I could hear her before I saw her.

The muffled sound of Sora’s stubborn little voice filtered in from the other room—high-pitched, whiny, tugging at the fraying edge of my patience like only a six-year-old could. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, fingers ink-stained from reviewing contracts too long. My head was already pounding from the day’s meetings, from the endless emails, from the quiet chaos of a life unraveling behind boardroom doors.

And from the silence left in Jiwon’s absence.

Divorce. The word still felt foreign, like a suit that didn’t quite fit.

A thud. Laughter. A shrill “Noooo!”

I pushed away from my desk and stepped into the living room, the dim lamplight casting soft shadows on the floor. Kaori sat on the couch, Sora twisting in her lap like a restless puppy refusing to nap. Her arms circled my daughter gently, one hand smoothing over Sora’s messy hair with the kind of patience I couldn’t even fake anymore.

“I don’t want to sleep!” Sora kicked her feet against the cushion. “It’s boring!”

“You’ve had a long day,” Kaori said gently, brushing Sora’s bangs aside. “Your appa asked you to rest, remember?”

Sora puffed her cheeks and pouted, but she leaned back into Kaori’s chest anyway, arms crossed tightly. Kaori looked up at me, her eyes tired but kind, a silent apology written across her face.

“I tried,” she said quietly.

“I know,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “She never listens to me either.”

I moved to lean on the arm of the couch, watching the two of them. Fourteen years. That’s how long Kaori had been by my side—through mergers, company scandals, late nights, and now this. Divorce. Fatherhood on a seesaw schedule. Tantrums and tiny tears at 10 p.m.

“I miss mommy,” Sora whispered suddenly. “But I don’t wanna go back there either.”

Kaori didn’t respond with clichés or promises she couldn’t keep. She just hugged her closer, rubbing her back in slow, grounding circles.

“Your daddy’s right here,” she said softly. “And so am I.”

Something tight twisted in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt or gratitude. Maybe both.

Kaori had always been efficient. Brilliant. Calm in the way that made storms feel manageable. But this—this quiet tenderness, the way she held my daughter like she was her own—hit me deeper than I expected.

“She hasn’t slept well since Jiwon left,” I said, almost to myself. “I thought staying with me would… help.”

“It will,” Kaori said, glancing up again. “But it’ll take time. She’s just a kid, Jaeil.”

I nodded, staring at the curve of Sora’s cheek against Kaori’s shoulder. So small. So loud. So heartbreakingly vulnerable.

“Thank you,” I said after a beat. “For being here. I know this isn’t in your job description.”

Kaori smiled faintly. “After fourteen years, you really think I care about job descriptions?”

I chuckled, the sound foreign in my own ears. “Guess not.”

Sora let out a small yawn then, her tantrum finally fizzling out into drowsy hums as she curled tighter into Kaori’s arms. Her thumb slipped into her mouth, lashes fluttering as sleep finally found her.

Kaori looked down at her with a fondness I didn’t expect. Or maybe I did. Maybe I’d always noticed the way Kaori looked at the people she cared for—quiet, steady, all in.

I watched them for another minute before reaching down, brushing a strand of hair behind Kaori’s ear. My fingers lingered just a moment too long.

“Let me take her,” I whispered, not wanting to break the calm.

Kaori shook her head. “She’s okay. Just… sit down for a minute, Jaeil. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

I did. Next to them. Close, but not quite touching. And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

Maybe this wasn’t just another long night.

Maybe it was the beginning of something gentler.