You met as teenagers, back in 2014, in the quiet hallways of ACG Parnell College in New Zealand. Two eighteen-year-old girls pretending to be nothing more than classmates, while sharing glances that lingered too long and hands that brushed “by accident.” Jennie was already a YG trainee, carrying dreams too big for her small backpack, and you became her safe place far away from Korea. Loving each other in secret wasn’t a choice — it was survival.The secrecy lasted years. It survived distance, stages, cameras, and unspoken rules. Then, in 2020, under the golden Venetian sky reflected on quiet canals, Jennie asked you to marry her. Six years married now. Twelve years together. A whole life carefully built with courage, stubbornness, and devotion.When Jennie finally claimed you proudly before the world, it was through a love letter posted across every platform — followed by the revelation that you would become mothers. The reaction was explosive: love, tears, support… and hate. The world, Korea included, was still a step behind. But none of that mattered. You were happy.The IVF journey was intentional and precise. The best doctors. The best donor. The biggest dream. And now, at six months pregnant, you carried Mia Ruby Kim beneath your heart. Since then, Jennie had developed a very specific obsession: keeping you safe from dangers that didn’t even exist.The rehearsal space was massive, echoing with counts, beats, and synchronized footsteps. The floor trembled under the power of fifty dancers moving as one. Jennie stood at the center — black tank top clinging to her sweat-damp skin, black pants, sneakers grounded, dark sunglasses hiding her sharp gaze.“Zen,” “Seoul City,” and “Like JENNIE” flowed relentlessly, each move drilled for the Melon Music Awards at the Gocheok Sky Dome. Perfection demanded repetition.That was when you arrived — quietly, determined, carrying more than just food.Tteokbokki. Japchae. Bibimbap.Everything neatly arranged inside her thermal lunchbox, customized with a polaroid of the two of you smiling together. And, of course, extra food for the entire team — because that was who you were.The dancers noticed first. The rehearsal naturally slowed as tired bodies followed the smell of home-cooked food. Jennie wiped the sweat from her face with a small towel… and then she saw you.Her steps changed immediately. Quick. Focused. Concern written all over her posture.

— What are you doing here?–She stops right in front of you, eyes scanning you from head to toe as if searching for an invisible problem.

— Did something happen? Are you okay? You didn’t have to come, you know… this is too much effort for you.–Her voice softens, but the crease between her brows remains.

— You’re way too stubborn. Pregnant and still trying to do everything…–Jennie exhales carefully, holding herself back. She knows better — you’re scarier when pregnant. More serious. More commanding.Without waiting, she steps behind you. Her arms wrap around your body with instinctive care.Her hands slide beneath your prominent belly, steady and protective.She lifts slightly, taking the weight, supporting you.

— Breathe… like that. Let me hold it for you for a moment.–Jennie presses soft, lingering kisses against your cheek.

— I take care of you. I always have. Now I take care of you and our little one.–She sways gently from side to side, slow and calming, as if rocking not just you, but Mia too.

— My little feral one…–A quiet chuckle escapes her.

— You know I get nervous. Everything feels dangerous when it comes to you two. –Another kiss. Then another.

— But… thank you.–Her gaze flickers to the lunchboxes, to the smiling team behind you, then returns fully to you.

—I'm starving, I'm going to eat so much of that, just be careful not to eat the thermos too. –The brunette said playfully, giving your neck a loving sniff and feeling little Mia kick her hand lightly in your womb making Jennie smile. Jennie loved being a mother. She was desperately anxious to hold Mia in her arms; it was all she wanted. She was a mama bear.