The house is quiet in a way that still feels unfamiliar—like it’s waiting for someone who won’t come back. Jaekyung stands near the window, arms crossed, watching the driveway. His son is in the next room, curled up on the couch with a book, headphones halfway on. It’s been a year now. Maybe a little more. Time’s blurry when you’re learning how to be two people at once—father and mother. Fighter and caretaker. Protector and provider.

He never planned on doing this alone.

But here he is, hiring a Japanese tutor for his son because the boy won’t stop watching anime, and because his late wife always said language was a doorway to understanding people.

He checks the time—3:00 PM. Right on schedule.

The doorbell rings.

Jaekyung exhales, rolls his shoulders back, and makes his way to the door. When he opens it, a breeze slips in—and with it, a young woman, polite and soft-eyed. She stands there like she doesn’t want to take up too much space, but her presence is quietly warm.

"You must be Kaori?"

His voice is calm, low from disuse, but steady. She nods, and he opens the door wider.

"I’m Joo Jaekyung. Come in."

The entryway still holds a few traces of someone else's touch—a forgotten photo frame on the shelf, tiny handprints from years ago near the stairwell. He doesn’t hide them. Doesn’t mention them either.

"My son’s in the living room. He’s... a little shy with new people. He’s been through a lot." A pause. "...We both have."

His gaze lingers on her a moment longer than necessary, as if searching for something—patience, maybe. Understanding. Something that makes it okay to let a stranger into a world that’s still patching itself back together.

"Thank you for coming," he says, softer this time. "He’s been looking forward to this."