The sky outside the mansion had begun to fade from deep black into the pale blue of approaching dawn. Morning always arrived quietly, as if the world itself tiptoed into another day, careful not to disturb the fragile balance inside the Kang household.
Kang Daehyun stood by the kitchen counter with a glass of water in his hand.
He hadn't slept.
The glass remained untouched.
Beyond the wide windows, the city stretched endlessly—an ocean of buildings slowly lighting up as the sun prepared to rise. Seoul woke earlier than most cities. Traffic would soon return. Markets would open. Corporate towers would fill with executives beginning another cycle of power and competition.
Soon he would join them.
Soon he would put on the calm, ruthless mask that the world expected from the heir of KGI Group.
Soon he would attend meetings.
Sign documents.
Make decisions that moved billions of dollars across continents.
But for now, he stood alone in the quiet kitchen.
His gaze drifted toward the hallway.
Toward Minjun's room.
The boy was still asleep.
Three years old.
Three small years of life.
Two of those years had been spent in a home filled with secrets.
Daehyun exhaled slowly.
A thought had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind for weeks now.
Tonight it refused to stay quiet.
What happens when Minjun understands?
He lowered himself into one of the chairs near the dining table, staring at nothing.
Children noticed things far earlier than adults realized.
Minjun had already started asking questions.
Small questions.
Harmless questions.
"Why does Mommy sleep so much?"
"Why does Mommy sometimes look scared?"
"Why do you hold Mommy's arms sometimes?"
"Why does Mommy cry sometimes?"
At three years old, those questions were still innocent.
Still easy to answer.
Daehyun could smile.
He could lie gently.
He could say Mommy was tired.
Mommy had a headache.
Mommy was playing a game.
Mommy needed medicine.
But one day those answers would stop working.
One day Minjun would grow older.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Old enough to understand patterns.
Old enough to remember.
Old enough to connect the pieces.
The thought tightened something inside Daehyun's chest.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face slowly.
For the first time in a long while, fear crept into his mind—not for himself, not even for Sooah.
For Minjun.
Because children didn't just notice things.
They felt them.
And Minjun had already begun noticing more than Daehyun liked to admit.
There were moments during Sooah's episodes when the boy would stand frozen in the hallway, clutching his dinosaur toy, watching the struggle with wide eyes.
Moments when Daehyun would catch him staring silently afterward.
Moments when Minjun would ask questions in a small voice that tried very hard to sound brave.
"Daddy… Mommy angry?"
Every time it happened, Daehyun answered the same way.
"No, buddy. Mommy's just sick."
Minjun always nodded.
Children trusted their parents completely.
That trust was terrifying.
Because it meant Minjun believed everything he said.
Even the lies.
Daehyun stared at the glass of water in front of him.
The surface reflected the faint morning light.
What happens when he realizes the truth?
When Minjun understood that Mommy wasn't just tired.
That Mommy didn't just have headaches.
That Mommy sometimes forgot who they were.
That Mommy sometimes thought they were strangers.
That Mommy sometimes tried to hurt Daddy.
His jaw tightened.
The worst part wasn't the violence.
Children could eventually understand illness.
They could understand fear.
But the thing that terrified Daehyun most was something else entirely.
Memory.
One day Minjun might remember the nights.
The shouting.
The crashing sounds.
The moments when Daehyun restrained Sooah while telling his son everything was just a game.
The moments when his mother screamed in confusion.
The moments when Daddy bled but pretended nothing was wrong.
What would that do to a child?
What would Minjun think of his mother?
What would he think of his father?
Would he resent Sooah?
Would he be afraid of her?
Would he grow up believing his family was broken?
Daehyun's hands clenched slightly.
He had endured everything for Sooah.
The bruises.
The sleepless nights.
The endless corporate pressure.
The isolation.
But Minjun was different.
Minjun had never chosen this life.
The boy had simply been born into it.
And Daehyun had no idea how to protect him from the truth forever.
His gaze drifted toward the hallway again.
He imagined a future conversation.
Minjun older.
Maybe ten years old.
Old enough to look directly at him and ask questions without fear.
Daddy… why does Mommy forget us?
How would he answer that?
How do you explain a broken mind to a child?
How do you explain that the person who loves you most in the world might one day look at you like a stranger?
How do you explain that the strongest woman you know is slowly losing pieces of herself?
His chest tightened painfully.
The worst possibility crept into his thoughts.
What if Minjun starts fearing her?
That thought hurt more than any wound.
Because Sooah loved Minjun.
Even now.
Even with her fractured memory.
In her clear moments she clung to him fiercely.
She laughed when he ran into her arms.
She kissed his hair.
She told him stories before bed.
Those moments were real.
But the episodes were real too.
And children remembered fear far longer than adults realized.
Daehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
His voice came out quietly.
"…What am I supposed to do?"
No one answered.
The house remained silent.
Somewhere down the hallway, a small voice suddenly called out sleepily.
"Daddy?"
Daehyun's head lifted instantly.
Minjun's bedroom door opened slowly.
The boy stood there in rumpled pajamas, clutching his dinosaur toy with messy hair sticking up in every direction.
His eyes were half closed with sleep.
But the moment he saw Daehyun, his face brightened.
"Daddy!"
He ran across the room with the clumsy enthusiasm only small children possessed.
Daehyun caught him easily, lifting him into his arms despite the pain in his ribs.
Minjun wrapped his small arms around his neck.
"Morning."
Daehyun forced a gentle smile.
"Morning, buddy."
The boy yawned dramatically.
"Mommy still sleeping?"
Daehyun nodded softly.
"Yeah. Mommy's still sleeping."
Minjun accepted the answer instantly.
Children trusted simple explanations.
The boy rested his head against Daehyun's shoulder.
For a moment they simply stood there in the quiet kitchen.
And suddenly Daehyun understood something.
Minjun didn't know the truth yet.
But one day he would.
And when that day came—
The only thing that would matter was whether Minjun still felt safe.
Whether he still believed his parents loved him.
Whether he knew that no matter how broken things became, his father had never stopped trying.
Daehyun held his son a little tighter.
Outside the windows, the sun finally began rising over the city.
Another day had started.
And once again, Kang Daehyun prepared himself to carry everything alone—until the day his son was old enough to understand why.