✎...ɪɴᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇ

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─•~❉ᴄʜᴏɪ ꜱᴀɴ❉~•─

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─•~❉ᴄʜᴏɪ ꜱᴀɴ❉~•─

ONE YEAR LATER

Standing by our new house on the beach, watching Hwa-Young scamper across the sand, felt like a poignant emblem of a fresh start. The ocean breeze was crisp, mingling with the salty air and the calls of distant seabirds, creating a sense of renewal and endless possibility. As Hwa-Young's laughter floated back to me over the sound of the waves, her joy was infectious, yet it carried a bittersweet note under the current circumstances.

I couldn't help but admire her resilience. She had grown so much, adapting to the tumultuous changes that had swept through our lives with a grace far beyond her years. We had all believed the worst was behind us after moving to this seaside retreat, thinking it marked the end of a long, painful chapter. The peace of the past year, filled with love and recovery, had been a balm, making us believe that perhaps we had truly turned a corner.

But the recent call, the one that summoned Wooyoung back to the hospital, reignited old fears that I thought we had quelled. The possibility of his cancer returning loomed over us, a shadow threatening our newfound tranquility.

As I watched Hwa-Young run along the beach, her feet kicking up sand in joyful abandon, I allowed myself a small, soft smile tinged with sadness. Sitting down on the warm sand, I felt the sun's warmth on my skin, a stark contrast to the chill of uncertainty that had settled in my heart. Despite the fear gnawing at me, I knew Wooyoung would want me to remain strong for Hwa-Young. He would expect me to shield her from the worries that were once again pressing in on us, to maintain a semblance of normalcy as we awaited the news from the hospital.

My thoughts turned to prayer, a silent plea to whatever gods might be listening, to watch over Wooyoung, to keep him safe and bring him back to us, healthy and whole. I watched Hwa-Young build a sandcastle, her small hands shaping and molding the sand with determined focus. Her innocence and the sheer force of her will to enjoy every moment, despite everything, inspired me.

As Hwa-Young continued to play, her silhouette dancing against the shimmering backdrop of the ocean, I glanced down at the car seat beside me, where little Ha-Joon was just beginning to stir. The gentle sounds escaping his lips were filled with contentment, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my heart. Carefully, I lifted him from the seat, draping a blanket over his small form. Holding him close, I began to sway softly, soothing both him and myself with the rhythmic movement.

Ha-Joon snuggled into me, his tiny hands clutching the fabric of my shirt. As I looked down at his face, I saw so much of Wooyoung in him—the same soft features, the gentle curve of his brow, even the peaceful expression he wore in sleep. It was both comforting and heart-wrenching, a reminder of everything that was at stake.

As Ha-Joon nestled closer, his presence brought a profound sense of peace. Here, in my arms, was a part of Wooyoung, innocent and untouched by the shadows that had crept back into our lives. His gentle breaths, soft and steady, served as a reminder of the cycles of life—of hope, resilience, and the everyday miracles that often go unnoticed.

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