JEON JUNGKOOK

Rogina had grown accustomed to living alone during her years of study, in a small apartment on the edge of the city. Her relationship with her mother was neither close nor distant—just enough contact to keep things uncomplicated.

But at the end of the break, she received a brief message from her mother: "This is the address of our new home, Mr. Jeon’s He is my husband. It’s time you meet him."

On a quiet summer afternoon, a taxi pulled up in front of tall black gates, behind which a mansion loomed—only glimpses of upper windows and balconies visible above the stone walls.

Rogina stepped out slowly, her bag resting on her shoulder. She stood before the doorbell fixed to the elegant stone wall. After a brief hesitation, she pressed the button.

Moments later, a man in his fifties appeared at a small door set within the iron gate. He studied her carefully and asked:

“Who are you?”

She answered steadily:

“Is this Mr. Jeon’s residence?”

He replied calmly:

“Yes, it is.”

She spoke with quiet confidence:

“I’m Rogina… his wife’s daughter.”

As soon as the man heard her name, recognition flickered in his eyes. He had heard that name many times before—from the woman who was now his wife, Rogina’s mother. She often spoke of her daughter, how she would come home once her studies ended and the holidays began.

“Rogina,” he said softly, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Please, come in. Welcome.”

He stepped aside, opening the heavy iron gate wider. “May I help you with your bags from the taxi?” he asked kindly.

Rogina nodded, feeling the weight of the moment as she crossed the threshold into a new chapter of her life.