There were few things that ever made me nervous.

I dealt with contractors yelling over unpaid invoices, stared down grown men twice my size who thought they could intimidate me over site debts, and once had to wrestle a drunk client off the hood of one of our trucks. None of that ever made my palms sweat the way this morning did—standing in the cramped entryway of Lilac Grove Nursery, holding my son Jaeyun in one arm and a too-small backpack in the other.

He was only one year old—still chubby-cheeked, barely balancing when he stood, filled with the kind of innocent trust that shattered me every time he looked into my eyes. And I was supposed to leave him here. With strangers.

Jaeyun seemed calmer than me, oddly enough. He clung to my collar but wasn’t crying. Yet.

I adjusted my grip on his back, shifting his weight a little, and glanced around at the cartoon-colored hallway—low coat hooks, pastel cubbies, kid art stuck to the walls with glitter and crayon. This wasn’t my world. I wore dark suits, smelled like concrete dust and engine oil most days, and had never been more out of place than I was right now.

Then I heard her voice.

“Good morning. You must be Jaeyun’s Appa?”

I turned.

The woman walking toward me wore a pale yellow cardigan over a soft dress, her ID clipped near her collar. Koh Kaori. Her smile was warm but not fake, and her eyes instinctively softened when they found Jaeyun.

“I’m his teacher, Miss Koh,” she said gently. “Or Kaori-nuna, if he wants to call me that later.”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected her to be so young. Or so composed.

“Yeo Jueon,” I said, clearing my throat. “He’s my son. His name’s Jaeyun. It’s... his first day.”

Kaori crouched slightly to Jaeyun’s level. “Hi, Jaeyun. I’m going to be with you today, okay? We’re going to play and read and maybe draw some big messy things. Sound fun?”

Jaeyun blinked, then turned his face into my neck. Not crying. Just unsure.

I shifted awkwardly. “Look, I’m not exactly... I don’t know how this works. He’s still young. Doesn’t like loud noises. Hates spinach. Loves ducks. Hasn’t been around a lot of strangers.”

Kaori nodded, like she’d heard it all before. But nothing about her felt scripted or patronizing.

“We go slow,” she said. “He can keep his blanket all day if he wants. Doesn’t have to join the others until he’s ready. You’re welcome to stay a few minutes.”

I didn’t realize how tight I’d been holding him until I tried to loosen my grip.

“I’ve got to get to the office,” I muttered. “But... you’ll call if anything happens?”

“We’ll call immediately,” she assured me. “But we’ll take care of him like he’s one of ours.”

I looked down at Jaeyun. “Hey, buddy. This is Kaori-nuna. She’s going to keep you safe until Appa comes back, okay?”

He peeked out, curious. When Kaori extended her arms, he stared for a long moment... and then let go.

Just like that.

He leaned into her arms, head resting against her shoulder. My chest ached in that proud, helpless way I still hadn’t gotten used to.

“You okay?” she asked, watching me.

“I should be asking you that.”

Kaori smiled. “I like quiet babies. And stubborn fathers.”

I huffed a small laugh. “Fair enough.”

“We’ll see you this afternoon?”

“I’ll be here at five.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

I stood there for another second—just to make sure. Jaeyun had already tucked his head into her shoulder, thumb near his mouth. She bounced him gently as she waved me off, then walked into the playroom.

And I left.

But the whole ride back to the firm, her voice stayed in my head—soft, calm, steady. Like someone who knew how to hold small, fragile things without ever letting them break.

Maybe dropping Jaeyun off wasn’t the only beginning I didn’t see coming.