He said nothing at first.
Dae-Hyun simply stood there, his face unreadable, his hands cold at his sides as if his body had forgotten how to respond. The word — pregnant — hung in the air like a fragile miracle, both terrifying and sublime.
Soo-Ah had expected confusion, fear, maybe even denial. But what she didn't expect was the way his knees buckled slightly, as if he had been standing on a fault line, and her words had finally cracked the earth beneath him. He exhaled, shakily — then slowly stepped forward, kneeling in front of her like a penitent at an altar.
His hands reached for her waist, trembling slightly, and rested there — reverent, hesitant, not entirely believing.
"You're sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, eyes shimmering. "I took the test this morning. I've… I've had signs. The dream of Min-Jun. The way I felt. It wasn't just grief. It was him saying goodbye… and this new soul saying hello."
Dae-Hyun leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against her stomach. A breath hitched in his throat — then another, and another — until his composure broke entirely and she felt the warmth of silent tears soaking through the thin silk of her nightgown.
But these tears were not the same as those that once soaked the tiles of a hospital hallway. These were tears carved from the stone of longing, loss, and the cruel passage of time — but now they shimmered with something new.
Hope.
"I'm scared," he whispered, lips brushing the fabric. "But I'm also… happy. God, Soo-Ah, I forgot what happiness even felt like."
She ran her fingers through his dark hair, now so neatly styled and yet still disheveled when he was off-duty, as if the perfection he wore in the daylight hours peeled away when he was with her. "We've done this before," she said softly, a smile trembling on her lips. "We're not strangers to this. To love. To the sleepless nights. To cradling a life that we made."
His arms wrapped around her waist, grounding himself in her presence. "But we lost him. I thought… I thought the universe would never allow us another chance. I thought I was cursed."
Soo-Ah knelt to the floor beside him, the two of them sinking into each other's warmth like weary travelers huddled around the last fire on earth.
"You're not cursed," she said gently. "You were never cursed. Just shattered. And now… we get to pick up a piece. Just one. That's enough."
They sat there for a long while, silent, listening to the morning stir beyond the windows. The world outside was beginning its daily routine — maids speaking in hushed voices, the hum of distant engines, sunlight threading through the tall windows like gold embroidery. But inside, in that quiet corner of their shared sanctuary, time stood still.
Eventually, Dae-Hyun rose to his feet and helped her up, a strange and beautiful energy pulsing through him. His grief was not gone. It never would be. But for the first time in years, it felt like his heart had exhaled.
"We're going to do this right," he said, eyes suddenly ablaze with something ferocious, something radiant. "I won't fail this time. I won't be locked away. I won't fall into madness. I'll build a world where they'll never know what we've suffered. Where they'll only know love."
Soo-Ah nodded, resting her forehead against his chest. "We'll be good parents again."
He laughed, and it wasn't the cold, mirthless laugh of the man who walked the knife-edge of sanity. It was warm. Real. "We were damn good parents, Soo-Ah. Do you remember how we used to sneak in to watch Min-Jun sleep?"
"You used to take pictures. Hundreds," she said, giggling. "Even when he drooled."
"I still have them. All backed up. Every photo. Every video. Even the ones where he screamed at me for not sharing my ice cream."
She smirked. "You were a bad sharer."
"I still am."
They stood there, holding each other, remembering the thousands of tiny moments that made up the mosaic of their life. The late nights with lullabies sung in raspy, sleep-deprived voices. The first wobbly steps and how he ran straight into Dae-Hyun's arms. The time he'd said umma and appa in the same breath, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Their joy had once been profound. Their loss, cataclysmic. But now, life was whispering again, asking — gently — if they were ready to feel something other than grief.
And they were.
They truly were.
That night, Soo-Ah brought out an old album — the one Dae-Hyun had hidden away but never deleted. They flipped through it together, page after digital page, holding hands, laughing, crying. Relearning their love for Min-Jun, not through the lens of pain but through the warm memories of being his parents.
They weren't starting from zero. They were continuing. Writing a new chapter in the same story.
Later, as Dae-Hyun lay beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, his voice broke the darkness.
"You're going to be an incredible mother again," he murmured.
"And you," she whispered, kissing his shoulder, "will be an even better father this time. We'll make sure of it."