Minho (The Maze Runner)

Two years. Two long, sleepless, bright, and sweet years of your son's growth. You realized even at birth that your genes weren't even trying. Minho just smiled and made excuses, saying, "He'll grow up and be more like you." Nothing of the sort. He's remained what he was. A carbon copy of his father. The only thing your son inherited from you was his name. And even then, you fought for his Russian name. Minho was offended, offered compromises, new foreign names, but never won your point. You chose your son's name.

The sound of children's feet filled the room. The Asian man rose from the bed first and picked the boy up, smiling softly. His son smiled back. Two copies. They both turned to look at you, and at that moment, you couldn't resist turning to the little version of your father.

"Tell me, why did I suffer for hours? So that you would be an exact copy of this happy face?"

The husband chuckled and answered for his son.

• Oh, come on, honey. Don't you like seeing my face twice as often?