It's the prequel of "my little doom" and a FF it's y/n and Jungkook's story
Min y/n is an independent woman who has faced life's challenges head-on. She works tirelessly to provide for her 5-year-old son, Min-ho, who is her entire world. Despite th...
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I woke up with a splitting headache, and as I stretched out my arms to pull my baby closer, my heart sank when I realized he wasn't on the bed. Panic surged through me. I sat up abruptly and called out, "Min-ho!" hoping he might be in the bathroom. But there was no response. This is a new house. My baby doesn't know anyone here.
A wave of dread washed over me. What if Jungkook had done something to my baby? The thought of him harming Min-ho made my blood boil. If he's touched even a hair on my baby's head, I swear I'll kill him.
I climbed out of bed, anxiety gripping me as I checked the bathroom and the walk-in closet. He wasn't there. With tears already blurring my vision, I rushed to the door and dashed downstairs. Fear clawed at me, the worst scenarios flashing through my mind, all the things Jungkook could do to hurt me through my son.
But then I heard it. Min-ho's sweet voice floated up to me. "Dad, can we make more? Mommy also loves pancakes."
Relief and confusion hit me like a tidal wave. I followed the sound, and my heart nearly burst when I saw Min-ho smiling, perched on the kitchen island, happily eating pancakes. And there was Jungkook, flipping more pancakes with a calm, focused expression.
My legs almost gave out. Tears of relief mixed with my previous panic as I ran to Min-ho, scooping him up into my arms. He giggled, oblivious to the emotional storm I had just weathered.
Jungkook glanced over, a small, almost smug smile playing on his lips. "Morning," he said casually, as if nothing had happened. "Hope you don't mind pancakes for breakfast."
I held Min-ho tightly, my heart slowly calming as I realized he was safe. "Don't scare me like that," I managed to say, my voice still trembling.
This site is so bizarre that I have to pinch myself to believe I'm not dreaming. My son is sitting here so happy, like he's found the world. My Min-ho, my smart, happy child. But there were those moments-moments when he'd look at other kids with their fathers and pout when he thought I wasn't watching. He never asked about his father after I told him he wasn't with us anymore. The truth about his real father was too painful to share, so I gave him a simple, sad story. But now, the way he's looking at Jungkook, I can tell my baby wants a father.
Jungkook catches my eye, then his gaze travels from my head to my toes. I'm still in my oversized T-shirt from last night, covered in whimsical pigs. Last night was chaotic; I had thrown on jeans with this shirt when we arrived at the new house. Sometime during the night, I had kicked off the jeans and collapsed into bed, leaving me now standing here barefoot and disheveled.
It's not like I want to impress this asshole, but I certainly don't like looking so unkempt. The old me didn't care about appearances, preferring to hide. But I don't hide anymore-not like that, at least.
Jungkook's eyes linger on me, and I feel a mix of embarrassment and defiance.
I shrugged and asked my kid again, "Baby, why did you come here without telling me?"
