𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐍𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

Shuhua wiped down the bar, the club’s neon lights flickering off her tired eyes. It was 2 AM, the same tired routine urging her forward. She’d served drinks all night and smiled through the exhaustion—for her daughter, she reminded herself when her muscles ached.

She traded glances with the door as it swung open. She braced herself. Rich clientele, loud music, and another night of exhaustion.

Until she felt it.

Eyes.

A quiet warmth descended over the chaos as she locked eyes with a woman who sparkled like she belonged in the kind of life Shuhua had no time for. Soojin.

She glided through crowds in couture, hair luminous, skin glowing under the strobe lights. A flash of recognition followed—she’d heard of the club’s owner, the so-called “billionaire party princess”—but never expected to be on the receiving end of her attention.

Within half an hour, it happened. Soojin slid onto a barstool. No entourage, no champagne trucks—just her.

“Can I see you after your shift?” she asked. Her voice cut through the loud music like a soft river.

Shuhua hesitated. “I finish at three.”

“I’ll wait.”

^^^

They agreed on coffee—quiet, daylight, away from the club’s glare. Shuhua was halfway through her shift the next night when the shock hit: Soojin slid into her booth with two cups of latte in hand.

Coffee dates became ritual, passing beneath her slab of a chest like wingbeats of a secret she was ashamed to treasure. But in Soojin’s company, Shuhua felt something, something soft and bright, stirring beneath her bruised skin.

Then came the truth.

Soojin admitted it one evening under warm lamplight: “I wanted to escape. The parties, the flashing cameras… none of it felt real. Then I met you.”

Shuhua’s heart stumbled. “You’re… the owner?” she asked.

“I am,” Soojin replied. “Billionaire.” She shrugged with a rueful smile. “Surprised?”

Shuhua swallowed hard. She’d always despised the wealthy who never carried more than a lipstick in their chains. And yet here she was… puzzled by how deeply she felt seen.

—Shuhua pulled back. She needed rules. Dates were fine. Walks to the park with her daughter Mei were fine. But long weekends in a billionaire’s penthouse? No.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she warned Soojin one rainy afternoon, Mei tugging at her mother’s hand.

Soojin touched her shoulder. “I want to be different. For you — for her.”

Shuhua exhaled slowly. “I’m scared.”

And Soojin reached for her—nay, both of them. And told them again tonight, “I want us. I want to be ready.”

^^^

Soojin showed up at Mei’s school for art day, wearing a nervous smile, a cheap paper crown from crafting, cradling chocolate muffins. Mei handed her a crooked scribble box that read “world’s best mom & friend.”

Over the next few weeks, Soojin did laundry. She learned Mei’s favorite bedtime story about the moon who lost her light. She framed that scribbled box and placed it on the mantelpiece. She stayed quiet when Mei woke thinking she'd dreamt of fireworks—and eventually, she became her fireworks.

---

It was a Thursday evening—quiet, calm, and unusually soft for their little household. The rain tapped gently on the windows, and the scent of warm soup lingered in the air.

Shuhua was in the kitchen rinsing dishes, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from Mei’s earlier attempt to braid it. Soojin sat on the floor of the living room, helping Mei arrange tiny magnetic tiles into what appeared to be a castle, complete with a crooked rainbow tower.

"Careful!" Mei giggled. "The queen will fall if you do it too fast."

“Oh no! We can’t let that happen,” Soojin said, dramatically gasping and pretending to save the tiny magnetic queen. "Queen Banana deserves stability."

Shuhua peeked in from the kitchen and shook her head, amused. “You two are chaos.”

But then it happened—quietly, almost shyly. Mei set down her toy and looked at Soojin with a thoughtful tilt of her head.

"Hey..." she began, fiddling with the corner of the playmat. “Are you my other mom?”

The question dropped like a feather—soft but impossible to ignore.

Soojin blinked, completely still. Across the room, Shuhua froze mid-rinse, heart hammering as she slowly turned off the tap.

Mei continued, “Because you read me stories, and you come to school stuff… and you always pack extra cookies. Mommy says that’s your idea.”

Soojin’s mouth opened, but no words came out immediately. She glanced toward the kitchen, and Shuhua gave her a tiny nod. Go ahead.

Soojin gently took Mei’s hand, her voice quiet but sure. “Well... I’m not your mom the way your mommy is. But if being a mom means loving you, and protecting you, and showing up for you—then yes. I would be really honored to be your other mom. If you’d like that.”

Mei grinned, her teeth slightly crooked in a way that made Soojin’s chest ache with love. “I’d like that. But only if you promise not to forget Queen Banana in the tower.”

Soojin laughed, tears pooling in her eyes. “Deal.”

Shuhua came over, sitting beside them, brushing a piece of Mei’s hair behind her ear. “You’re very lucky, you know,” she whispered.

Mei leaned into her. “I know.”

Then she leaned the other way, resting her head on Soojin’s shoulder.

In that moment, with one child between them and their hands quietly linked behind her back, Soojin and Shuhua realized they weren’t building a fairytale. They were building something messier, warmer, and real.

A family.

♡●♡●♡

It wasn't always perfect. Nights out, missteps, tears—but they learned. Together.

On Sunday mornings, Soojin made silly pancakes shaped like dogs. Shuhua added chocolate chips. Mei giggled through syrup-induced delight.

On Mondays, they all sat beneath fairy lights in the loft Soojin leased for them—Soojin’s “real” home—cozy and unframed.

Shuhua studied bills while Soojin filled out school forms. They passed cups of coffee back and forth. And sometimes, they paused to look at the other and think: She did that—for me. Us. We’re real.

Late one evening, Soojin pulled Shuhua aside and said, “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

Shuhua smiled tiredly. “Thank you for giving us your first one.”

They kissed.

And the club owner—no, not the club owner, but their woman—wrapped the single mother and her daughter in arms that had learned to hold, that would carry them, and that would love them beyond the neon lights.

Love hadn’t slotted into either of their complicated lives. It’d built a whole new floor.