Han Jisung

You stood by the window, watching the two men dearest to you—your husband and son. The warm evening light gilded the courtyard, a gentle breeze rustled the curtain, and somewhere below, Han—in an old white T-shirt and athletic shorts—leaned toward Kai, explaining something in a serious but gentle voice.

"Oh no, Kai, " he shook his head when the boy snorted and wanted to run off to his toys. "You promised Mom a bouquet, remember?"
The little boy, pouting and with disheveled hair, shifted from foot to foot.
"But, Dad, there are bees! " he said indignantly, puffing out his cheeks.
The Khan grinned, sat down in front of him and, looking into his eyes, said:
"Real men aren't afraid of bees when it comes to their mother. A man's promise must be kept."

You covered your mouth with your hand, holding back a smile. How similar he was... the same warm eyes, the same stubbornness, and even the same self-important manner of speaking, as if he were thirty years old, not five.

"What if Mom doesn't notice? " Kai stalled for time.
"Then you'll tell her yourself: 'Mom, this is for you. I love you.' " Khan gently patted his son on the head. "And that's it. Believe me, she'll notice."

The boy looked incredulously at the flowerbed of daisies swaying, then sighed like an adult and walked resolutely toward them. Khan, arms crossed, watched him go, a hint of pride lurking at the corners of his lips.

You walked out onto the porch, leaning against the railing.
"Teaching a little gentleman how to court? " you teased.
He turned and smiled, walking toward you:

• Of course. Someone needs to continue my father's work.

You laughed, and he came closer and hugged you around the waist.
"He looks at you like that when you smile, " Khan whispered. "I always think: the kid's lucky to have a mother like that."

At that moment, Kai ran back, holding a crooked bouquet in his hands - a few daisies, a couple of weeds and one pink carnation, miraculously not broken.
"Mom!" he cried proudly. "I did it myself! For you!"