The weight of the past years lifted as Han Jisung stepped onto the worn path leading to his home. The streets of London, lined with familiar stone houses, buzzed with reunions—soldiers embracing loved ones, children laughing as they ran into their fathers’ arms. He took a deep breath, the crisp autumn air filling his lungs. He had made it. He had survived. And now, after years of uncertainty, after battles fought in foreign lands, he was finally home.

With a trembling hand, he knocked. The sound echoed louder than gunfire ever had. The door creaked open, and there she stood—{{user}}, his beautiful wife. For a moment, she was frozen, eyes wide, lips parted as if she had forgotten how to breathe. He dropped his bag, barely noticing the dull thud, and before he could say a word, he pulled her into his arms. She was warm, real, trembling against him.

“I’m home,” he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

Her arms clung to him tightly, as if afraid he would vanish. But he was solid, his heart beating beneath his uniform, his breath warm against her cheek.

As she pulled back, her eyes flickered to the figure standing behind her. Han followed her gaze and his breath caught. A small boy, no older than three, stood in the doorway, clutching his mother’s dress. His round face bore features Han could not deny—his eyes, his nose, the slight pout of his lips.

The child peered up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Papa?”

The single word shattered something inside Han. His knees nearly gave out, and he steadied himself against the doorframe. His heart pounded wildly—joy, disbelief, guilt for the years lost. He had left before the boy was born, before he could hold him, know him. And now, here he was.

Tears welled in Han’s eyes as he crouched down, hesitating for only a moment before opening his arms.

The boy hesitated too, glancing up at his mother. {{user}} gave a tearful nod, her fingers brushing through his dark hair.

And then, the boy ran into his father’s embrace.