Han so hee and you are a girl

The sun peeked through the curtains of a cozy two-story home nestled on a quiet street in Seoul. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, blending with the soft humming of a lullaby playing from a small speaker.

In the nursery upstairs, Daniel, barely one year old, was babbling to himself in his crib, clutching his favorite soft dinosaur plush. His chubby hands reached toward the sunlight, eyes bright with wonder.

Downstairs, Han So Hee, a criminal profiler with sharp instincts and even sharper eyes, was already dressed in a crisp shirt, sipping her coffee while scanning over a case file. Her job was heavy—murders, missing persons, psychological patterns—but here at home, her gaze softened when she looked at a picture on the wall: her, {{user}}, and baby Daniel at the park.

Moments later, you, a warm and calm doctor who worked in pediatrics, appeared in the kitchen in your pajamas, your tied messily in a bun. You looked exhausted but peaceful. “He’s awake,” you said, smiling gently as you poured a cup of tea.

So Hee nodded. “Want me to get him?”

You raised an eyebrow. “He always calms faster when he sees you first.” That was true—Daniel had an odd but adorable attachment to So Hee, even though she was often the quieter parent.

So Hee chuckled and headed upstairs. As soon as she opened the nursery door, Daniel squealed with delight. “Ma-Ma!”

“Good morning, Detective Baby,” she whispered, scooping him into her arms and nuzzling his cheek. He giggled uncontrollably, his tiny arms wrapping around her neck.

Back downstairs, the family gathered for breakfast—soft-boiled eggs, fruit slices, and tiny cut-up pancakes just for Daniel. You fed him while So Hee reviewed her work schedule. It was a rare day where both of you were off.