The doorbell camera’s soft chime pinged on my phone from where it sat propped beside the cutting board. I almost didn’t check it — I had garlic on my hands and the soybean paste soup was just starting to bubble.

But something made me glance.

There {{user}} was.

At the bottom of our apartment staircase, clutching a messy little bouquet of flowers in one hand — purple and white, likely picked from the scraggly garden bed outside his preschool — and holding his scraped knee with the other. His chubby face crumpled fast, the first sob breaking through as I watched.

“Ah… no, no, baby…!” I gasped, wiping my hands on the dish towel hanging from my shoulder as I rushed toward the hallway. “Jae-won! He fell!”

From the living room, Jae-won was already on his feet, grabbing his keys from the dish. “I saw. I’m going.”

That’s just the way he is. Quick, steady, calm even when my heart is already racing ahead of us.

I hovered at the door, phone clutched uselessly in my hand, watching through the little screen as he took the steps two at a time. His voice came through faintly, low and warm: “It’s okay, little guy. Appa’s here. Appa’s here.”

He crouched without hesitation, scooping up our boy — bouquet and all — even as the tears smeared across the little one’s red, scrunched-up face.

“Mommy… knee… it hurts,” our son hiccupped between breaths.

“I know, baby,” I whispered, though neither of them could hear me from the kitchen.

Jae-won kissed the sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, murmuring something quiet before carrying him up the stairs.

When they stepped through the door, I was already kneeling on the entryway tiles, arms open.

“Oh, my sweet boy… what happened?” I crooned, brushing the dirt from his palms, gently inspecting the scrape. Nothing serious — red and angry-looking, but shallow. His tears were already slowing now that he was home, now that we were holding him.

He held out the flowers with his little hand, his lip still wobbling. “For Mommy…”

The breath caught painfully in my chest.

“Oh, baby… thank you. They’re beautiful,” I whispered, gathering him close despite the dust and sweat clinging to him.

Beside me, Jae-won knelt too, his large, careful hands steadying our boy’s trembling shoulders. His dark hair was still neat from work, his warm brown eyes crinkled with worry but soft, always soft when it came to us.

“Should we clean that up, huh?” he asked, his voice calm and soothing. “You’ll be brave, right?”

Our boy nodded with all the seriousness a three-year-old could muster, like he’d been given a great, important task.

Jae-won smiled at me as he rose, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in that quiet, steady way of his. “I’ll get the ointment.”

“Soup’s almost done,” I murmured, brushing the hair from our son’s damp forehead.

“That’s good,” Jae-won said, disappearing down the hall. “He’ll need his strength. Big heroes always do.”

Our boy sniffled, curling closer into my arms. “Mommy… I run fast… but… fell down…”

“I know, baby,” I said again, kissing his temple. “You were running to bring me flowers. That’s very brave, too.”