She rested her head against the bus window and watched the city drift by.
Streetlights passed one after another, their golden glow blurring against the glass.
For the first time in a long while, her mind felt quieter.
Not peaceful.
Just quieter.
By the time she arrived at her apartment building, the night had grown colder.
As she climbed the stairs and unlocked the door, she froze.
Someone was already inside.
"Oh, you're back."
Her father looked up from the small dining table and smiled.
A smile that had grown older over the past year.
Seo-ah felt her chest tighten.
"Father…"
"I made some gimbap," he said, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "I thought you might not have eaten."
Before she could protest, he took her hand and gently guided her toward the table.
"Sit down."
His hands settled briefly on her shoulders.
Just for a moment.
Yet the warmth nearly made her cry.
The table was simple.
A few pieces of gimbap.
A bowl of soup.
Nothing extravagant.
But somehow it felt like the first proper meal she had eaten in months.
They ate quietly.
Neither spoke much.
Neither needed to.
When she finished, her father glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall.
His expression softened.
"Tomorrow is your mother's first anniversary."
Seo-ah lowered her eyes.
"I know."
"Don't forget."
She nodded silently.
After a few more minutes, he stood.
As he prepared to leave, he slipped something into her hand.
A folded stack of bills.
"Father…"
"Keep it."
"I can't."
"You can."
His voice left no room for argument.
Before she could return it, he had already started putting on his shoes.
At the door, he turned back one last time.
"Take care of yourself, Seo-ah."
Then he left.
The apartment fell silent once again.
She stood there for a long time.
The money still clutched in her hand.
And then she cried.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
She cried for her mother.
For her failed marriage.
For the child growing inside her.
For every burden she had carried alone.
There was no one there to witness it.
Only the darkness.
And the memories.
The next morning, Seo-ah returned to the hospital.
When Ji-hoon saw her waiting outside his office, he immediately stood.
His expression carried a hint of concern.
"Did you make a decision?"
Seo-ah took a slow breath.
Then nodded.
"I'm keeping the baby."
For a second, he simply stared at her.
Then relief flashed across his face before he could hide it.
A small smile appeared.
One she hadn't seen before.
"I see."
His voice was calm.
But she could tell he was happy.
"Will you wait for me?" he asked.
She blinked.
"For what?"
"Lunch."
His answer came so naturally that she almost laughed.
"I finish in an hour."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
The restaurant was small and quiet.
The kind of place where no one paid attention to anyone else.
For a while, they simply ate.
The familiarity felt strange.
As though twelve years had disappeared.
As though they were teenagers again.
Ji-hoon set down his chopsticks.
"What happened all these years?"
The question was gentle.
Not demanding.
Just concerned.
Seo-ah stared down at her food.
Her throat tightened.
The words wouldn't come.
Too much had happened.
Too many wounds remained untouched.
After a few moments, Ji-hoon spoke again.
"You don't have to tell me now."
She looked up.
"Not today."
His eyes were warm.
"Not tomorrow either."
He smiled softly.
"Take your time."
The pressure she had been feeling suddenly eased.
"Thank you."
Those were the only words she managed.
Yet somehow they felt enough.
After lunch, they found themselves standing in front of a gaming arcade.
Seo-ah stared at the building.
Then at Ji-hoon.
"Really?"
"What?"
"This was your idea?"
Ji-hoon looked almost offended.
"I'll have you know I was very good at these games."
"You were terrible."
"I was not."
"You absolutely were."
He pointed toward one of the claw machines.
"Watch and learn."
Five minutes later, the machine had won.
Not Ji-hoon.
The machine.
Seo-ah crossed her arms.
"I told you."
"That one doesn't count."
Another coin.
Failure.
Another coin.
Failure.
Another.
Failure.
At some point, Ji-hoon became determined to defeat the machine on principle alone.
Seo-ah watched him continue feeding coins into it.
His expression grew increasingly serious.
As though he were performing surgery.
Finally, she laughed.
A real laugh.
Bright.
Unrestrained.
For a moment, even she looked surprised by the sound.
Almost a year.
It had been almost a year since she had laughed like that.
Ji-hoon turned.
The determination disappeared from his face.
He simply stared at her.
Smiling.
And for the first time, Seo-ah realized he hadn't been trying to win the doll.
He had been trying to make her smile.
Later that evening, Ji-hoon drove her home.
The back seat was overflowing with stuffed animals.
Evidence of his stubborn battle against the claw machine.
When they arrived, Seo-ah opened the door.
"Thank you."
She stepped out.
Then paused.
Ji-hoon had gotten out too.
He walked around to the back of the car and lifted a large bag filled with stuffed dolls.
"What are you doing?"
"These are yours."
"Ji-hoon….."
"No arguments."
He handed her the bag.
Seo-ah looked down at the mountain of plush toys.
Then at him.
"And what about you?"
Ji-hoon reached inside the bag and pulled out a small bear.
"This one is mine."
"Only one?"
He shrugged.
"The baby might need some in the future."
The words were spoken casually.
Yet they lingered in the air.
Seo-ah felt something warm spread through her chest.
Not love.
Not yet.
Just comfort.
The kind she thought she had forgotten.
That night, after returning home, she opened her diary.
The pages were filled with lonely entries.
Days of grief.
Days of uncertainty.
Days she wished she could erase.
Slowly, she picked up her pen.
Then wrote:
Today, I laughed.
For the first time in almost a year.
And I hope there will be another day like this.
A day where I don't feel empty.
A day where I only feel relieved.
She stared at the words for a long moment.
Then closed the diary.
Outside her window, winter continued its slow journey through the city.
But for the first time…
It felt as though spring might eventually come.