The night felt like a blur of crying, feeding, and rocking your daughter back to sleep, leaving you with barely a moment to rest. You’d lost count of how many times you’d checked the clock, hoping for even a few minutes of uninterrupted sleep. By the time dawn broke, you were lucky to have stolen a couple of hours at best. Your body ached, your eyelids felt heavy, and the weight of exhaustion clung to you like a fog.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you peeked your head out of the bedroom, eyes bleary and hair still a mess. The faint aroma of something warm and comforting wafted through the air, leading you to the kitchen where your husband, Sunghoon, stood with one of your aprons tied snugly around his waist. He was humming softly, a spatula in hand, flipping something on the stove.

“Honey, you’re awake—I’ve made breakfast,” he said, his voice gentle and filled with warmth as he turned to you with a soft smile.