I had done nothing but assume you would never see me again, such dark    thoughts are normal to me. If you'd have decided to go  on with your life, I could find nothing but joy for you. You're too  bright of a soul to be kept shaded by my misfortune. You deserve only  happiness and real love, with days of kisses and caresses, not a monthly visit between glass, or being kept in a basement.  Never think that you've betrayed me in any way by moving on. Know that you gave me more happiness than I ever   deserved in our time together.

What a bleeding heart. Sangwoo crumbled the envelope a bit and stuffed it back in his pocket. He wasn't sure when he got so weak, but he hoped you would like it, regardless.

A grand motor steered by a chauffeur stopped outside the gate. The door in the prison gate opened and Sangwoo stuck his head out; the groundhog unsure of the year's promise. At the sight of him, the car's door flung open and a young man jumped out, only to stop and wait.   Spotting him, Sangwoo stepped over the door's sill, looking like a normal guy. He gave a smile, a free man at last. This had to have been the ride to the halfway home.

...I'm  not as  strong as you are, YN.  I never will be. I don't want to lie to you  again and again and again.  But I admit, the thought of seeing you brings me a great excitement. I want you to come every day. But greedy beast that I am, I want  even more than that. I want to sit   beside you every meal and talk of your day. I want to help with your day's chores, to steady your step over puddles  as we walk to wherever you want to go. I admit I do admire you, but I am more than content simply being your friend. Being someone who is there for you.

The ride to the halfway house was shorter than he thought. Within the hour, he was in the communal bathroom cleaning himself of the jailhouse cell.

Taking up the smaller towel, he dunked it in the  water and opened  the soap you had given him. A strong musk filled the air, covering the stench of his unwashed   skin, boiled cabbage from breakfast and harsh bleach from his old clothes. It was  the smell of jail, perfectly.

Naked now, his muscles looked weak to him. His eyes were downcast and skin greying; he was hardly the  Adonis to  inspire a woman to passion and to  toss away her morals like he was before.

The ex-prisoner washed his face and limbs first, then efficiently cleaned his armpits and crevices before leaning against the wall and scrubbing his feet. After drying off, he tossed the towel to the floor  onto which to stand with his clean feet.  Finding a comb in the assorted  accoutrements, he wet it and carefully  combed his hair, only to have it  flop back over his broad forehead.  Rubbing his jaw, he peered at himself in the mirror. Would he be ready for a meeting in the garden? Or would his old self suddenly resurface?

His face showed concern. Or was it fear?