They left the café under a sky deep with winter dark, city lights reflected in wet pavement. Lexter walked ahead, nearly dropping shopping bags, and Matthew caught one, chuckling. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing had changed.
In the car, Ethan half-slept in Lexie's lap, his small hand curled in the fabric of her coat. Downtown Vancouver shimmered past the windows, soft carols playing from the radio, blending with the hum of quiet thoughts.
When they reached home, the warmth of the house greeted them first: cinnamon, roast duck, and the gentle flicker of the Christmas tree. And by the doorway, waiting with an excited grin, stood Alexis — a little older, hair slightly longer, but still her brother.
"Look who finally showed up," Alexis teased, voice rough with travel and something close to relief.
"Lex!"
Lexie hesitated only a breath before stepping forward, pulling him into a hug. "It's been too long," she whispered into his shoulder.
"Way too long," Alexis replied softly, squeezing her once before letting go.
* * *
Later that night, after the last ribbons had been tied and the shopping bags tucked away, the Jung living room felt full — of family, of memory, and of words still unspoken.
Ethan sat cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table, happily stacking his little wooden blocks, the hum of his soft humming spilling into the quiet.
Lexie found herself seated on the couch, flanked by Alexis on one side and Lexter on the other. Across from her, their parents settled in, faces lined with concern but eyes gentle. Matthew hovered nearby, as if quietly ready to step in if the words grew too heavy.
The soft glow of the tree lights flickered between them, as if lending courage.
It was Mrs. Jung who finally spoke first, voice low and warm. "Lexie, dear," she began, careful not to speak too loudly so as not to draw Ethan's attention. "You've been carrying this alone for so long, haven't you?"
Lexie's throat tightened. "I... guess so," she admitted, gaze falling to her clasped hands. "I kept thinking if I came back only when everything was settled — when I was... successful enough — it wouldn't feel like a burden to anyone. Or... like I failed."
"Dear, you never were a burden," Mr. Jung's voice rumbled quietly, firmer than she expected.
She blinked, surprise pricking at her chest. "But Dad, I left. And I barely called. And when everything fell apart, I didn't come home."
"Because you were scared," Alexis murmured, not unkindly. "Scared we'd see the parts of you you didn't want us to."
Lexie nodded, a small, shaky motion. "And ashamed. I thought... if I was really strong, really put together, then maybe you'd still be proud of me. But instead, I just... hid."
Beside her, Lexter placed a hand over hers, warm and steady. "We're your family, Noona. You don't have to look perfect to be loved."
Her breath caught. The words — simple as they were — settled somewhere deep in her chest, in places still sore from years of silence.
Xander, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was calm, gentle in its certainty. "Lex, worthiness was never something you had to prove to us," he said. "You've carried so much on your own. But family... means sharing the weight. Even the parts that scare you."
Mrs. Jung leaned forward, voice softer. "You love that boy," she said, nodding slightly toward Ethan, who was now humming to himself, oblivious. "And you've built a life from nothing, halfway across the world. That isn't failure, Lexie. That's strength."
Lexie swallowed, blinking back tears she hadn't realized were coming. "But I'm still... figuring it out," she whispered. "Ethan's story... the real parts — they're mine to tell, but I'm not ready yet. I'm sorry for that."
"You don't owe us everything at once," Xander said gently. "Only honesty, when you're ready. And for now, this is enough."
For the first time in what felt like years, Lexie let her shoulders drop, the weight of unspoken apology easing.
"I missed you all," she said, her voice shaking, raw. "So much that it hurt to come back."
"And yet you came back, dear," Mr. Jung replied, his own voice low. "That matters more than anything."
* * *
Much later that night, when the house had quieted and only the soft hum of the heater and the gentle flicker of Christmas lights in the hallway remained, Lexie carried Ethan upstairs.
His small arms looped around her neck, legs swinging gently against her side. In the crook of his elbow, he still clutched a small stuffed toy they'd bought earlier — slightly worn already from being carried everywhere.
In their cozy room, faintly lit by a warm nightlight shaped like a moon, Lexie gently set him down on the bed. Outside, snowflakes drifted against the windowpane, settling softly on the sill.
Ethan peeked out from under the hood of his fuzzy pajama top, hair sticking up and cheeks warm from earlier laughter. "Mama... malamig," he mumbled, tiny brows furrowing as he wriggled deeper into the comforter. (*Mama... cold.)
"I know, love," Lexie replied, tucking the blanket snug around him. "But you're warm now, right?"
He nodded, then reached up with his small hand — a little sticky from the last bite of the Christmas cookie downstairs — and gently patted her cheek. "Mama tired?" he asked, words still tumbling together the way only little ones do.
"A bit," Lexie chuckled softly, smoothing his bangs back. "But happy, love."
Ethan scrunched his nose and, in a burst of sleepy mischief, pulled her closer by the collar of her sweater. "Kiss, Mama!" he demanded, lips puckering exaggeratedly.
Lexie laughed, heart swelling, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then to his chubby cheek. "One more?" she teased.
"One more!" Ethan echoed, giggling until it melted into a yawn.
Then, as his eyelids fluttered heavily, he whispered, "Love you, Mama... love you so big."
Lexie felt the warmth rise to her chest, aching and comforting all at once. "I love you more, my love," she whispered back, thumb gently stroking his tiny hand until his breathing slowed.
For a moment, she stayed beside him — the glow of fairy lights from the hallway reflecting in the window, the cold winter air tapping softly against the glass.
She thought of what lay ahead — Seoul, the renovation project, the music she still dreamed of chasing. It wasn't just her leap anymore.
In that stillness, she realized: Every choice she made now wasn't only for herself, but for Ethan too — to teach him that being brave could be soft, that loving could mean letting go and beginning again.
Lexie pressed a final kiss to his hair, inhaling the faint scent of soap and sugar cookies, before whispering into the winter-quiet room:
"Goodnight, love. We'll be okay. For us both... we'll be okay."
And as she turned off the bedside lamp, the snow kept falling outside — a silent promise of new beginnings waiting just beyond the window.