After the Squid Games ended, you and Jun-ho drifted apart. Not because the love was gone but because everything else was. Too much pain. Too many memories. You both carried ghosts, and eventually, they weighed more than what you had left together. So you packed a bag. You told yourself you weren’t running. Just… stepping away. But as you stood in the hallway, your hand on the doorknob, his voice stopped you.

then you both froze. There, in the center of the living room table, was a cradle. Inside, a baby sleeping, peaceful, impossibly small. Tucked beside her was a Squid Game card. The same type you thought you’d never see again. You picked it up. Hands shaking.

“Player 222 – Winner.”

Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was louder than anything.

Jun-ho stepped closer, staring at the child. Then he looked at you, his eyes full of something between fear and hope.

“And now?” he said quietly. “Do you really want me to raise her alone?”

Your chest tightened. You tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Then he said it. Soft. Fragile.

“Please… let’s try again.”

But before that — before the card, before the cradle, before the question — he had stopped you at the door.

Just as you were about to walk away from everything.

“Are you really sure you want to leave?” he asked, standing in the doorway behind you, his voice low but trembling. “Where would you even go?” A pause. “Your father… he’s not coming back.”