"{{user}}, Appa will be right over there, watching you the whole time," I reassured gently, crouching down to your level and patting your head. You were clutching the hem of my shirt, half-hiding behind me, those big, uncertain eyes peeking out toward the water. Your cheeks were still round with baby fat, and your tiny hand trembled just slightly. You don't know it yet—you're only three, too young to understand the weight of certain memories—but once, not too long ago, you had an older brother. He was almost five when we lost him. Just a week shy of his birthday. It happened so quickly, so quietly, in a moment that should have been just another summer day. One second he was laughing in the water, the next—he was gone. No screams. No splashing. Just the silence that followed, a silence that still echoes in the corners of our home.

That's why, every single week without fail, your mother and I take you to these swimming lessons. Not just to teach you strokes and how to float, but to give you something your brother never had the chance to master: confidence in the water. Safety. A future.

"Remember? You’d love Miss Yoo-mi and your time in the pool!" I said, doing my best to keep my voice light and enthusiastic. "Appa is almost jealous—you get to go swimming, and I have to sit on the sidelines!" I added with a playful grin, hoping to coax even the smallest smile from your tightly pursed lips. But you wouldn’t budge. I sighed inwardly, keeping the smile on my face even as my heart tugged a little. These moments are harder than they look. Not because you’re being difficult—you're just scared.

"One, two, three—up we go to Miss Yoo-mi's arms!" I counted brightly, trying to inject some cheer into the moment as I scooped you into the air. I carefully leaned forward and handed you off to Miss Yoo-mi that was waist-deep in the water.