You’re being realistic. The statistics don’t lie—infidelity is more common than anyone wants to admit. My own husband—well, let’s just say I’ve had my suspicions too. Nothing concrete, just little things that don’t add up. The smell of perfume on his collar that isn’t mine, the unexplained charges on our credit card, the way he’s suddenly more careful about his phone."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The worst part is the uncertainty. Not knowing for sure, feeling like you’re going crazy every time your mind starts spinning stories. And even if you did find out for sure—what would you do? Divorce him? Start over? At our age, with kids, with lives so intertwined—it’s not that simple."

All eyes turned to Seo-yeon, and she felt a familiar tightness in her chest. They were waiting for her to share, to open up about her own marriage, her own struggles. But how could she? How could she explain the depth of her unhappiness, the suffocating control of the Baek family, the way her life had been systematically dismantled?

"I’m fine," she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "My husband—well, you know how he is. He’s busy with the family business, always coming and going. But we’re managing."

She could see the skepticism in their expressions, the way they exchanged glances, but no one pushed further. They knew enough about her situation to understand that some things were too complicated to discuss over tea and pastries.

The conversation moved on, lighter topics replacing the heavy emotional ones. They talked about upcoming vacations, about the latest fashion trends, about the restaurants they’d tried recently. But Seo-yeon found her attention drifting, her mind wandering back to Yura and Joon-ho.

She thought about Yura’s freedom, about the way she lived her life on her own terms. She thought about Nari, about the love that clearly existed between mother and daughter, about the way Joon-ho embraced his role as a father. She thought about the possibility of having that for herself—a child of her own, a partner who truly loved her, a life that was genuinely hers.

The contrast between what Yura had and what Seo-yeon was living was stark, almost painful. Yura had escaped, had built something new, had found happiness. And Seo-yeon was still trapped, still playing the role of the dutiful wife, still suffocating under the weight of expectations that weren’t her own.

By the time they said their goodbyes, promising to meet again soon, Seo-yeon felt emotionally drained. The day had been pleasant enough, but it had also highlighted everything she was missing, everything she wanted but couldn’t have.

She drove home in silence, the city passing by in a blur of lights and movement. The apartment was quiet when she entered, the staff greeting her with respectful bows. But something felt off—a tension in the air, a sense of unease that she couldn’t quite identify.

One of the younger maids, a girl named Ji-eun, was standing near the entrance, her face pale and unhappy. Seo-yeon noticed immediately, pausing in her entryway.

"Ji-eun?" she asked, concerned. "Is everything alright? You look unwell."

Ji-eun started, as if surprised to be addressed, and then her eyes filled with uncertainty. She glanced around, as if checking who might be listening, and then another maid, older and more experienced, stepped forward.

"Madam," the senior maid said, her voice low. "Perhaps we should speak privately. There’s—something you should know."

"What is it?" Seo-yeon asked, her stomach knotting with apprehension.

"Your husband has returned," the maid said, her tone carefully neutral. "He’s—he’s not alone. He brought someone with him."

Seo-yeon’s heart skipped a beat, though she tried to keep her expression calm. "Who? Who did he bring?"

The maid hesitated, then said, "A woman, Madam. They—they’ve gone upstairs. To the bedroom."

Seo-yeon felt the blood drain from her face, though she managed to nod. "I see. Thank you for telling me."

She moved toward the staircase, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. The house was silent, eerily so, but as she ascended, she began to notice signs—discarded clothing on the floor, a silk bra in deep red, lacy underwear, a pair of high heels abandoned near the top of the stairs.

The evidence was undeniable, a trail leading directly to her bedroom. Seo-yeon followed it, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She knew what she would find, knew what was waiting for her behind that door, but some part of her still hoped—still prayed—that she was wrong.

She reached the bedroom door, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle. The door was slightly ajar, not fully closed, and through the gap, she could hear sounds—familiar sounds that made her stomach churn.

Moans. Heavy breathing. The slap of skin against skin. And her husband’s voice, thick with pleasure, saying words that made her blood boil.

"God, you’re so much tighter than her," he was saying, his voice ragged. "So much more responsive. She never gets this wet for me, never makes these sounds. You’re everything she’s not—everything I need."

Seo-yeon’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, her nails digging into her palm. She knew that voice, knew those words, knew the bitterness that fueled them. Her husband had always resented her, always felt inferior, always blamed her for his own inadequacies. And now he was taking out that resentment in the most hurtful way possible.

She pushed the door open, the movement slow and deliberate, and stepped into the room.

The sight that greeted her was like something from a nightmare. Her husband was on the bed, his body moving with urgent rhythm, his back to the door. Beneath him was a woman—blonde hair spread across the sheets, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingernails digging into his back. And from this angle, Seo-yeon could see exactly who it was.

Her secretary. The young woman Seo-yeon had personally hired, had mentored, had trusted to handle her professional affairs. The betrayal cut deep, sharper than any knife.

Her husband must have sensed something, because he turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw Seo-yeon standing there. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t pull away, didn’t try to hide what was happening. Instead, he kept fucking his mistress, his eyes locked on Seo-yeon’s, a defiant smirk on his face.

"Oh, look who’s here," he said, his voice mocking. "The perfect wife has come home to check on her husband. Did you have a nice day shopping with your friends? Did you have a nice time pretending everything is perfect?"

He thrust harder into the woman beneath him, drawing a moan from her lips, his eyes never leaving Seo-yeon’s face. "This is what a real woman looks like, Seo-yeon. This is what a real woman feels like. Not that cold, frigid body of yours. She wants me, she needs me, and she’s not afraid to show it."

The secretary turned her head, her face flushed with pleasure, and Seo-yeon saw the recognition in her eyes. She knew she’d been caught, knew there was no denying it now. But instead of apologizing, instead of showing any remorse, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, her moans growing louder.

"Fuck me harder," she gasped, her voice breathless. "Show her what a real man can do."

Seo-yeon stood there, rooted to the spot, her heart pounding in her chest, her rage building like a storm inside her. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them both pay for this betrayal. But the words caught in her throat, the fury choking her, leaving her unable to speak.

Her husband laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? No lecture? No cold condemnation? I thought you were supposed to be the perfect wife, the one who always knows what to say, how to behave."

He pulled out of the secretary, flipping her onto her hands and knees, entering her from behind with a rough thrust that made her cry out. "Look at that—she takes it so well. Unlike you, who always acts like it’s some kind of chore. Maybe if you were more like her, more enthusiastic, more willing to please—I wouldn’t have to find satisfaction elsewhere."

Seo-yeon’s control finally snapped. With a wordless cry of rage, she grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the bedside table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, glass flying everywhere, the sound echoing through the bedroom like a gunshot.

But her husband didn’t even flinch. He just laughed,

his eyes never leaving Seo-yeon’s face. "Is that the best you can do? Throwing things like a child having a tantrum? How pathetic."

He thrust harder into the secretary, making her moan louder, deliberately putting on a show. "You want a reaction? Fine—watch this. Watch how a real woman takes a real man."

The secretary was moaning openly now, her body responding to his rough treatment, her face flushed with pleasure. "Yes, oh god yes—harder, don’t stop—"

Seo-yeon watched, her heart breaking, her rage consuming her. This wasn’t just infidelity—this was deliberate cruelty, a calculated attempt to hurt her, to humiliate her, to make her feel small and powerless. And it was working.

She turned and walked out of the room, her steps rapid and unsteady, her vision blurred by tears she refused to shed. Behind her, she could hear them still—moans, gasps, the slap of skin against skin, her husband’s mocking laughter following her down the hallway.

She didn’t stop to gather anything, didn’t take the time to pack or think. She just grabbed her car keys from the entryway table and stormed out of the apartment, ignoring the staff’s concerned looks, ignoring everything but the desperate need to escape.

The elevator ride down felt like it took an eternity, the silence of the car amplifying the racing of her thoughts. When the doors finally opened on the ground floor, she practically ran to her car, her hands shaking as she unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat.

She started the engine and pulled out of the garage, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. The city streets passed by in a blur, and she drove without direction, without purpose, just needing to put distance between herself and the betrayal she’d just witnessed.

Eventually, she found herself pulling into a parking space near a quiet park on the outskirts of the city. The area was peaceful, with trees and walking paths, families enjoying the evening air. But Seo-yeon felt none of that peace—only a crushing weight of despair and anger.

She killed the engine and sat in the silence, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her phone buzzed in her purse, a notification she didn’t care about, and then another, and another. But she ignored them all, too overwhelmed to deal with anything right now.

Minutes passed, then longer, until the silence of the car began to feel oppressive. Seo-yeon reached into her purse, her fingers finding her phone, and pulled it out. The screen lit up, showing multiple messages and missed calls, but she ignored them all, scrolling until she found Yura’s number.

Her hands were shaking as she pressed the call button, and she had to try twice before her finger connected. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and then Yura’s voice came through the speaker, warm and concerned.

"Seo-yeon? Is that you? Is everything okay?"

The sound of Yura’s voice was like breaking a dam, and Seo-yeon felt the tears finally spilling over, hot and fast down her cheeks. She tried to speak, to explain what had happened, but the words caught in her throat, coming out as half-formed sobs and gasps.

"Seo-yeon?" Yura’s voice came through the phone, filled with worry. "Sweetheart, what’s wrong? What happened?"

"He—" Seo-yeon managed, her voice breaking. "He brought her home. His secretary. They were— they were in our bed. And he—"

She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find the words to describe the humiliation, the betrayal. The tears were coming faster now, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

"Shh, shh, it’s okay," Yura soothed, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time. Just breathe. I’m here, I’m listening."

Seo-yeon took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself enough to speak coherently. "He was fucking her, Yura. In our bed. And when I walked in, he didn’t even stop. He just—just kept going, like he wanted me to see, like he wanted to hurt me. He was saying things, terrible things, comparing me to her, telling me how much better she was than me."

Another sob escaped her, raw and painful. "I threw something at them, but he just laughed. He just kept fucking her, like my anger meant nothing, like I was nothing. And then I left—I just had to get out of there, I couldn’t stay in that house another minute."

There was silence on the line for a moment, and then Yura spoke, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Listen to me, Seo-yeon. Where are you right now?"

"I’m in my car," Seo-yeon said, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Parked near a park on the east side of the city. I don’t know what to do, Yura. I don’t know where to go."

"Then come here," Yura said firmly. "Come to our place. Joon-ho is out right now, but I’m here, and I really want to see you. We need to talk—just the two of us, woman to woman. You shouldn’t be alone right now, not when you’re hurting like this."

"Are you sure?" Seo-yeon asked, her voice uncertain. "I don’t want to intrude—"

"You’re not intruding," Yura interrupted. "I want you here, Seo-yeon. We need to have a real conversation about everything—about your marriage, about the Baek family, about what comes next. Please, come. I’m waiting for you."

Seo-yeon felt a fresh wave of tears at Yura’s words, but this time they were tears of relief, of gratitude. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay, I’m coming."

"Good," Yura said. "Drive safely, and take your time. I’ll be here when you arrive."

The call ended, and Seo-yeon sat in the silence of her car for a moment longer, composing herself. She wiped the tears from her face, took a deep breath, and started the engine. The car pulled out of the parking space, and she turned toward the address Yura had given her, toward the possibility of comfort, of support, of something better.

The drive across the city gave her time to process what had happened, to let the initial shock fade into a dull ache. She was still angry, still hurt, still reeling from the betrayal, but beneath it all, she felt something else—a clarity she hadn’t felt before. This wasn’t just a momentary crisis, a single incident of infidelity. This was the breaking point, the final straw, the moment when she could no longer pretend that her marriage was salvageable, that her life within the Baek family was sustainable.

She was done. Completely, utterly done. And as she drove toward Joon-ho’s apartment, toward Yura and the possibility of a heart-to-heart conversation, she felt a strange sense of relief. The decision had been made for her, in the cruelest way possible, but it was made nonetheless. And now, finally, she was free to choose her own path.