One day in Seoul 🇰🇷

🇰🇷: 59 (Short Author's POV)

One month had passed since Nathan's death, and although life continued to move forward, the weight of grief still lingered in the air. It wasn't something that could simply be erased. Pain had a way of settling deep into the bones, becoming part of a person's everyday routine, a constant companion that whispered in moments of silence.

Mari, for one, found her own way to cope. She had thrown herself into something new-cooking. There was something comforting about creating meals from scratch, something therapeutic in the way she could lose herself in the kitchen. It wasn't just about making food; it was about rediscovering joy in the simplest of tasks. She had also taken on the responsibility of managing their family business, something she had previously avoided. But now, it gave her purpose, something to focus on beyond the hollow space Nathan's absence had left behind.

In between stirring pots of soup or kneading dough, Mari would often pause, her thoughts drifting back to Nathan. She missed his laughter, the way he would poke fun at her, But cooking wasn't just about remembering him; it was about moving forward, about reclaiming parts of herself that had been lost in the grief.

Then there was Daniel. From the very day Nathan died, he hadn't left Francis' side. The bond they shared had only strengthened, their shared loss knitting them even closer together. Daniel wasn't one for emotional displays, but his presence spoke volumes. He didn't have to say much; just being there was enough. He was the kind of friend who would quietly stand by you, even in the darkest moments, even when the weight of grief threatened to suffocate you.

Every day, Daniel made sure Francis wasn't alone, whether it was by watching over him in the office or sharing a beer late at night when the silence became too loud. He was grieving too-everyone was-but he carried it differently. He wasn't the type to break down or let it show. Instead, he poured all his focus into being there for the people who needed him. And right now, that was Francis.

John, on the other hand, had returned to his work as a police officer. The job had always been his calling, a way to channel his energy and keep his mind focused. But now, returning to the daily grind was different. It felt hollow without Nathan to share his victories and frustrations with. John tried to throw himself into the cases he had missed during the past month, trying to distract himself from the loss that gnawed at him from the inside. Every time he put on his uniform, he felt the weight of his duty pulling him forward, but the sadness never truly left.

At the precinct, people treated him with a little more caution than before. Colleagues who once greeted him with easy smiles now offered quiet nods, understanding that he was still healing. He appreciated the space they gave him, but in truth, John just wanted things to go back to how they were. He wanted to feel normal again. And though he tried, some days were harder than others.

As for Francis, life had taken on a new rhythm. After everything that had happened, he had made a promise to himself-to be the best father he could be to Sarang and to cherish his relationship with Katarina more than ever before. Being a father had always come naturally to him, but now, it carried new meaning. Sarang, with her bright eyes and innocent laughter, was a reminder of the future, of the life still ahead. She was his grounding force, pulling him out of the darkness whenever it threatened to take over.

In the mornings, he'd wake up to the sound of her tiny footsteps running through the house, and for a brief moment, everything felt normal. He'd carry her on his shoulders, her laughter echoing through the halls, and he would smile-because even though Nathan was gone, Sarang was still here. And that was enough to keep him going.

With Katarina, things had shifted as well. They had always shared a deep connection, but now, there was a quiet understanding between them. She never asked too many questions about what had happened, and she never pushed him to talk about his pain. She trusted him, believed in him, and that gave him the space he needed to heal at his own pace.