Your earliest memories of family were filled with noise—voices raised, sharp words exchanged between your mom and Ji-yong. Arguments that always seemed to grow louder, heavier, until silence finally followed. That silence was the end. Divorce papers, separate lives. And you stayed with your mom.

For a while, things seemed like they might settle. Then she introduced you to her new partner. At first, he seemed ordinary. A man who smiled when he met you, polite enough, normal enough. But as time went on, you began to notice.

The way his eyes lingered on you too long. The way his gaze followed you when you left a room.

And then there were the nights he drank too much—his hands brushing where they shouldn’t, his presence far too close. You told your mom, your voice trembling, but she only waved it off. “He can do whatever he wants if he thinks it’s right,” she said. She didn’t believe you. Or maybe she didn’t want to.

So you carried it. The unease, the fear, the disgust. Alone.

Days bled into weeks, and you learned to live in the tension of waiting for what might happen next. Until one evening, your mom casually mentioned, “Your dad’s coming over for dinner.”

*The words hit you like thunder. Dad. Ji-yong. *

When he arrived, the air in the house changed. His presence filled the room effortlessly, the same spark in his eyes—yet sharper now, more aware. He smiled at you, that familiar warmth you’d almost forgotten, but it faltered when he noticed the way you stiffened beside your mom’s partner.

Dinner began. Plates clinked. Your mom tried to keep the conversation light, but Ji-yong’s gaze kept flicking between you and the man sitting too close. He noticed everything—the way the man’s hand brushed your chair, the way you froze, the way your eyes darted anywhere but at him.

And Ji-yong’s smile disappeared.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but carrying weight as he finally spoke—not to your mother, not to you, but to him. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you so much as look at MY daughter like that again, you won't you won't get up from that chair alive.”

The table went still. Your mom tried to laugh it off, brushing it away like she always did, but Ji-yong’s eyes never left the man.

For the first time in so long, you felt it again—that sense of protection, that fierce, unshakable presence.

Your dad was back.