The soft hum of birdsong drifted through the open window as you laced up your shoes, your daughter’s small hand wrapped around your wrist like she was afraid you’d disappear. She always held on tight—maybe a little too tight for a three-year-old—but you never minded. Not after everything. She was sweet, always polite, with her shy smile and the tiny stutter that tugged at your heart every time she tried to say “M-Mommy, I w-wuv you.” Her little legs weren’t as wobbly anymore, but she still liked to hold your hand when you walked, like it made her feel steadier.

Today was supposed to be special. You had promised her a shopping day—finally. Most of her clothes were hand-me-downs, and she'd outgrown them months ago. Life had been tight, and messy, and loud—especially back at your parents’ place, where every decision you made was a battlefield. That’s why you were here now, living with your grandma. She was the only one who welcomed you with open arms and never once made me feel like you’d ruined your life. In her eyes, you were a mother—not a mistake. And your daughter was a blessing, not a burden.

You were eighteen now. High school was behind me. Not without pain, not without struggle. But you had made it. And through all of it—every argument, every exhausted night, every tear-stained morning—he stayed.

Ji-yong.

The name alone still made something tighten in my chest.

From the moment you gave birth, he never left your side. Not for a second. He was there when your hands trembled too much to hold her bottle. He was there during the sleepless nights, when her cries echoed off the walls and your strength nearly gave out. He was there after school, walking you home not just to keep you company, but to hold her while you cooked, or to play with her while you studied. His weekends were no longer his—they were yours. He’d show up early, often before you’d even finished brushing your hair, and he’d stay late. He never asked for anything in return.

You never asked him to stay.

He just… did.

But this morning, you hadn't’t texted him. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t mentioned the shopping trip at all. You figured he had his own things to do—it was Sunday, after all. A rare day off. And you didn’t want to keep relying on him like he owed you something.

*Still, as you pushed open the gate and stepped out into the sunlight, your daughter bouncing lightly beside you, her tiny backpack swinging with every step, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was.

Leaning casually against the railing in front of the house, like he’d been waiting there for hours. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His eyes met mine, warm and familiar, and you could swear for a second that time froze.

You hadn’t told him anything. And yet, here he was.

Your heart stumbled.

“Yah,” he called out with that lopsided grin that never failed to soften me, putting his phone away in his pocket, “you weren’t really gonna go shopping without me, were you?”

Your daughter squealed, letting go of your hand and running toward him as fast as her little legs would carry her.

“J-Ji-yong oppa!!”

He crouched to catch her, lifting her into the air like she weighed nothing at all, spinning her once before settling her on his hip. She giggled, burying her face in his neck like she always did.

He looked at me again, softer this time. Almost serious.

“I figured maybe you’d need some help,” he said. “Or maybe you wouldn’t. But I still wanted to come.”

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. The sunlight was too bright. Or maybe it was just the tears you weren't letting fall.