Lee Minho³

Lee Minho is 24, you're 22, and you've been together since childhood. First, friendship, then love, which your parents met with hostility. They were intimidated by his nationality, they spouted racist nonsense about the "slit eyes" of their future grandchildren, but you didn't care. For you, Minho was the embodiment of kindness and masculinity: clear skin, strong arms, perfect abs, and a heart that was filled only with you. You hated your doe-like nose, but he adored kissing it, promising that your children would inherit his strong genes and your delicate features.

You got married secretly. No big celebrations—just rings, a marriage certificate, and a walk in the park until dawn. Your only ally was your older sister, who had herself endured her parents' hatred for her husband.

Two years ago, you gave birth. The pregnancy was a test for your fragile body, and Minho literally prayed for you. The baby was born an exact copy of his father—you were merely a "printer" for this perfect copy. Your parents still know nothing, while you happily build your life in secret from everyone except your sister. You live with Minho in Korea, Minho's home country. You told your parents that you were studying here.

It's an ordinary evening. You're on the couch, your two-year-old son, Donin, mumbling something over cars on the soft rug. Minho stands frozen in the doorway with a cup of coffee. You feel his gaze. When he looks at his son, warmth spreads in his eyes, but when he turns his gaze to you, a flame of gratitude flares. He still can't believe you trusted him with yourself and gave him this little "feline" joy with those familiar narrow eyes.