Hide(,) My Baby pt.3
✨ ex-idol!jaehyun x she/her
genre: angst, romance warning(s): really angst i’m not even kidding
previous chapters: pt.1 pt.2
🪶 preview. Zero miles away from the loves of his life. But it seems like she needs him to be miles away for the time being.
Jaehyun arrived in Switzerland on a fog-soaked morning.
The air was thinner and colder here, and the quiteness doesn’t help to tone it down; it was almost sharp. Everything felt slower, softer, untouched by the noise he had lived in for years. The town was small, exactly as Eunwoo had described. A few cafés, a tiny bookstore by the corner, a row of pastel houses overlooking the lake. A church bell that rang every hour. Children’s laughter echoes from the small school courtyard at noon.
It was almost too peaceful.
He checked into a small guesthouse near the lake, under a different name. The owner was kind, a woman in her sixties who didn’t ask questions when he said he was a writer. She gave him the key, wished him a good stay, and told him breakfast was at seven.
That night, he didn’t sleep much. How could he when he’s literally, most probably, in the same town as she is after almost 4 years crossing countries over countries without a single clue. That night, he barely slept. How could he?
He was here, finally and impossibly, in the same town she might be breathing in after almost four years of chasing shadows across continents with nothing but hope holding him together.
Every time he closed his eyes, the thought hit him again:
She could be just down the street. He could find her.
The possibility kept him wide awake.
He lay on the stiff guesthouse mattress, staring at the wooden ceiling beams, listening to the distant hum of the lake wind and the occasional passing car. His heart wouldn’t slow down. For the first time in years, he was close enough that the ache in his chest sharpened into fear and hope tangled together.
What if she wasn’t the same? What if he wasn’t?
The questions chased him until dawn. By the time pale morning light leaked through the curtains, he’d barely managed an hour of sleep.
The next morning, he still got up from bed despite the lack of sleep, and he went to the café Eunwoo had mentioned. The same one with the big window and the smell of roasted beans that lingered in the air. He sat by the window, ordered a black coffee, and waited.
The first day passed without anything. So did the second. And the third.
He waited every morning, sometimes until the café closed. He’d walk around the neighborhood, memorize the streets, learn the names of the shopkeepers, and nod politely at the locals.
Some days, he’d stroll by the school Eunwoo mentioned, the small building tucked at the corner across from the café, right at the intersection. He’d sit on the bench across the street, pretending to be just another stranger passing the time.
From there, he watched the everyday life of parents coming and going, calling out names, laughing, bending down to zip jackets or tie shoelaces. Little hands reaching up, bigger hands reaching down. A hundred tiny reunions repeating themselves every afternoon.
He watched quietly, letting the scene pass through him like a memory of something he’d never had.
But she never appeared.
Not once did he see the face he’d memorized. Not once did he hear her laugh carried on the wind. Not once did a child’s voice sound like it could belong to them.
On the seventh day, he started doubting himself. Maybe she’d moved again. Maybe Eunwoo had only seen someone who looked like her. But still, he stayed.
Every morning, he walked the same route. Every afternoon, he found himself in the same café. Every evening, he sat by the same bench, watching the same doors open and close.
The locals began to recognize him. The café owner started greeting him with a smile, already knowing his order. “Americano?” she’d ask. He’d nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
Sometimes she’d ask if he was waiting for someone.
He’d just smile and say, “Yes.”
The tenth day came with rain. He sat under the awning outside the café, watching the water bead along the pavement, watching people hurry home under umbrellas. He thought of her— how she used to hate the rain, how she’d always cling to his arm and complain about wet shoes, how he’d tease her for it just to hear her laugh.
He missed that sound more than anything in the world. He closed his eyes, let the sound of the rain fill the silence. He whispered to himself, “If you’re still here, please… just one sign.” But the rain only fell harder.
And then came the fourteenth day.
The sky was clear, pale blue— the kind of day that made the town look like a painting. Jaehyun sat on the same bench across the school, a coffee in hand, his breath turning faintly white in the crisp morning air.
Children were starting to gather in front of the school gate, saying goodbye to their friends and running up to their parents right away. Small backpacks bouncing, little boots splashing the last bits of melted frost.
Every school day, he watched them, and every time, despite himself, he smiled at the sight. His mind wandered to the thought he tried not to linger on: his child.
Would they run up to him like that? Would they laugh that freely when they saw him?
Would they throw their arms around his neck and shout, “Daddy!” as if the whole world existed only in that one word?
He imagined it sometimes without meaning to— standing there among the other parents, waiting, heart pounding, until a small figure spotted him and broke into a run. He imagined scooping them up, spinning them once, feeling small hands clutching his coat, a kiss on his cheek.
How sweet it would be. How simple, how ordinary, how impossible.
A sting burned behind his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, swallowing the tightness in his throat. So he pushed himself off the bench, ready to leave before the tears could betray him, but just as he stood, he froze.
She stepped out from between a line of parents, walking slowly toward the gate with a little boy beside her.
For a moment, he genuinely thought his heart had stopped beating.
She looked the same. A little older, perhaps. A little calmer. Her hair was longer and flowed just right, the same way it swayed years ago, her movements gentler, her face softer in this cold winter light. She was talking to the boy, her voice low, affectionate.
The child laughed, loud and bright, and his laugh rang a sound so achingly familiar it punched the breath out of his lungs. He has his laugh.
There she is. There you are.
He couldn’t move or breathe properly. After years of searching, of waiting, of dreaming, they were right there, just across the street.
He blinked once, twice, almost afraid they would disappear if he moved. But they didn’t.
Her coat fluttered gently in the breeze. She crouched down, fixing the boy’s scarf, brushing her thumb over his cheek in a way that was so tender, so familiar, it almost brought Jaehyun to his knees.
It was a small, ordinary moment. But to Jaehyun, it was everything. After all this time, after all those cities, all those empty mornings… He’d found them.
His thoughts started to spiral.
What was he supposed to do now? Walk up to her? Call for her name? Would she even want to see him?
His mind flooded with possibilities, each one clashing violently against the next.
She looks well. Does she hate me? Does she think I hate her? What if she’s married now? No… she isn’t wearing a ring.
What if she moved on? What if she’s happy without me? Would it be selfish to appear now, after all this time?
His gaze shifted to the boy, holding her hand, smiling as he pointed at a bird perched on the gate. Jaehyun’s heart clenched so tightly he thought he might stop breathing.
He had his eyes. His small, round cheeks. The same way his brows furrowed when he laughed too hard. The same set of dimples decorating his cheek.
That’s my son.
The thought hit him like a punch to the chest. It didn’t feel like pride. It didn’t even feel like joy. It felt like disbelief, like something precious and painful all at once.
How many birthdays had he missed? How many nights had she stayed awake alone, comforting the baby he never held? How many first words, first steps, first laughs had he never seen?
An invisible grief unfurled inside him. He’d spent years looking for them, and now that they were right there, so close he could reach them but he couldn’t move a single step forward.
She stood up, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, looking down at the boy. He said something that made her laugh. That bright and easy sound he hadn’t heard in years nearly broke him.
He bit his lip hard, his vision blurring as his fingers trembled in his pocket. All this time, he thought he had prepared himself for this moment, but nothing, not even the years of searching, had prepared him for how alive she still looked.
Alive without him.
She didn’t look lost or broken like he had imagined.
She looked whole. Peaceful. Grounded. Like she’d built herself back up from everything they had destroyed. And Jaehyun didn’t know whether to be proud or devastated.
For a moment, he imagined walking up to her, calling her name, seeing her face lift in shock, maybe even tears, maybe forgiveness. He imagined crouching down to the boy’s level, introducing himself— Hi, I’m your dad.
He imagined all of it. Her voice, the boy’s laughter, the weight of what-ifs collapsing into something real.
But another image came right after; darker, quieter.
Her expression turned to fear. Her eyes hardened. Her pulling the boy behind her, saying, Don’t come near us.
The thought made his stomach drop. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.
He couldn’t just shatter the peace she had built. Not when she looked so steady, not when their child looked so happy. So he stayed where he was across the street, in the shadow of the bench, watching silently as they walked away.
When they turned the corner and disappeared, Jaehyun finally exhaled— the kind of breath that trembled out of him like a confession. His coffee had gone cold beside him, untouched.
He sat there for a long time after that, staring at the empty gate, his mind replaying the scene over and over until it became unbearable. He wanted to just walk up to her. Call her name, to see her turn and look at him the way she used to. But he didn’t.
14 days of waiting. And now, he couldn’t even bring himself to say her name.
Every time she glanced in his general direction, his body went rigid, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d duck his head, shift on the bench, pretend to be someone else— a stranger waiting for no one. Because what if she saw him? What if the first thing she did was run?
He couldn’t risk that. So, he waited.
Day after day, he came back. The same bench. The same café across the street. The same cup of lukewarm coffee that went untouched most days. Sometimes he came in the early hours, watching from a distance as she led their— his son toward the small preschool by the corner. Sometimes he stayed through the afternoon, just to see her again when she came to pick the boy up.
He learned her rhythm.
How she always held the child’s hand a little tighter when they crossed the street. How she always crouched down to kiss his cheek before he went inside the school, or after he ran up to her after school. How she always smiled at him like he was her entire world.
And Jaehyun just watched quietly, like a man sitting in a movie theater watching his favorite film. Every day, the scenes played out the same way. Her walks the boy to school, kissing the top of his head before letting him go. Then later, her waiting by the gate, her smile lighting up when she saw him run back into her arms.
He never got tired of it.
The sight of them hurt and healed him at the same time.
Twenty-nine days of waiting. Twenty-nine mornings and evenings on that same bench, just watching their routine like a film he couldn’t stop replaying.
But the more he watched them, the harder it got. He wanted to be part of that picture so, so badly. Not just the man watching from the corner seat, but the one standing beside her in that frame. The husband who carried the groceries, the one she turned to when she laughed, the father who held their son’s hand on the walk home.
He wanted to fill the missing piece of their small world, and to actually do that, he couldn’t just sit there anymore.
He wouldn’t know how she would react when she saw him, whether she’d cry, run, or turn away. But none of it mattered. What mattered was that he needed to try.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips.
Tomorrow, he would walk up to her. Gently, just be himself, the man who still loved her, who still carried her in every breath he took.
He would tell her that he still loved her. That he’d never stopped. And if she needed him to beg, he would. If she needed time, he’d wait. If she asked him to prove it, he’d spend the rest of his life doing so.
The next morning, Jaehyun fetched himself a coffee from the same café he’d been visiting for the past twenty-nine days. The barista smiled when she saw him, already pouring his usual order before he even said a word.
Then he returned to the same bench, the one he’d sat on yesterday, across from the small school. It had become his place. He watches as parents begin to dropped their children off by the gates, greeting teachers and waving goodbye to their children. He was used to the sight by now. He watched it every morning like a ritual.
But then he saw her standing near the entrance of the school, her back turned slightly, hair falling loose around her shoulders. She was holding a little boy’s hand, then crouching down to check his fit.
He swallowed hard and took a small, shaky step forward. Then another. Each step felt heavier, slower, like wading through water. His heart was hammering against his ribs so hard it almost hurt.
And when he reached the opposite curb close enough to call her name, his throat went dry. His fingers tightened around the paper cup until it crumpled.
His voice came out low at first, almost fragile.
She didn’t react. She was focused on the child, crouched down, tying his shoelaces. He tried again, louder this time, and his voice breaking halfway through. That made her freeze.
Her head lifted slowly, her body stiffening before she turned toward the sound. Their eyes met for the first time in four years. It felt like the world stopped moving.
She blinked once, twice, disbelief flickering across her face, her lips parting soundlessly.
“Jae… how did you…” she breathed, her voice trembling, words barely forming. In that split second after his name left her lips, something inside her cracked wide open.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel.
Agony? Relief? Terror? Grief? Every emotion slammed into her at once, a violent collision that made her could barely breathe.
For four long years, she had lived with the belief, almost certainty— that she had outrun fate. That she had gone far enough, erased enough of herself, buried enough of her past that he would never find the path back to her.
She thought she was safe. She thought she had done everything — protected him, protected their child, protected herself from the risk of losing him all over again.
But here he was, standing in front of her like God had returned something she had begged Him to take away because she was too weak to bear it.
Her knees wobbled enough that she felt her bones loosen under her weight, although not visibly. She wanted to cry right there on the sidewalk, to crumble into herself and sob until the world made sense again. But her body refused to move. Every muscle locked, every nerve short-circuited. It was like her brain couldn’t process the image in front of her.
She could only stare.
He looked exactly like the Jaehyun she remembered — and yet not the same at all. Jaehyun is still heartbreakingly handsome, wearing that same warmth in his eyes when he looks at her, but he's definitely thinner, like he’s unattended. A little rough around the edges, as if grief had lived under his skin too long.
His hair was longer and jaw sharper, while the shoulders that she loved to lean on are now slumped from the weight she couldn’t see.
But his smile— that small, trembling smile he gave her hit her like a punch. It’s the same smile he had always reserved for her alone. The smile he gave when he was relieved, when he was scared, when he didn’t know how else to express how much he loved her.
God, she wanted to run to him.
To bury herself in his arms, to feel his warmth again, to say “I missed you” until the words lost meaning. To finally let go of the years she had spent pretending she didn’t need him.
But the fear rose faster.
Why is he here? How did he find me? Is he angry? Hurt? Looking for answers I can’t give?
Every horrible possibility flashed through her mind in the span of a heartbeat, and so she stayed still, motionless, unreadable, torn between wanting to reach for him and wanting to hide behind the nearest wall.
Her eyes drank him in with a desperation she didn’t dare show. Her lips trembled but wouldn’t form words, and her fingers curled against her palm where he couldn’t see. She could only stare at him, frozen between hope and terror.
Jaehyun felt it too, all of it. The shock, the longing, the fear. He stepped forward, just barely, his breath shaking, his eyes glassy with everything he had wanted to say for years. He wanted to run to her, to close the space between them, to touch her just to prove she was real, but before he could opened his mouth to say something, a small voice cut through the stillness.
“Mommy…” The boy tugged gently at her sleeve, confused by the silence stretching between the two adults. He looked between them; his mother frozen like a statue, and the man who looked at her like she was the sunrise. Then, curious and yet unafraid, the boy’s gaze lifted to Jaehyun.
Jaehyun’s eyes darted to the boy, and everything inside him fell apart. The soft, round cheeks, the dark brown eyes, the shape of his nose, a small dimple forming when he smiled, everything mirrored him.
“Hi…!” the boy chirped, his voice bright and innocent.
She stiffened the moment her son spoke, her hand instinctively tightening around his small fingers, not yanking him back, not hiding him, just holding him a little closer, as if her body wanted to shield him before her mind had even caught up.
He felt his breath hitch. His chest tightened painfully, “Is he… mine?”
She had imagined this moment a hundred times; in nightmares, in lonely nights, in the spaces where fear lived. But the real thing was so much worse. So much heavier. So much more human. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Her eyes burned, her vision blurring, her whole body trembling from seeing the man she loved, standing in front of her, staring at their child with a look so raw it broke every carefully built wall inside her.
She knew lying was impossible. She knew running was impossible. She knew everything she’d tried to protect— his career, his peace, their separation; was collapsing right there, at the school entrance.
So she simply looked at him. And the silence itself was an answer.
Jaehyun’s breath hitched, then a stream of tears fell before he could stop it. Of course, he’s mine.
Panic flickered in her eyes when she saw him crying, so she adjusted the boy’s backpack hurriedly, her voice rising just slightly as she said, “Jae, I have to go to a parent meeting right now.”
“How long will it take?” he asked quickly, desperate, trying not to let the tremor in his voice show. “I’ll wait. Please, let’s talk.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll wait at the café right up front,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Let’s talk after you’re done, please.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. Then, quietly, “…Okay, let’s talk.” She turned to her son, holding out her hand. “Let’s go.”
The boy waved his hand to him, his voice clear and bright. “Goodbye!”
Jaehyun smiled faintly despite the ache in his throat. “Bye, baby,” he said softly, his voice cracking at the edges.
He didn’t even remember how he got to the café after that. The whole world had blurred for him. The walk, the sound of traffic, and even the taste of the coffee he ordered while waiting. All he could think about was her voice and the little boy’s eyes, his reflection staring back at him from another face.
He sat by the window, hands clasped tightly, heart beating in uneven rhythms. The minutes dragged like hours until the bell over the door chimed softly.
She was there.
She approached quietly, almost warily, and sat down across from him. Her hair framed her face the same way it used to. Her voice, when she spoke, was cautious, like testing fragile ground.
“How have you been?” she asked.
He swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I’ve been… surviving. What about you?”
She shrugged faintly, eyes flicking down to her cup. “Well, I’ve been alright… What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been searching for you for years,” Jaehyun said, his voice trembling. “I never imagined I’d actually find you.”
“I told you not to look for me,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About you raising him alone.”
Her eyes shimmered slightly. “I’m sorry…”
“Why are you sorry?” His tone softened. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“I told you, it was my choice,” she murmured.
He let out a shaky breath. “Why did you decide to live here? How have you been living?”
“I just wanted to go somewhere far,” she said softly. “The farthest I could. I don’t do anything now.. I just live as Seonwoo’s mom.”
“What about work?”
“I stopped. I don’t want to leave him alone; he only has me. I have my parents’ money, we can live comfortably even if I don’t work, the money is enough for just the two of us. So don’t worry.”
He didn’t miss the tone she used, calm, gentle, factual. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. It was the tone of someone explaining her life like a boundary.
Like she was telling him just enough,
but not inviting him in.
It stung, but he swallowed it quietly. He understood what it meant; she didn’t want him to meddle.
Didn’t want him to think she needed help.
Didn’t want him thinking he had room in the life she had built alone.
“That’s… good,” Jaehyun said, though his voice cracked on the last word.
“The baby’s beautiful…” he said after a pause, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Can I see him again, just for a moment?”
She paused, her lips pressing together before she answered.
“I… I could show you pictures,” she said politely.
And Jaehyun heard the meaning instantly. The rejection wasn’t harsh, but it was careful, although it still felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed until it hurt to breathe.
He nodded once, eyes dropping. He got it, really did.
She wasn’t being cruel to him; she was just being cautious and protective because she’s a mother.
Their son’s mother.
He’d spent nights imagining what it might be like to meet the baby, hearing him speak, holding him. But now that he was here, face-to-face with the one person who had kept his child alive and happy, he knew he couldn’t push and just force his way into their peace.
“Okay…” Jaehyun whispered, forcing himself to accept it. “That’s okay.”
She exhaled shakily, her fingers tightening around the edge of her cup. She knew what he wanted, and part of her wanted to give it to him, to see his smile when he met their son, to watch them side by side. But she couldn’t.
Her mind spun with fears she couldn’t voice.
What if this were temporary? What if he only came to see, confirm, then leave? What if he changed his mind? What if he regretted finding them? What if Seonwoo’s peaceful life were shattered? What if Jaehyun couldn’t stay? What if his presence caused more chaos than calm?
She didn’t know what he wanted, nor what he intended.
She didn’t even know if he had come here out of love, grief, guilt… or all three tangled into something dangerous.
So she decided to build another wall to keep Seonwoo safe until she could understand Jaehyun’s intentions.
“I understand…” Jaehyun nodded slowly, then changed the topic. “What’s his name?”
“Seonwoo. Jeong Seonwoo.”
“Jeong Seonwoo…” he repeated the name quietly like a prayer.
The moment the name left his lips, something deep inside him trembled. Seonwoo. He remembered it. The name his own father almost gave him when he was born. He had told her that once, long ago, in one of those soft, late-night conversations they used to have when dreams still felt close enough to reach.
“That’s…” His voice shook. “That’s beautiful.”
He blinked hard, tears gathering again, but he didn’t let them fall. Not when she looked so tense, so guarded, so frightened of what this might become.
He just never thought she’d remember.
And now, here it was. Their son, carrying not only his surname, but also the name his family had once meant for him. A name that now belonged to someone far more precious.
His throat tightened as warmth rose behind his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to steady his breath, but his voice still came out weak.
“How old is he now? Four?”
“Yeah. His birthday’s the same as yours.”
Jaehyun froze, a faint laugh of disbelief slipping out of him before it turned into a shaky exhale. “Really…?”
The coincidence, oh no, more like the connection, hit him like fate. Born on his birthday. Named after the name his father once wished upon him. Carrying his blood, his name, his history. It felt too perfect, too divine to be anything other than destiny.
He looked up again, his tone fragile. “What do you tell Seonwoo about not having a dad?”
“I tell him his dad is far away,” she answered softly. “That’s because of certain circumstances; he can’t live with us.”
His eyes dropped to the table. “…Has he ever asked who?”
“I always avoided the question,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Something painful twisted inside her chest. Her mind wanders to every time Seonwoo asked about his dad.
She never lied to him; she just couldn’t give him the whole truth just yet.
She would say, “Daddy is far away.” And Seonwoo would nod, innocent and trusting. But now that he was older, he asked harder questions.
“Where is he?” “Why can’t he come here?” “Does he know me?” “Is he coming back?”
And each time, her heart crumbled a little more.
She’d smile through the ache, stroke his hair, and distract him with something else. It always worked, eventually. He’d laugh, move on, play with his toys, and she’d exhale in relief.
But when night came, when the house was quiet and Seonwoo finally asleep, she’d curl into herself and let the tears fall, because deep down, she knew that she didn’t even know how to answer those questions herself.
Then they talked more.
At first, it was awkward and cautious, as if either of them could shatter the fragile air between them with the wrong word. But as minutes turned into hours, the stiffness faded.
They began talking about everything. From A to Z, like they never got into an argument about her wanting to disappear from his life and him wanting to have him by his side.
They talked about the little things, how cold the winters get here, and how pretty the scenery is, how she learned to bake because Seonwoo refused store-bought bread. About how she’d found comfort in the small routines, and how he’d been traveling so much that he’d forgotten what “routine” even meant.
Their faces began to light up as time went on, smiles coming easier, laughter finding its way back between the pauses.
Sometimes, they didn’t even need to speak; they just looked at each other and understood. The years apart felt less like a wall and more like a long, winding detour that had finally led them back here.
It was everything for both of them. Every word, every look, every breath filled the hollow parts of them that had ached for too long.
Jaehyun’s heart felt full for the first time in years. She was right there, sitting across from him again, the way her hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee, her eyes soft and calm. It was just like any other time they went on a café date a few years ago.
But then her voice broke the air: “Why are you here, really?” The question was a key turning in the lock of the Pandora box.
Jaehyun set his cup down, fingers trembling just slightly. Then he looked her in the eyes and answered with a sure, gentle smile. “I want to be with you. And our baby.”
She could feel the sincerity in every inch of him. In his voice and gaze. In the way his hands curled nervously around the cup while he looked at her like she was something sacred.
She tried to find doubt, hesitation, or uncertainty, but there was none.
Of course, there wasn’t. Jaehyun had always been sincere when it was about her.
“I don’t know, Jae…” she whispered.
She wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to stay or disappear again. She had missed him more than she could bear; she imagined him here in a thousand lonely moments, but seeing him now felt like a dream she shouldn’t touch.
It had taken her everything to build this life without him.
Brick by shaky brick, she rebuilt herself and Seonwoo a home, and learned how to stand on her own two feet.
Letting him in now felt like knocking all her hard-earned safety down with one touch.
What if he didn’t stay? What if he realized this life wasn’t enough? What if fame and pressure pulled him back? What if one day, he looked at her and regretted everything? What if he walked away again?
How would Seonwoo survive that? How would she?
Finally, her voice came out small, trembling, “I’m scared… Jae…”
He inhaled sharply, eyes softening with an ache so gentle it made her chest hurt.
“You don’t have to rush,” he said quietly. “I’ll be here. I’ll wait until you make your decision.”
“Jaehyun…” Her voice broke. She hated how grateful she felt. How familiar his tenderness was. How much she still loved him after all these years.
He gave her a bittersweet smile, the one she remembered too well, one she once kissed off his lips.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll wait.”
Jaehyun watched her carefully. She looked torn, fragile in a way he had never seen before, not even during her pregnancy, not even when she left. This was different. This was a woman who had built an entire life alone and was terrified someone might walk in and rearrange the furniture of her world.
He leaned forward slightly, whispering, “Let me try,” he said. He could notice her startled expression, but he still continued.
“Not as a stranger. Not as someone who showed up after years. But as myself. As the man who loves you. As the man who wants to be in our son’s life.”
“Just… give me a chance,” he whispered. “One chance. So you can see for yourself if I’m still worth staying for. If I’m still worth letting in.”
Her fingers curled around her cup, knuckles whitening.
He added, more gently, “If I’m not… if you decide I’m not the man you or Seonwoo deserve… then I’ll walk away. I won’t force myself in. I won’t break what you built.”
Her eyes glistened, throat tightening at the quiet sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t demanding or claiming anything. He was offering himself.
“And if you think I could be part of your life again,” he whispered, “then I’ll spend every day proving I deserve it.”
She exhaled shakily, eyes dropping to the table. A long silence stretched between them before she finally nodded, barely visible. “…Okay.”
Jaehyun’s breath left him in a quiet rush. He didn’t smile, but there’s a visible soft yet fragile curve at the corner of his mouth, the kind that held more gratitude than joy.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She wasn’t sure, but she nodded again. Yet, despite the tension, they kept talking, cautiously peeling away the distance between them.
She told him small details about Seonwoo— how he loved cats, how he hated carrots unless they were shaped like stars, how he always slept with one hand curled under his cheek, and Jaehyun listened like every word was a treasure being handed back to him.
He told her where he had been, what he had gone through, how he had spent years flying from country to country and had gotten nearly a million of mileage on his frequent flyer membership. She kept her eyes lowered but listened closely. Every word he spoke cracked her heart open just a little more.
And then, eventually, she checked the time and stood up. “I should go pick him up,” she said softly.
Jaehyun rose too, instinctively, but then stopped himself, not wanting to overstep. She offered him a small, almost shy smile and a promise to meet him again tomorrow before leaving the café.
Later, she returned with Seonwoo, laughing, carrying his backpack while he bounced excitedly at her side. They walked home like any other afternoon. She held his hand while he pointed at random flowers throughout their walks. She corrected how he said Schmetterling because he had been loving German words lately.
She’s a perfect mother. Gentle, patient, and loving mother. Everything Jaehyun had imagined and more.
But once she’s done with her role of a mother, she locked herself in her bedroom, her breath broke. She pressed a hand to her chest as the tears poured out uncontrollably.
Every emotion collided at once until she couldn’t separate one from another. She curled into herself, pressing her forehead to her knees, and the trains of what-ifs hit for the second time today.
What if he stayed forever? What if he didn’t? What if Seonwoo loved him instantly and then had to lose him? What if life finally gave her everything she wanted… just to take it away again?
She cried until her chest ached and her throat stung for the years they lost, for the boy who didn’t know his father, for the man who cried on a street corner, for the love she thought she buried but found alive again.
Meanwhile, Jaehyun was still sitting in the same café.
He hadn’t moved from his seat. He was staring out the window, one trembling hand covering his mouth, trying to process the fact that she had said okay, and trying to wrap his heart around the idea of being allowed back into a life he thought he had lost forever.
The next morning, Jaehyun returned to the same bench he had claimed for nearly a month, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat as he fought against the bite of winter air. He looked tired, but calmer than yesterday.
His gaze drifted upward, following the pale sky as if memorizing the softness of it, his hair lifting slightly whenever the wind brushed past him. He looked like a still frame from a quiet European film, the kind where the main character sits alone in cold morning light, waiting for something or someone who means everything.
She saw him before he saw her.
From across the street, with Seonwoo’s small hand in hers, she spotted his figure sitting there; he looked older, a little thinner, but still so heartbreakingly familiar.
She hadn’t seen him in a winter coat in years, and he looked unfairly good in it. Sharp jawline slightly hidden by the collar, his breath visible in soft clouds, the tips of his ears flushed pink from the cold.
God, she missed him. The one she ran from, yet she still loved, maybe even more than before.
When she reached the school gate, she crouched to adjust Seonwoo’s jacket, smoothing the collar and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. The boy grinned, already excited to join his friends. With a small wave, he ran off toward the entrance, his laughter echoing lightly among the other children. She waited until he disappeared inside before she stood, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
When they reached the school gates, she crouched to fix Seonwoo’s jacket, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Have fun, okay?”
The boy grinned, already spotting his friends. He darted toward them, laughing brightly, disappearing through the entrance. She stood up again, exhaling softly, but when she looked across the street, Jaehyun was no longer sitting.
He was standing with his hands still tucked in his pockets, shoulders slightly raised from the cold, but he smiled timidly, lifting one hand to do shyest wave. It was such a gentle gesture that she felt the faintest smile tug at her own lips, unable to suppress it.
She smiled back, then she crossed the street. He stepped closer immediately, his expression softening the moment she neared.
“Hi,” she greeted, breath forming a faint cloud in the cold air.
“Hi, baby,” Jaehyun replied gently.
Oh god, she missed that. She missed him calling her that soft, affectionate pet name, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked down, smiling faintly, trying to hide the silent acknowledgment.
“Do you… Want to walk for a bit?” she asked, her voice shy but steady. Jaehyun didn’t even hesitate. His breath left him in a small, relieved huff.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I would love that.”
She gestured toward the small park by the lake, and they began walking side by side, naturally falling into the same rhythm they once knew by instinct. The path toward the small lakeside park was lined with bare trees dusted with snow, the world quiet except for the occasional crunch of gravel beneath their boots.
The wind was cold, but the silence between them wasn’t.
Jaehyun kept stealing glances at her often enough that she felt each one like a gentle tug. His gaze lingered on her profile, on the soft scatter of sunlight on her hair, on the quiet strength in her expression. She pretended not to notice until she couldn’t.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, her voice low.
He let out a small breath that formed a cloud in front of him. “I didn’t,” he admitted.
She frowned slightly. “You didn’t? Why?”
His smile was faint but immediate. “I was too happy to sleep.”
She blinked at him, startled by the simplicity of it. His breath fogged in the air as he searched for the words. “…because I was so happy to see you again.”
“And because I knew I’d see you again today. You promised you’d meet me.” His voice softened, dipped into something fragile. “I guess I was… excited.”
Her breath caught. She looked away quickly, but he saw the small smile pull at her lips.
Then silence washed over them again, warm this time. Comforting. The kind that used to sit between them naturally when they were still a 'we'.
She looked away, focusing on the lake ahead. The water was still partially frozen, glimmering softly beneath the winter sun. They walked more slowly as the path narrowed, their boots brushing snow-covered grass. The air around them felt warmer somehow, though the temperature hadn’t changed.
He spoke again, voice gentler this time. “You looked happy yesterday,” he said. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”
“I was happy,” she admitted quietly. “It’s been a long time since I talked to someone who knows me.”
“I thought you looked happy yesterday,” he said softly. “When we talked. I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.”
She swallowed, her hands curling tighter inside her pockets. “I was,” she whispered. “It’s been a long time since I talked to someone like that.”
They walked past a cluster of pine trees, the breeze carrying the scent of resin and cold lake water. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, just delicate.
They just kept walking, the distance between them shrinking without them even realizing, the air around them thickening with everything unspoken, and the aching possibility of something beginning again.
And in the days that followed, their meetings became a routine. They exchanged phone numbers almost awkwardly, like they were just a stranger to each other.
But after that, plans began to take shape naturally. Another walk, another coffee, another sweet, tentative conversation in a park bench where once lovers sat with ease.
They avoided calling them “dates,” but they were essentially dates— gentle and careful ones, tucked away from Seonwoo’s eyes. She made it clear, even without saying it outright, that she still wasn’t ready for him to meet Jaehyun.
And Jaehyun accepted it every time, no matter how deeply it hurt, because he understood that she was rejecting him out of the instinct of a mother who had spent years surviving on her own, protecting a fragile little world built with her bare hands.
Sometimes, when they sat by the lake and watched ducks skim across the icy surface, she would slowly let her walls lower one brick at a time.
“I’m not doubting you,” she told him one afternoon as they sat beneath a bare-limbed tree, “I’m just… scared.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on her profile. “I know.”
“I’ve been doing this alone for four years,” she continued, her voice trembling at the edges. “Every decision. Every mistake. Every night he was sick. Every worry. All alone. I can’t just let someone in and risk having everything break again.”
Jaehyun swallowed hard. “I’m not someone, you know?” he said quietly. “I’m.. I’m his dad.”
Her eyes flickered with emotion — guilt, fear, love she wasn’t ready to admit. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s what scares me.”
Her honesty gutted him.
He knew she wasn’t wrong or being dramatic, nor was she punishing him. She was terrified of losing the stability she fought for and letting Seonwoo love a man who might leave again.
And Jaehyun listened wordlessly, because he wanted to know every fear she carried so he could understand exactly what he needed to protect.
But at night, when he went back to his small guesthouse, that quiet understanding tore him open.
Some nights, he paced the small room like something wild. Other nights, he sat on the edge of his bed, hands in his hair, whispering to no one, “Please… please trust me…”
And some nights, when the ache sharpened into something unbearable, he cried because he had a son in this town— a living, breathing piece of him, and he wasn’t allowed to see him.
He cried because he missed four years he could never get back and because every instinct inside him screamed to run to Seonwoo, to hold him, to kiss the top of his head, to whisper “I love you” into his tiny shoulders.
But he stayed patiently still. Because if patience was the only way back into their world, he would give it. If silent longing was the price for their trust, he would pay it.
And he never once let her see the pain behind his smile.
Every time they met, he greeted her gently, and never missed to compliment her without going too far.
Listened to her talk about the little things Seonwoo did that week, from a drawing he made, a word he mispronounced, to silly jokes he told.
Jaehyun smiled through every detail, but each one felt like a knife twisted between his ribs. He tried not to show it and just be happy just hearing about his boy. But sometimes she would catch the way his eyes glistened, but she’d only look away, guilt burning in her chest, because she knew that keeping them apart hurt him more than he let on.
Still, she wasn’t ready. Not yet.
And he respected her timing. He only asked, gently, once in a while, “How do you feel about… everything? About us? About the possibility?”
She always answered honestly.
“I don’t know yet.” “I’m trying.” “Just give me a little more time.”
Her uncertainty hurts him, but he nods every time, the corners of his lips lifting in a sad, soft smile. “It’s okay,” he always said. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He meant his word, even if he would spend the night crying quietly into his hands until he woke up with swollen eyes. Or on the afternoons, he walked past the school just to catch a glimpse of Seonwoo’s classmates, imagining which little silhouette might be his boy.
He stayed and waited, while loving them quietly from just a few streets away. Then, something happened on a quiet Thursday afternoon.
She had told Jaehyun she would be busy that day, so he didn’t go to the café or the bench, but his feet still led him toward the school district around dismissal time because he couldn’t help the way his heart pulled toward the places where his son existed.
He stayed in some random outdoor café across the main road, far enough not to be noticed, close enough to feel close to a life that wasn’t his yet.
He didn’t expect to see Seonwoo holding a little paper butterfly craft bouncing excitedly as he tugged her hand, and he definitely didn’t expect her to turn her head and see him standing there.
Their eyes met from across the street, but then, slowly, her expression softened in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Seonwoo tugged her coat, asking her something, and she bent down to answer him. When she straightened again, her gaze moved back to Jaehyun.
This time, she didn’t look away.
And for one terrifyingly hopeful second, Jaehyun thought to himself,
Is she bringing him to me? Is she ready?
She took a step forward, then another, while Seonwoo followed, happily swinging his hand, unaware of anything changing around him.
Jaehyun’s heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the sound of traffic. He stood still, breath caught in his throat, as she approached the crosswalk. Her eyes flickered to him with uncertainty but also open in a way they hadn’t been before.
He felt it was her fighting herself. A silent war inside her:
Should I? Should I not? Is it time? Will this hurt him? Will this hurt us?
When the traffic light turned green, she took one more step. While Jaehyun inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to his coat to steady himself, trying not to look too eager or desperate.
But then her shoulders tensed and her hand immediately tightened around Seonwoo’s small fingers.
And he watched how she shook her head before her feet stepped back from the crosswalk while she mouthed a silent “I’m sorry.”
Then she turned around and walked away with Seonwoo.
Jaehyun didn’t move for a long time. He stood there on the other side of the road, watching the small boy hop along the path, clutching his butterfly craft, while she guided him back to go home.
He didn’t blame her, but he felt something break inside him. He sank back onto the chair in the café where he was before, pressing both hands over his face as his breath trembled out of him.
“Not yet,” he whispered to himself.
Three days passed after the moment at the crosswalk where she almost introduced them, the moment her heart leaned forward and her fear yanked her violently back.
She felt her stomach twist with guilt the entire walk to the café they had planned to go. She arrived early this time, choosing a seat by the window. She ordered tea but didn’t drink it, tracing the rim of the cup with her fingertip as her thoughts spiraled. She kept replaying that moment at the crosswalk— the step she took forward, the fear that pulled her back, and the obvious hurt written on his face.
Jaehyun arrived a few minutes later. He smiled when he saw her, but she saw something different today. He looked more tired than yesterday.
“Hey,” he said gently and sat down slowly. He sat across from her, taking a moment in silence until the barista set down his cup of coffee in front of him.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He offered her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes while exhaling softly, “I’m fine.”
His voice lacked the usual steadiness. His shoulders drooped even more than the last time they walked around the city. And the way he kept pressing his thumb into the cup, like grounding himself, told her more than any words could.
“Jae…” she tried again, gentler this time. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at the surface of his untouched coffee, lips parting but no words coming. His throat bobbed once, twice, and his fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
He inhaled slowly, but the breath wavered on the way out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She blinked, confused. “For what?”
“I’m trying to be patient.” His voice cracked. “I really am.”
Her heart clenched.
“I don’t want to push you. Or overwhelm you. Or make you feel trapped. I promised I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t ever want you to feel cornered by me again.”
The word again cut straight through her.
He rubbed his thumb against the cup, still not looking at her. “But sometimes…” he swallowed hard, “…sometimes it hurts more than I know how to handle.”
His throat bobbed. “…I don’t know how to explain this without sounding selfish.”
“I see you, I get to talk to you, laugh with you, walk with you… And I’m grateful for every second. More than you know.” His voice trembled. “But then I go back to that room alone, and I keep thinking I have a son in this town. Right here. A boy I’ve never held. Never hugged. Never kissed goodnight.”
Her eyes filled instantly, and her fingers tightened around her cup.
“And I know it’s my fault too,” he said quickly, before she could form the thought. “I know I didn’t make it easy back then. I’m not angry about any of that. I understand why you left. I understand why you’re scared.”
“I wait because you need time. And I’ll keep waiting, no matter how long it takes. But some nights, I just…”
His voice broke completely. “…I just sit there and cry because I miss someone I’ve never even met.”
The air between them stilled.
She stared at him with painful clarity, truly seeing him this time, not just the man she once loved, but a father who had been starving for four years without knowing what he was missing until the moment he saw it standing on a sidewalk.
She made Jaehyun into a father grieving a child he was never allowed to hold.
A father who broke quietly because he had to be strong in front of her. A father hurting in a way she had never allowed herself to imagine. A man who had carried this pain alone, just like she had carried hers.
His eyes shimmered, but he blinked the tears back forcefully, refusing to let them fall in front of her. He let out a trembling breath and finally looked up.
“Please don’t misunderstand,” he whispered. “I’m not asking you to change your mind right now. I’m not asking you to hand him to me. I’m not demanding anything.”
“I just needed you to know,” he said, voice fragile but sincere. “That I’m hurting too. And that I’m trying my hardest to respect your pace even when it breaks my heart.”
She reached across the table before she even realized it, her fingers brushing the back of his hand in the smallest, most fragile touch.
Jaehyun froze when he felt her touch on his skin. He didn’t look away, didn’t breathe, didn’t even blink, as if the slightest movement might scare her off. She exhaled, steadying herself, and slid her palm fully over his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you were hurting that much.”
He swallowed, his lashes lowering as he absorbed her touch like something sacred. He looked down at their joined hands when fingers curled around his, then her thumb brushed the side of his hand once, almost shyly, before she stilled.
“I’m trying,” she whispered again. “I’m trying so hard to figure out what’s right.”
“I know.” His voice softened instantly, genuine and warm. He blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and gave her the smallest, saddest smile she had ever seen on him.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll wait.” Her breath trembled. The pet name felt like something she hadn’t realized she needed right now— it was a reminder of softness, of familiarity, of a love that never fully died.
He bowed his head slightly, unable to hide the emotion tightening his throat, because after everything, she was the one holding him.
After a few moments of silence, Jaehyun finally dared to close his fingers around hers. He tightened his hold slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, but she didn’t. She didn’t move her hand away from his, and for a long moment, they sat like that, two people who once shared everything, now sharing a quiet heartbreak across a small café table.
The next week, they sat on the bench by the lake, the cold settling deep into the wood beneath them. She pulled her coat a little tighter, while he kept his hands in his pockets. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she asked, almost cautiously, “How’s your life in Seoul? Are you really quitting?”
Jaehyun looked down, jaw tightening. When he finally spoke, the words were low and honest.
“I quit it all,” he said.
Her head snapped slightly in his direction. “All?”
“I was barely living after you left,” he admitted, voice steady but soft. “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”
A faint crease formed on her forehead. “What about the members?”
“They asked me to give them and the fans closure,” he said. “So I did. I stayed for one more year, then I ended everything and went looking for you.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. “Jae… you worked so hard for your career.”
“I had enough,” he murmured. “I just want to be with my little family.”
The phrase my little family made her heart twist painfully.
He continued, almost whispering, “The baby came unexpectedly, but still… You and the baby mattered the most to me.”
Her fingers curled on her lap. He looked at her then, openly, sincerely, without hesitation. “I would easily trade everything I have if that’s the only way to be with you and our baby.”
He wanted her to see the truth, that he wasn’t here on impulse, or out of guilt, or because he was lonely. He was here because he had made a decision a long time ago, and everything he did afterward was a consequence of that one decision.
He wanted her to understand that quitting wasn’t a sacrifice he regretted. He didn’t sit up at night wishing he could take it back. He walked away because it became impossible to live a life and get every achievement without a place to bring it home to. And because the thought of her carrying their child alone made the rest of the world feel meaningless.
He wanted her to know he had years to think about this. Years where every version of the future he imagined always ended with her and the baby. The need to find them, to make sure they were okay, to hope he still had a place beside them.
More than anything, he hoped she could see that he was a man who had lived four years thinking about nothing but how to be worthy of coming back.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I didn’t wake up one day and decide to find you,” he said. “It wasn’t a sudden… impulse. I planned things through,” Her jaw tightened, but she stayed silent.
“I started visiting the cities you mentioned before. The ones you liked or you said felt like home. I didn’t know where else to start.” He swallowed hard.
“After I quit, I traveled nonstop for three years,” he continued. “Every country I thought you might run to, I went. Every place you had ever pointed at on TV, every story you told about wanting to see something… I tried everything.” Her eyes blurred.
She bit her lip, feeling it tremble.
“At some point, I was losing myself,” he admitted quietly. “I barely ate, barely drank, I wasn’t taking care of myself at all. Until one day Doyoung called me because he saw a picture of me online and said I looked like shit. And he told me—” Jaehyun let out a weak laugh, “that if he were you, he wouldn’t trust a man who looked the way I did to start a family with.”
A soft, rueful chuckle escaped him. “He was right. I did look like shit.”
“So I stayed in Chicago… your first hometown, for a while to fix myself,” Jaehyun said. “To pull myself together. To look like someone you could still see as… yours. Someone you’d still want next to you.”
He exhaled slowly.
“But I never stopped. Not once. Because I kept thinking… you’re out there, somewhere, carrying our child alone. And I can’t live like nothing happened.”
“I just needed to know you were okay,” he whispered. “You and the baby. Even if you didn’t want me anymore. Even if you hated me.”
She shook her head quickly, tears gathering fast.
“I didn’t hate you,” she breathed. Jaehyun’s lips parted, but she spoke again before he could.
“I didn’t think you’d come. I thought eventually you’d give up looking.” He looked at her like the thought itself hurt him.
“I could never give up on you,” he said simply.
Silence slipped between them again, until Jaehyun’s voice lowered to something careful, almost afraid.
“Do you still love me?” he asked.
She froze.
The question didn’t surprise her. What surprised her was how gentle he sounded asking it, how careful he was with the words, as if he was afraid they’d bruise her on the way out. He wasn’t demanding an answer. He was just… asking.
Although the answer lived in her chest is certain and undeniable, she hesitated, not because she doubted her feelings, but because she knew the weight her answer carried. Saying it meant opening a door she wasn’t sure she was ready to walk through.
But lying to him was impossible. Not after all this time, he had stood in front of her so honestly, so stripped of defenses.
So she lifted her gaze slowly, breathing out just once to steady herself before she let the truth spill out.
“Yes,” she said, barely above a breath.
“Then… It’s enough for me.”
Her answer alone steadied the ground beneath his feet. It told him he wasn’t walking into this alone. It told him he didn’t have to fear her rejecting him. It told him that whatever walls she built weren’t built to keep him out forever… just to protect herself until she was ready.
“That’s enough,” he repeated softly, almost to himself.
“I’ll wait,” he murmured. He smiled then, small and tender, a little sad around the edges but filled with something warm.
They walked back toward the school slowly, lingering a little longer at every turn as if neither wanted the moment to end too soon. When it was time to part ways, Jaehyun only squeezed her hand gently and whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before letting go.
Later that afternoon, after she picked up Seonwoo and walked him home, the weight of everything settled on her chest. She had confessed she still loved him. She had let him hold her hand. She had let him wait.
Now, she needed to know what Seonwoo felt. If his little heart was ready to let Jaehyun into their life, even just a little.
After all, this wasn’t only her story now— it was Seonwoo’s too.
Back home, the afternoon sun warmed the living room as Seonwoo sprawled on the carpet with his coloring book. She sat beside him, watching the steady movement of his small hands. Her heart kept beating too fast.
“Seonwoo, baby,” she began gently. “Do you remember the man we met in front of the school?”
“Mm-hm,” he hummed, not looking up as he filled in the sky with blue crayon.
She hesitated to choose her words carefully, but left hook, right hook, Seonwoo cuts her first. “He’s Daddy… right, Mommy?”
“Yes, baby…” she exhaled. “He’s Daddy.”
Seonwoo paused his coloring. His voice softened. “Mommy, why did Daddy leave so fast? Does he hate me?”
The question stabbed right through her.
“No, baby,” she rushed to say, pulling him closer. “No, Daddy doesn’t hate you. He just had to rush, so he didn’t get to greet you properly.”
“Oh…” he nodded slowly. “I thought he hated me.”
His innocence crushed her. Her eyes burned with tears she couldn’t let fall. She brushed his hair gently. “Baby… why didn’t you ask Mommy anything about Daddy? It was your first time seeing him.”
“Because Mommy looked sad,” he said simply. “Did you fight with Daddy?”
She swallowed. “No, baby… Mommy was just surprised Daddy came without telling Mommy first.”
He nodded like he understood.
She took a breath. “Baby… are you okay if Daddy stays here? But maybe…” her voice softened painfully, “maybe Daddy will have to leave for work sometimes, like now. Will you be okay with that?”
It was a test. What if Jaehyun leaves again? How do I protect him?
Seonwoo blinked up at her, thoughtful in that rare, serious way only he could manage. “I want to meet Daddy,” he said honestly. “But it’s okay if Daddy works far away.”
God, he was too smart for his age.
Then he asked, “Is Daddy coming, Mommy?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Seonwoo’s reaction was instant. He jumped to his feet, eyes sparkling, voice squealing, “Really? I get to see Daddy??”
She laughed, half relieved, half emotional, then she pulled him into a tight hug. “Yes, baby. You get to see Daddy.”
He hugged her back with all his little strength. “When? When will Daddy come?”
“Tomorrow,” she told him, smoothing his hair. “Daddy will pick you up from school.”
Somehow, saying it out loud settled something inside her.
Seeing Seonwoo so bright, so excited, so ready… it made her heart quieter, calmer, even hopeful.
Maybe this was okay.
And if one day he changed his mind… she would deal with that future herself. All she needed was his commitment to be Seonwoo’s father.
She looked at her son again. “Baby… how did you know it was Daddy? You’ve never seen him before.”
Seonwoo shrugged. “He just looked like me.”
She laughed through a breathy exhale, shaking her head.
“Yeah… he does, doesn’t he?” And for the rest of the afternoon, she let him talk.
They sat together on the carpet, coloring side by side as he rambled about Daddy— how tall he was, how nice he seemed, how he smiled, how he waved, how “Daddy looks like a superman,” and how he wanted to show Daddy all his toys tomorrow.
She listened, smiling, heart aching, and full all at once.
For the first time since Seonwoo was born, she wasn’t imagining a father for him.
That night, after tucking Seonwoo into bed and brushing his hair off his forehead the way he liked, she walked quietly into her room. She sat on the edge of her bed for a long moment, fingers twisting together, her phone cold in her palm. Her heart beat too fast. She took a slow breath and pressed his number.
Jaehyun answered before the second ring.
“Hello?” His voice was gentle, almost cautious.
“Jae…” she said softly. Jaehyun sat up abruptly from where he had been lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah? I’m here.”
She hesitated, tucking her knees to her chest. “How about we just meet at the café tomorrow?”
“Okay…” But the next second, his voice tightened with worry. “Baby, did something happen? Are you okay?”
She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “No, I just… want to go to the café instead.”
“Okay, baby,” he murmured. His tone softened into something almost relieved. “Tomorrow, at the café.”
She nodded. “Mm. Tomorrow, 9 a.m.”
There was a silence, but Jaehyun broke it first. “Goodnight,” he whispered.
She smiled at her knees, cheeks warming. “Goodnight, Jae.”
She ended the call and let the phone fall gently onto the bed beside her, and for a long moment, she just sat there, staring at her hands, feeling her pulse everywhere, in her throat, in her fingertips, in her ribs.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Jaehyun would meet Seonwoo properly.
The thought alone made her chest full with excitement and fear tangled together. She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling as her breath wavered.
She wanted this, but she was terrified of this.
She wanted Jaehyun to finally be happy after everything she put him through. She wanted him to be the father he deserved to be, and most of all, she wanted Seonwoo to know he wasn’t abandoned, wasn’t unloved, wasn’t unwanted. She didn’t want to be cruel to Seonwoo, to Jaehyun, not anymore.
She had been selfish once. She realized running away, deciding everything alone, choosing fear over trust, was already cruel, both to her and the baby inside her womb and Jaehyun. For the last 4 years, she carried that guilt every day, knowing she’d raised a fatherless boy not because he didn’t have a father, but because she had taken that choice from both of them.
But now… after spending time with Jaehyun again, after hearing his truth, after seeing him look at her with the same sincerity she thought she’d lost forever… she’s started to trust him, maybe not fully yet, but enough to know he wouldn’t abandon Seonwoo, and that Jaehyun would be faithful to them. She chooses to believe when he said that he came here not on impulse, not on guilt, but because he truly wanted to stay.
And she wanted him here, too.
If things fell apart… and if her trust shattered again…, because maybe… one day Jaehyun woke up and decided he couldn’t live this quiet life with them— she could still ask him to stay in Seonwoo’s life. Co-parent, visit, be there as his father, even if he couldn’t be by her side.
But deep down, beneath the fear and the caution and the years of loneliness, she believed Jaehyun would be an amazing father. A steady partner. A lifelong presence. Which was actually what she wanted and needed the most, that, if she was brave enough to admit it.
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, letting the warmth of that hope settle into her bones.
The words felt strange, surreal— introduce him to his own son— but that was their reality.
She wasn’t sure how it would go, but for the first time since Seonwoo was born, she was willing to try.
For Seonwoo, for Jaehyun, and for herself. For their little family.
credit: divider by @viviansturns
How was it? :D Let me know your thoughts in the comment section! Tbh, it was hard for me to depict her perspective in this chapter, but I tried my best hehe... Would love to hear your feedback <3
