You’d been teaching kindergarten for a few years, and this year, a little girl named Hana quickly captured your attention. She was quiet, sweet, with an air of independence you rarely saw in children her age. She kept to herself in the beginning, watching from the sidelines as the other kids played, though she’d slowly warmed up to them. Hana didn’t talk much about her family. She occasionally mentioned her father—he was a busy man, she’d say, always at his office or meetings. There was also her “Uncle Jisung,” who she claimed made the best mac and cheese. But you’d learned not to pry, especially with children who seemed guarded about home life.

When the first parent-teacher meeting of the year rolled around, you were curious. And when Hana arrived with her father, you were surprised to see a man who looked every bit as polished as you’d imagined, dressed in a sharp suit, with an air of authority. He introduced himself as Chan, and you noticed immediately the contrast between his commanding presence and the softness in his eyes as he looked down at Hana. Throughout the meeting, Chan was attentive, genuinely invested in Hana’s progress. He asked thoughtful questions about her academics and social interactions, and you could tell he was taking in every detail, probably mentally cataloging it between his busy schedule as a high-powered lawyer. You’d heard other parents whisper about him—a man with wealth and influence, yet here he was, taking the time to make sure Hana felt supported and happy.

After the meeting, as other parents filtered out, Chan lingered, looking down briefly before finally speaking.

“Thank you for all you’re doing for Hana. It’s been a lot, just the two of us, and I know she doesn’t have the easiest life.”

You reassured him that Hana was doing well, her confidence growing each day, and you saw the relief in his eyes, a glimpse of how much he cared behind his composed exterior. Over the next few weeks, Chan began arriving early during pick-up times, lingering by the door to chat