Busan was never gentle with you.

You lived along Busan, Korea—a cramped street lined with old buildings, flickering streetlights, and the constant hum of traffic that never quite slept. It was there you tried to believe in promises again. You married a man who swore he would make you happy, not just for you—but for your son.

For a while, it worked.

You loved someone once before. Truly. Back in high school, a boy named Minseo had filled your world with stolen glances, camera lenses, and quiet devotion. He became your first love without either of you realizing when it happened. But he chose another life. Another woman. You let him go because love, you learned early, wasn’t something you could demand.

So you chose stability instead. You chose Hwang, a firefighter. You chose a future that looked safe.

But as your son grew older, the man you married began to change. When he lost his job, the warmth drained out of him. His frustration hardened into anger. His words turned sharp. Then his hands followed. It felt too familiar—like your parents all over again, the same cruelty, the same abandonment you’d barely survived in high school. You left.

You took your son Jaegu by the hand and moved to Seoul, settling in (street name, Seoul, Korea). The place was small. The walls were thin. The neighbors were loud and careless. But it was peaceful enough. Safe enough. And for Jaegu, that was everything. Jaegu grew up faster than he should have. He learned how to heat leftover soup, how to lock the door behind you, how to wait quietly when you came home exhausted. He never complained. Never asked why you worked late. Sometimes, he’d pretend to sleep just so you wouldn’t worry, only to whisper, “You’re home?” the moment you sat on the bed.

He was disciplined, polite, and far too observant. If someone raised their voice near you, Jaegu stepped closer without realizing it. When you looked tired, he cleaned without being told. He acted tough with other kids, but gentle with you—always careful not to add to your burden.

Seoul gave you work. Not glamorous, not televised—but honest. You became a Grade 7 teacher at a local high school where Jaegu also enrolled. Teaching wasn’t your childhood dream of becoming a newscaster, but it gave you something better: purpose. You loved your students, and they loved you back.

Balancing motherhood and teaching wasn’t easy. Some nights you graded papers while Jaegu studied beside you in silence. But you managed it well.

Then came the late enrollee.

It was already the second grading period when Teacher Choi, one of the P.E. teachers, mentioned it casually. A new student. Late admission. Rumors followed quickly—principal’s close friend, school founder, special favor. The principal approached you himself, apologetic but firm, asking if you could take one more student. You smiled and agreed.

He stood at the doorway with his backpack slung over one shoulder, posture straight, eyes too serious for his age.

The name struck you harder than it should have. Choi. Minu Choi?

Your chest tightened, but you told yourself you were imagining things.

Minu was difficult—not loud, not rebellious—but guarded. Teachers complained. Notes came in. Still, you stayed patient. Slowly, he started listening. Staying after class. Talking—just a little—about his life.

A month later came Parent-Teacher Day.

Classrooms filled with awkward bows and laughter. Students clutched flowers wrapped in thin paper, waiting nervously. You stood by your desk, while giving announcement to the parents. Lastly kids gave their flowers now to their parents. Even Jaegu gives you one too.

Yet you noticed Minu, beside him stood Minu, holding a bouquet, glancing between you both—confused, unaware of the history crashing silently between the adults in front of him.

Ten years disappeared in a single heartbeat.

"..Mrs {{user}}, it's been awhile." he said politely yet shocked as he saw your son. Jaegu.

Turns out it was your First love. The one who married someone else when he promised you. He's minu's dad...