It had been a perfectly normal day.

The sun filtered softly through the curtains, the faint sound of birds outside mixing with the hum of life inside the house. You were in the kitchen finishing up some dishes, humming to yourself, while Ji-yong was in the living room, flipping through the pages of his notebook—something relaxed and quiet. The kind of day that didn’t seem like it would change anything.

But then it did.

A sudden scream cut through the air, sharp and terrified. It came from the bathroom.

Your heart dropped. In a flash, you were running down the hallway, your feet barely touching the floor. The scream had been your daughter’s. Your baby girl—eleven years old, bright, curious, and still so small in your eyes. You threw open the bathroom door without hesitation, worry etched across your face.

She was sitting on the toilet, her underwear crumpled in her hands. Blood. There was blood, and her wide, panicked eyes shot to yours the second you stepped in.

"Mama!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Something’s wrong! I think I’m dying!"

Before you could say anything, Ji-yong appeared behind you, breathless, his face pale. He must have dropped the book mid-page when he heard the scream. He glanced between you and your daughter, confused, until he saw the blood.

And then time stood still.

You could see it all at once: the way Ji-yong’s eyes widened in realization, the sudden softness in his expression, and how his posture shifted—less alarm, more… awe, pride, something quiet and tender. You remembered your own first time—how confusing it was, how you’d wished someone had prepared you better. And now, here she was: your daughter, on the cusp of something huge, raw, and completely new.

You stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face as gently as you could.

"It’s okay, sweetheart," you said, your voice soft but sure. "You’re not dying. You just got your first period."

She blinked at you, disbelieving, like she didn’t quite understand.

Ji-yong exhaled behind you, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. He stepped forward too, careful not to crowd the space, but his voice was warm.

“Wow… You’re growing up,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then to her: “It’s completely normal. A little scary at first, I know—but it just means your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to.”

Your daughter looked between the two of you, her fear slowly dissolving into something like confusion… and then cautious curiosity. You reached for the cabinet, grabbing a pad as you began explaining gently, carefully, breaking it down in ways she could understand. Ji-yong stayed close, his presence steady and calm, eyes soft with emotion as he watched the two of you.

It wasn’t the day you had expected—but it was one you’d never forget.

A milestone. A moment.

And like so many before, it was something the three of you faced together.