Soo-Ah awoke in the middle of the night with her heart pounding, her skin slick with a cold sweat. The dream was so real. She could still feel the warmth of his little hand in hers, still hear his laughter ringing in her ears as he waved to her from a distance, his tiny body bathed in the golden light of an autumn sunset.
Min-Jun.
Her son.
In the dream, he had smiled — that bright, uncontainable smile that made everything else in the world fade away. His chubby little cheeks, the soft curls of his hair, the way his eyes sparkled with life. She had reached for him, calling his name, but he kept stepping farther back, his small body shrouded in the distant light.
"Mommy..." Min-Jun's voice had been a soft echo in the dream. "I'll be okay. Don't cry, okay?"
He blew her a kiss.
And then, as if the world itself had shifted, he was gone. The light around him dimmed, and in that moment, she had known — had felt it in her bones — that he was leaving. Not forever, but in the way only a spirit can. He was fading away, but with no pain, no fear.
"Min-Jun..." Soo-Ah had whispered, reaching out, her hands trembling. "Min-Jun, please don't go."
He had looked back one last time, his expression bittersweet, like he wanted to stay, but couldn't. Then, he vanished into the light.
And in the fading silence of the dream, Soo-Ah had woken up.
She sat up in bed, her heart racing, the tears already filling her eyes. The echo of his presence lingered, like the softest kiss on her soul. He had come to her — not to haunt, but to give her the one thing she had so desperately longed for since the accident: peace.
She felt a cold sweat on her forehead, and for a moment, the empty, aching absence of her son felt unbearable. But then, something stirred deep inside her. A warmth. A flutter. Her hand instinctively pressed against her stomach.
She blinked in disbelief.
She was dizzy, her body heavy, but something was different. It wasn't just the grief. Something had shifted inside her, like a tiny spark had been rekindled in the dark.
Her breath caught in her throat.
No. It couldn't be.
The sunlight was just beginning to creep through the heavy curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. Soo-Ah slipped out of bed, her legs unsteady, and walked toward the mirror. Her reflection looked almost foreign to her now — a woman forever changed, carrying the weight of her past, and yet, there was something different. Something unspoken.
With trembling hands, she reached for the bathroom counter and caught sight of a small white bottle in the corner of the sink.
Her breath hitched.
It was a test. A pregnancy test. One of the ones Dae-Hyun had bought for her, long ago. She hadn't used it. She hadn't needed to. But this time, her pulse quickened as she grabbed it and glanced down at the window where she had placed it all those months ago.
The small, clear + sign stared back at her.
Her hand shook as she clutched it tighter. Her chest felt tight with emotion, a confusing rush of joy and sorrow. It was too much to process. She had just dreamed of Min-Jun — of his final goodbye. Of him telling her he was fine. And now... this?
She looked down at her stomach. Her eyes burned, but she didn't cry. Not yet. She couldn't. The tiny flutter inside her — the life she now carried — seemed so delicate, so fragile, like a fragile leaf about to be swept away by the wind. Yet, it was there. Alive.
She sank to her knees, placing her hands on her stomach.
She couldn't believe it. She had been so lost in the aftermath of her loss, so consumed with trying to reclaim what was gone, that she never once imagined she might be pregnant again. Could it even be real? Could the universe allow for such things? Could fate gift her a second chance, or would this too be stolen from her?
Min-Jun, she whispered inside her mind, closing her eyes. Min-Jun, I will never forget you.
But what if she could never forget him, and still love this new life growing inside her? Could she bear it? Could she ever reconcile the loss and the new, fragile hope that now pulsed inside her?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the door. Dae-Hyun's voice, low and soothing, called from the doorway, though his words were indistinct, muffled by the chaos of her mind.
"Soo-Ah?" he asked, voice cracking.
She stood up quickly, wiping her face. She hadn't realized she had been crying again. He was here. She didn't want him to see her like this — not so broken, so undone.
But as he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on her — soft, concerned, searching — and something in her heart gave way. Her lips parted, but she couldn't speak. The weight of everything was pressing down on her, pushing her toward him. She couldn't stop it. She didn't want to stop it.
Soo-Ah felt the flutter in her stomach again, this time accompanied by a rush of tenderness. She turned toward him, her hands coming to rest gently on her abdomen. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.
"I think... I'm pregnant."
Dae-Hyun froze.
The words hung in the air between them. His eyes softened, as if the world itself had paused for a breath. He slowly walked toward her, his expression unreadable but somehow… filled with understanding.
Without a word, he took her hand, his fingers warm against her cold skin. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.
He simply held her, as she allowed herself to finally crumble, breaking down with the knowledge that this new life growing inside her was a symbol of everything she had fought to survive. It was their second chance, fragile and uncertain, but real.
And as they stood there, she knew that somehow — someway — they would make it through this together.