CHAPTER 35 – WHEN WE'RE READY
Two Years Later – Spring, Outside Seoul
The house was finally finished.
A modest, modern home nestled against a quiet slope just outside the city. The windows were wide and tall — letting light in, keeping shadows out. The walls were filled with books, music, and laughter. No glass cases. No bodyguards. No surveillance.
Just life.
And love.
The kind that had been earned slowly, through scarred nights and quiet mornings.
---
Min-Jun
He stood barefoot on the warm wooden porch, holding a cup of black tea, watching the wind pass through the garden Seo-Ah had planted herself.
Tulips bloomed wildly. The tree they had planted on their first wedding anniversary now cast a steady shadow across the stone path.
It had been two years.
Two peaceful, beautiful, ordinary years.
And for a man like him — who had only known chaos — that was a miracle.
---
Inside, Seo-Ah was in the sunroom, curled up in one of the window seats with a book, her hair falling loosely around her face.
She looked up when he entered and smiled — not the kind of smile that tried to hide pain, or flirt with danger.
Just love. Pure and quiet.
"You're staring again," she teased.
He sat beside her. "I can't help it. You're the most peaceful and beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Her fingers laced through his. "That's because I'm finally at peace."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
They stayed like that for a while, listening to the wind and the soft ticking of the old wall clock.
And then—just above a whisper—she said it.
"I think I'm ready."
---
The Conversation
Min-Jun froze.
Not because he was afraid — but because the moment was real now.
He turned to face her. "You mean…?"
She nodded. "A baby. I want us to try."
He didn't speak for a long moment.
Then he gently took both her hands in his and brought them to his lips.
"I've never wanted anything more," he said. "But I needed to be sure it wouldn't come from fear or pressure."
Seo-Ah met his eyes. "It's coming from love. From knowing we're finally safe."
He pulled her close, pressed his forehead to hers.
"Then let's do this," he whispered.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Min-Jun had always been careful. Deliberate. But now — she could feel how much he wanted this. Not just a child, but a life born from something clean. Something true.
---
That Night – The Room Filled with Stars
They didn't light candles.
They didn't dress up.
There was no need.
Just them. In their home. In the bedroom they had designed together — ceiling of wood and a skylight directly above the bed, revealing a sky full of stars.
Seo-Ah's robe slipped from her shoulders slowly, and Min-Jun looked at her as if it were the first time all over again.
"You're sure?" he asked softly.
She nodded, her voice tender. "With you? Always."
They moved together like breath and heartbeat — slow, reverent, present.
It wasn't about the physical.
It was about the choice. The decision to build a future not from desperation, but from deep, unwavering love.
Every touch said: we are safe now.
Every kiss said: we've made it.
And when she lay in his arms afterward, her skin warm and glowing, she whispered, "Even if it doesn't happen right away… this is enough."
And he kissed her forehead. "You are more than enough."
---
One Week Later
Min-Jun sat alone in the nursery room they hadn't used yet.
The walls were painted a soft gray-blue. The crib was still folded. A small stuffed fox sat on the windowsill.
He stared out the window, deep in thought.
His mother's voice had echoed in his head just days ago: You'll be a better father than he ever was. Because you already are.
Min-Jun breathed slowly.
He would not repeat the past.
He would build something new.
And this time, he wouldn't do it alone.
---
That evening, Seo-Ah planted two white lilies in the garden.
One for hope.
One for life.
Min-Jun came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Two lilies?" he asked.
She smiled, soft and mysterious. "One for the life we've already lived. One for the life we're about to begin."
************
Three Weeks Later – Mornings of Quiet Hope
The sun stretched lazily across the white sheets as Seo-Ah stirred from sleep, her hand instinctively reaching for the warmth beside her. Min-Jun was already awake, lying on his side, watching her.
"You were smiling in your sleep," he murmured.
"I must've dreamt of you finally fixing the garden fence."
He smirked. "Impossible. That's a fantasy even your dreams can't afford."
She laughed, curling closer to him, her fingers resting against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Every morning felt different now.
More alive.
Fuller.
But underneath the soft routines — breakfast with too much butter, walks down the garden path, late-night movie marathons with her feet on his lap — there was a silence growing. An anticipation neither dared name aloud.
They had started trying.
And while neither of them were counting days or watching clocks, there was a quiet awareness pulsing beneath every touch, every glance.
---
Week Four
Min-Jun sat alone in the small library of their home, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand. The fireplace crackled, but he didn't feel its warmth.
He was reading a book on childhood trauma and generational healing — not because he needed answers, but because he needed to believe it could be different for them.
For their child.
He had seen what legacy could do. What silence could cost. His own father had been a master of neglect, wielding coldness like a blade.
Min-Jun vowed never to be that man.
But doubt crept in.
What if I don't know how to love a child the way they deserve?
What if I pass on the parts of me I can't see?
Seo-Ah found him like that, hours later. She didn't say a word. Just sat beside him, took the book from his hand, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"You'll be a good father," she whispered, as if she had read his thoughts. "Because you already know the cost of not having one."
---
Subtle Signs
Two mornings later, Seo-Ah stood in the bathroom staring at her reflection. Her skin looked flushed. Her stomach felt strange — not painful, just different.
She pressed a hand to her abdomen and exhaled slowly.
No one had told her about the uncertainty of it — that even before a test could confirm anything, your body would begin to whisper.
Was it real?
Was it just hope playing tricks?
That evening, she caught herself resting a hand on her belly while cooking dinner.
Min-Jun noticed.
He didn't say anything — just walked over, stood behind her, and kissed the side of her head gently.
Neither of them spoke the word.
But they were both thinking it.
Could it be?
---
A Visit to the Clinic
The next day, Seo-Ah went alone to her doctor — partly because she wasn't sure yet, partly because she didn't want to raise hopes too soon.
She sat in the waiting room, legs crossed, one hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly.
The doctor smiled when she saw her. "You look different. Glowing."
"I'm just… tired," Seo-Ah said quickly. "I wanted to check, in case… something's happening."
The doctor nodded knowingly. "Let's find out."
An hour later, Seo-Ah walked out of the clinic with nothing confirmed, but everything felt different.
She hadn't tested yet.
But the doctor's words echoed:
"There are early signs. It's too soon to confirm definitively, but yes… it's possible. Quite possible."
---
Nightfall
Seo-Ah sat on the porch with a blanket around her shoulders, watching the moon rise.
Min-Jun stepped out beside her with two mugs of ginger tea.
She didn't take hers immediately.
"I went to the clinic today," she said softly.
He stilled.
His voice came carefully. "Are you okay?"
"I think I might be pregnant."
Silence. Then:
"You think?"
She nodded. "Too early to test. But the doctor saw signs."
She turned to look at him. "I didn't want to get your hopes up. Or mine."
Min-Jun didn't speak for a long moment.
Then he placed the mug on the table, knelt beside her, and took her hand.
"You're allowed to hope," he said gently. "And I want to hope with you."
Tears stung her eyes.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Even if it's not this time… there will be others. I'm here for every one of them."
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face into his neck.
---
That night, they lay in bed beneath the skylight, fingers intertwined, the soft light of the moon falling across their faces.
"I used to think the stars were cold," Min-Jun whispered.
"And now?"
"They're waiting. Just like us."
Seo-Ah shifted closer, laying her head against his chest.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine it — a child's laugh echoing through their home, tiny feet running down the hallway, a name whispered between them in the dark.
Maybe it was hope.
Maybe it was love.
But either way, it was theirs.
And it had already begun.
---