it was an odd sight to behold, really. you and your one-year-old daughter, mini-you, heejin, were practically twins. same face, same pout when things didn’t go your way, even the same birthday. the universe clearly had a sense of humor when it gave you a carbon copy of yourself. your husband, heeseung, on the other hand, looked more like the third wheel in his own household.

“heeseung, pass me the remote,” you said, comfortably perched on the couch with mini-you balanced on your hip.

heeseung sighed dramatically but complied with a smile. as he turned to sit down, heejin suddenly held up her chubby hand. “da-da,” she babbled, pointing at her empty sippy cup.

he groaned. “another one?” but of course, he shuffled back to the kitchen like a man who had long accepted his fate.

when he returned, he found the two of you lounging in identical positions: legs stretched out, heads tilted at the same angle, watching cartoons. you even tilted your head at him the same way when you noticed his stare.

“what?” you said in unison, and he swore he saw double for a second.

“do you guys ever give me a break?” he laughed, setting the sippy cup down.

heejin clapped happily, and you gave him that smirk that always made him melt. “you signed up for this, lee heeseung,” you shrugged.

later that evening, heeseung tried to sneak in a snack from the fridge, thinking you were busy. but as soon as he opened it, you and mini-you appeared at the doorway like some kind of synchronized patrol squad.

“what are you eating?” you asked suspiciously.

“can i have some?” heejin chimed in her babble-language, but it was clear as day to him.

heeseung sighed again, handing over the cookie. “you guys are impossible.”