Seoyoon arrived near her husband's office a little early.

The business district was more crowded on a weekday evening than she'd expected. People wearing employee badges poured out of office buildings.

Women in crisp shirts and slacks.

People walking quickly with laptop bags in one hand.

Seoyoon caught her reflection in a glass window near the crosswalk.

Jeans.

A Polo T-shirt.

Old sneakers.

At home, she'd thought she looked decent enough.

Standing here, she suddenly looked shabby.

Three years ago, she had been one of those people.

She had gone to cafés with coworkers at lunch.

On days with important meetings, she'd paid a little more attention to what she wore.

If she met her husband's coworkers now, how would she be introduced?

This is my wife.

That should have been enough.

Yet today, it strangely felt as if there were nothing to say after that.

Seoyoon tugged at her T-shirt for no reason.

Then she saw her husband.

He was walking out of the building with three coworkers.

Seoyoon almost raised a hand to wave, then stopped.

They were still some distance away.

She could hear them laughing.

One of the men sighed.

(Coworker): “My kid's fever hit thirty-nine degrees yesterday. Total chaos.”

Another man asked,

(Coworker 2): “Then who watched the kid?”

(Coworker): “I called my mother-in-law. But she had a hospital appointment, so she could only stay until noon. Then I begged our sitter to come two hours early just for today. Seriously, one sick kid and the whole family has to mobilize.”

Her husband laughed and nodded.

(Coworker): “Still, you're lucky your wife stays home. At least that part's easier for you.”

(Husband): “That's true.”

He smiled briefly, then added,

(Husband): “The downside is the pressure of being the only one earning.”

Seoyoon stood still and looked at him.

It was true.

Having her at home made childcare easier.

But strangely, to them too, she seemed like the person who got to “stay home and live comfortably.”

Her husband had never once said to her face, I'm exhausted from having to support us alone.

Every month his paycheck came in.

The mortgage went out.

Living expenses went out.

Just as Seoyoon had worried over how to find 180,000 won for their daughter's art academy, her husband must have been worrying in his own way all along.

You felt the pressure too.

Only today, after 3.2 billion won had fallen into her life, did something she had vaguely understood become suddenly visible.

Seoyoon finally walked toward him.

(Seoyoon): “Honey.”

Her husband's eyes widened.

(Husband): “What? What are you doing here?”

All three coworkers turned toward her.

For a second, Seoyoon remembered the office women she'd seen earlier.

She straightened her posture.

(Seoyoon): “I had something to do nearby, so I thought we'd have dinner together.”

Her husband smiled, clearly surprised.

(Husband): “Really? Out of nowhere?”

They exchanged quick greetings with his coworkers and walked away.

A little later, her husband asked,

(Husband): “So what's the occasion? Where's Seoyi?”

(Seoyoon): “With my mom.”

(Husband): “And you even made a restaurant reservation?”

Seoyoon hesitated, then spoke casually.

(Seoyoon): “Dad gave me some spending money. Dinner's on me.”

(Husband): “Your dad did? Why?”

(Seoyoon): “He just did.”

The lie made her feel a little guilty.

But she couldn't tell him today.

Not yet.

The restaurant was much nicer than the places they usually went.

Her husband looked from the menu to Seoyoon.

(Husband): “This place is way too expensive. It's so expensive I feel like nothing will taste good.”

(Seoyoon): “Eat. Order something expensive.”

(Husband): “Your dad must've given you a lot.”

Seoyoon laughed.

What face would he make if she said 3.2 billion won?

Would he want to pay off the mortgage immediately?

Move to a bigger home?

Replace the car?

Or quit his job first?

She wanted to tell him.

Several times, she opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

(Husband): “What? You have something to say?”

(Seoyoon): “No.”

She took a sip of water.

3.2 billion won.

Since getting married—no, since having a baby—she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had money she could freely spend on herself.

When she worked, her salary arrived and immediately became household money and money for the child.

After she quit, she lived within her husband's paycheck, always carefully.

She hadn't resented it.

It had simply become normal.

And now, suddenly, 3.2 billion won existed.

For the first time, Seoyoon wondered:

What do I want to do with this money?

Pay off the mortgage.

Give some to our parents.

Spend some on our child.

And after that?

If she told her husband first, she had a feeling the money would immediately become “household money” again.

She didn't hate that idea.

She just wanted, once—just once—to think about it as Jeong Seoyoon, the person who had this money.

What did she want?

(Husband): “Seriously, what's with you today?”

(Seoyoon): “What do you mean?”

(Husband): “You look happy.”

Seoyoon smiled.

(Seoyoon): “I don't know. It feels nice to be out for once.”

That night, she never told him.

It wasn't that she had decided to hide 3.2 billion won from her husband.

She had simply decided to keep it to herself a little longer.

As a possibility that belonged to her alone, one nobody else knew about.

And for the first time, she decided to ask herself:

How could she use this money in a way that mattered to her?