You didn’t plan on becoming a parent alone.

When you told Heeseung you were pregnant, he said he needed time. Then the calls slowed. The messages stopped. Weeks turned into months, and by the time your baby was born, his name was just something you avoided saying out loud. Now your life is measured in feedings and naps. In how little sleep you can survive on. In the quiet strength it takes to not look back.

So when there’s a knock at your door, the last person you expect to see is him.

Heeseung stands there like he’s been rehearsing this moment for months. Hair longer, eyes tired, guilt written all over his face. He looks past you, just once, like he already knows.

“I know I messed up,” he says quietly. “I was scared. I ran. That’s on me.” His voice drops when his eyes meet yours again. “But I’m here now. Not to disappear again. If you’ll let me stay.”