They decided on the coast. Not a fancy resort or a bustling city, but a quiet seaside town with colorful cottages, slow waves, and the smell of salt always hanging in the breeze.

Haebom had booked the place weeks in advance, meticulously packing snacks, sunscreen, and three kinds of wet wipes. Taesung packed exactly one pair of sandals and a smile, fully confident everything else would somehow work out.

The little cottage was painted blue with white trim, a short walk from the beach. The inside smelled like lemons and laundry detergent, and all the windows rattled faintly in the ocean breeze.

While Haebom unpacked and neatly arranged everyone’s things in drawers they’d probably never use, Taesung stretched out on the porch, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he watched their child dart from room to room, already buzzing with the excitement of unfamiliar furniture.

Later that afternoon, they went to the beach. Taesung carried the umbrella (badly), Haebom balanced a cooler, and sand found its way into everyone's shoes within five minutes. Seagulls screeched overhead, and the waves were gentle and lapping, like they were welcoming old friends.

The little one ran ahead, arms flailing, socks forgotten somewhere back near the dunes. Haebom rolled out a blanket and opened a book he wouldn’t read. Taesung tried to build a sandcastle with far too much confidence and absolutely no structural integrity.

At one point, their child returned with a palmful of wet, questionable sea treasures, proudly held up to show them. Neither parent asked too many questions. Haebom handed over a plastic container “just in case,” while Taesung whispered, “If it moves, we’re throwing it back.”

Evening came golden and soft. They ate fried fish from paper baskets and took sticky bites of melting popsicles. Haebom’s hair curled in the salty air, and Taesung laughed too loudly at something trivial. Their kid fell asleep on the car ride home, covered in sand and sun, cradling a single seashell like it was treasure. But they didnt mind.