The smell of eggs and soybean paste filled the apartment, soft and familiar. The faint hum of the rice cooker joined the sound of small feet pattering across the wooden floor.
"Appa, wake up!"
A small hand tugged at the blanket. Grim Seojin groaned, pulling it tighter over his head.
"Appa's tired," he mumbled through the fabric.
"But you promised to take me to the park today!" The voice was light and high — his daughter, Grim Hana, six years old and relentless as sunshine.
He peeked out with one bleary eye. Her hair was a mess, sticking in all directions, her smile missing a front tooth.
"Park?" he asked, pretending to think. "I don't remember promising that."
"You did!" she declared, puffing her cheeks. "You said, if I finished all my homework, we'll go and buy ice cream."
"Oh, did I?" He sat up, yawning. "Then I guess Appa has no choice. The promise of ice cream is sacred."
Hana laughed, clapping her hands. "Then hurry! Omma said breakfast's getting cold!"
The kitchen was small, but Areum made it feel alive. Han Areum, Seojin's wife, moved between the stove and table with the easy rhythm of someone who'd learned to balance love and exhaustion.
"You're finally up," she said, not looking at him. Her tone was casual, but the small crease near her eyes betrayed mild annoyance. "I thought you'd sleep till noon again."
"Your husband's a hardworking man," Seojin replied, scratching his neck. "Rest is important."
"Hardworking at what?" she teased softly, setting a bowl of soup on the table.
He chuckled, sitting down. "At being the best father in Seoul."
"Mm-hmm." Areum sat opposite him, folding her hands. "If only that paid the bills."
Her voice was gentle, not cruel — but it hit somewhere deep anyway.
Seojin smiled through it, pretending not to notice. "Don't worry. I've got something lined up this week."
Areum arched an eyebrow. "You said that last week."
"This time's different."
"Is it?"
He met her gaze, the air between them tightening just slightly. Hana's laughter from the next room softened it again.
He broke the silence with a grin. "I'll make it up to you. Tonight, let's have something nice. Meat, maybe? A family dinner."
Areum's lips curved faintly. "We'll see."
Breakfast passed with small chatter — Hana bragging about her drawing at school, Areum reminding her to pack her umbrella, Seojin joking about her "boyfriend" in class.
For a moment, it felt whole.
When Areum left for work, she kissed Hana's forehead and gave Seojin a look that lingered — tired but hopeful. "Don't forget to drop her off at kindergarten."
"I know," he said, forcing a smile. "I've got it handled."
The door closed. The apartment felt quieter, emptier.
Seojin sat back, looking around the small space they called home. The walls were thin, the wallpaper peeling at the corners. A stack of unpaid bills sat near the television, half-hidden under a newspaper.
He rubbed his face and exhaled.
Hana came skipping back, backpack on, eyes bright. "Appa! Let's go!"
He looked at her — really looked — and smiled softly. "Yeah, let's go, princess."
They walked down the narrow street hand in hand. The morning light filtered through the city haze, painting everything gold. The scent of bread drifted from the bakery nearby, mingling with the noise of buses and chatter.
"Appa?"
"Mm?"
"Why don't you go to work like Omma?"
He hesitated. "Appa's… looking for a new job."
"Then why don't you look faster?"
He laughed, not knowing what else to say. "You sound just like your mother."
She frowned in mock seriousness. "Omma says if you work hard, we can go on vacation!"
"Oh yeah? Where would you go?"
"Anywhere with ice cream."
He smiled, squeezing her hand gently.
After dropping her off, Seojin lingered by the school gate. Other fathers in neat shirts and ties waved to their children before heading off. He stood apart, hands in his pockets, eyes lowered.
When the bell rang, he turned and walked aimlessly through the city.
A convenience store window showed his reflection — unshaven, wearing the same faded jacket as yesterday.
"Still breathing," he muttered to himself.
He entered, bought a can of cheap coffee, and sat outside on the curb. The metal was cold under his hands.
He checked his phone — no new messages, no calls.
The job postings app showed the same list he'd already scrolled through a dozen times."Experience required.""Must provide recommendation."He scoffed, turning it off.
He had neither.
By afternoon, clouds began to gather. The first drops of rain tapped the street as Seojin reached home. The apartment felt lonelier without Hana's laughter or Areum's voice.
He opened the fridge — a few eggs, half a cabbage, and a jar of cheap kimchi. He sighed and sat down.
The clock ticked quietly.
His eyes drifted to the stack of bills again. The top one was stamped red.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then whispered, almost to himself,
"Just one more chance. That's all I need."
That night, the three of them ate together again. Hana told stories between bites, Areum laughed softly, and Seojin made silly faces until his daughter nearly choked from giggling.
When Hana fell asleep later, Areum and Seojin sat on the balcony. The air was cool, smelling faintly of rain.
"Areum," he said quietly, watching the city lights. "You still believe in me?"
She leaned against the railing, silent for a moment. "I want to."
Her words stung more than if she'd said no.
He looked down at his hands, the callouses that hadn't earned them much lately. "I'll fix it. I promise."
Areum sighed. "You always say that."
He turned to her, eyes soft. "Because I have to."
She looked at him then — the same man who once made her laugh, who now seemed to be fading under the weight of his own words.
"Just… don't make promises you can't keep," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "I'll keep this one."
When she went inside, he stayed on the balcony. The rain began again, faintly, tapping against the railing like fingers drumming a warning.
He looked at the lights across the skyline — the countless windows glowing like lives moving forward.
And for a fleeting moment, he imagined one of them could still be his.