The first week of January arrived cloaked in cold air and pale skies. Lexie stood by the airport window, the hum of boarding calls and shuffling passengers around her almost muffled by the sound of her own heartbeat.
Beside her, Matthew adjusted the strap of his carry-on, catching her eye with a small grin. "Ready?" he asked, though his tone made it sound more like I'm here if you're not.
Lexie's fingers tightened around the handle of her bag. Ready felt like a stretch — but she nodded. "Yeah," she lied softly, voice almost lost under the loudspeaker's echo.
As they settled into their seats on the plane, Lexie found herself staring at the soft blue of the cabin walls, thoughts drifting despite the noise around her. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Ethan's sleepy face hovered — the memory of their last night together so fresh it stung.
She had crouched beside his little bed, her voice low, trying to thread gentle truths into words a three-year-old could hold without fear.
"Remember what Mama said?" she had murmured, brushing his hair from his forehead. "Mama's going to work somewhere far for a while. But Lolo, Lola, Tito Xander, Tito Alexis, and Tito Lexter will all be here. You'll still see me, love. I'll call you every day."
Ethan had blinked at her, eyes huge, thumb tucked in his mouth. "But... why go, Mama?"
Lexie had swallowed hard. "So Mama can build something better for both of us," she whispered. "I promise it won't be forever."
And when his small arms wrapped around her neck, she had let herself cry — just for a moment.
The memory faded with the quiet ding of the seatbelt sign. Outside, dawn light touched the airplane's wing, Seoul drawing closer with every passing minute.
Hours later, Incheon International Airport was a rush of cold air, polished floors, and soft-voiced announcements in Korean and English. Matthew passed through immigration easily, a quick nod and stamp — Seoul had long been home to him.
Lexie, though, found herself carefully presenting her documents to the officer: her Canadian passport, her Korean passport tucked neatly behind it, and proof of her project agreement in Seoul.
Being a cross-nationality holder—Filipino by birth, adopted into a Korean-Filipino family, and raised in Canada—meant she always traveled with more papers than most.
The officer flipped through page after page, eyes scanning the stamps and permits, while Lexie shifted her weight, fighting the urge to chew her lip.
For a moment, it felt like standing between all the parts of who she was—Filipino roots, Canadian upbringing, Korean family name—woven together but never quite resting quietly.
Finally, the officer's gaze softened. With a polite nod and a gentle stamp, he handed the passports back. "Welcome to Korea."
Lexie exhaled, almost surprised by how tightly she'd been holding her breath.
Back again, she thought, stepping past the glass doors. But this time... for something entirely my own.
Lexie stepped past the glass doors, exhaling shakily — and there they were.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee. — Woori eomoni and Sungmin abeoji. Seeing them again felt almost like stepping back into a photograph, only older and softer at the edges. Woori eomoni's hair was threaded with silver now; Sungmin abeoji's face lined a little deeper — but the warmth in their smiles hadn't changed at all.
"Oh, Lexie!" Woori eomoni's voice broke across the airport noise, warm and gentle as ever. She pulled Lexie into a hug that smelled faintly of winter perfume and clean laundry. "It's been so long, dear. You've grown so beautifully."
Lexie's chest tightened with gratitude and ached for all the years apart. "It really has been too long, eomoni," she murmured.
Sungmin abeoji gave a soft laugh, patting her shoulder gently. "But you're here now, and that's what matters."
Matthew stood to the side, grin playful. "Told you they'd be happy," he teased, bumping her arm lightly.
Woori eomoni's gaze turned warm. "We know you'll need time to settle, dear. For now, let's all stay at our apartment until you find your own place. Please — think of it as your home, too."
Lexie's first instinct was to politely decline — known for her perfectionist streak, she had already planned out every detail of her accommodation days ago, right after finalizing her project's construction management papers, permits, and everything else she could think of. It was her way of staying grounded, of keeping at least one part of this new chapter firmly under her control.
But then she caught the warmth in Woori eomoni's eyes, so open and welcoming. Refusing now felt like it would only create a distance she didn't want.
So she swallowed her hesitation, letting her voice soften. "Thank you, eomoni. That really helps — truly."
Just for a few days, she told herself quietly, until I settled in. It wouldn't hurt... and maybe it'll make this first step feel a little less heavy.
* * *
They arrived just past sunset, the taxi's headlights sweeping across the quiet street before stopping in front of the Lees' temporary home. The winter air bit softly at Lexie's cheeks as she stepped out, suitcase in hand, following Matthew and the two elders—Woori eomoni and Sungmin abeoji—up the short walkway.
The moment the door opened, warmth spilled out to meet them: the comforting aroma of simmering soup, garlic, and grilled fish drifting from the kitchen. Lexie's stomach tightened—she'd barely eaten during the flight, her habit of skipping meals when anxious catching up to her now.
Inside, the living room glowed gently under warm lamps, a few family photos still lined along a shelf despite being in this temporary house. Woori eomoni, slipping off her coat, turned to Lexie with a soft smile.
"Eat first, dear," she urged kindly. "Then you can rest. You must be exhausted."
Lexie hesitated for only a second before her stomach answered for her. "Thank you, eomoni," she murmured, dipping her head politely. "Truthfully... I am a bit hungry."
They gathered around the table; Matthew teasingly nudged her elbow, trying to lighten the travel heaviness still lingering in her shoulders. Conversation was gentle, careful: stories of the flight, Ethan's small updates shared from Lexie's phone, and quiet questions about the holidays that had just passed.
After dinner, Woori eomoni showed Lexie to a spare room. But when the door swung open, Lexie's breath caught.
It wasn't just any spare room—it was Mark's. The walls, painted in ash blue, felt strangely familiar; a single guitar leaned quietly in one corner, and the faintest trace of cologne still lingered in the air.
Lexie stepped inside, suitcase rolling softly behind her, and for a heartbeat she froze at the threshold. Memories tugged at her: old shared playlists, stolen glances, things neither of them ever said.
She quietly set her suitcase by the wardrobe, choosing not to unpack yet. Instead, she changed into her pajamas—an oversized cream sweater and soft leggings—seeking comfort in worn fabric. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she drew a slow breath, the quiet of the room pressing gently around her.
There's no worries, eomoni... she had said earlier over tea, when Woori eomoni gently offered the room.
Actually, as of this moment, I already have my own place settled down and ready to move in... I won't be staying here for long. And about Mark... yes, there are wounds. But that's... that's up to heal. I don't know at this moment what that will look like... I guess time will tell.
Woori eomoni only nodded gently, her acceptance warm and free of pressure.
Despite it being past midnight in Seoul—and her body heavy with jet lag from the sixteen-hour time difference—Lexie picked up her phone and tapped a video call to Vancouver.
The screen flickered to life, revealing Ethan's small face, cheeks flushed from play and hair sticking up in soft tufts. His eyes lit up instantly. "Mama!" he squeaked, thumb curled under his chin.
"Hi, love," Lexie murmured, her voice warm but edged with fatigue. "Mama just wanted to see you before I sleep."
She tucked her legs beneath her on the unfamiliar bed, exhaustion heavy in her bones — but it melted away the moment Ethan's energetic morning smile lit up the screen, his small face bright and awake on the other side of the world.
"Cold there, Mama?" Ethan asked, his voice small and curious, the 'r' soft and rolling in the way only toddlers manage.
"A little," she chuckled, her gaze softening. "Snow too. But Mama's okay."
They spoke quietly, Lexie's words gentle as if not to wake the quiet house around her. "Be good for Lolo and Lola, hmm? Mama's working hard so you can visit someday."
Ethan nodded solemnly, lids drooping, his thumb slipping back under his chin. "Miss Mama."
"I miss you too, love. More than anything," she whispered, her voice catching for a breath she barely let show.
When the call ended, Lexie stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the darkened phone screen for a moment.
Jet lag tugged at her limbs, and the weight of distance settled heavily on her chest. But above it all, there was something softer, steadier—a quiet resolve.