After his discharge from the military he was welcomed back and settled back into his normal life and routine just as before but one night for Do Hwan that quickly changed. What happens when he is attacked and a few weeks later discovers he is a carr...
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The glow of the New Year's sunrise painted Do Hwan's modest apartment in hues of gold and pink. He sat cross-legged on the soft play mat in the living room, his three-year-old daughter Sarang nestled in his lap. Her small hands gripped a plush bunny, her favorite companion, its ear fraying from countless hours of affection. Do Hwan chuckled as Sarang hummed, a melody uniquely hers, her head resting lightly against his chest.
The past three years felt like both a whirlwind and a slow, meaningful journey. Do Hwan gently stroked Sarang's dark hair, his mind traveling back to the day his life changed forever.
Raising a child with Down's syndrome had not been easy. Sarang's health issues, like her difficulty with feeding and the need for an NG tube, had tested him in ways he hadn't thought possible. There were countless sleepless nights, hospital visits, and moments of exhaustion that made him feel like he was failing. But those moments were always outweighed by the joy she brought into his life.
Every little milestone, every small victory, had become monumental in his eyes. He'd learned to cherish the tiny moments—the way her laughter lit up a room, the way she held his finger when she was scared, the way she looked at him like he was her entire world.
The world outside the window seemed to blur as he focused on the child in his arms. She had taught him to see the world through her eyes, to find beauty in the mundane, to appreciate the slow, deliberate pace of life. Before Sarang, he had been caught up in the whirlwind of his career, constantly striving for success. But Sarang had grounded him, showing him the value of simply being present.
Do Hwan felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The last three years had been the hardest of his life, but they had also been the most meaningful. Sarang had given him a purpose he hadn't known he was missing. Through her, he had discovered the beauty of slowing down, of appreciating life's small joys, of loving unconditionally.
"Appa," Sarang's voice, though soft and slightly slurred, broke his reverie. She tugged at his sleeve with a determined expression.
"Yes, my little love?" he replied, his voice warm, matching her smile.
"Play?" she asked, holding out a block from her colorful set. Her coordination was still developing, her fingers fumbling as she placed it on the mat. She looked up at him, her face lighting up even before he answered.
"Of course, Sarang-ah. Appa will always play with you," he said, leaning down to help her.
Building towers wasn't just a game; it was a triumph. Sarang's developmental delays made tasks like stacking blocks or walking across the room small victories worthy of celebration. Each wobble and each stumble in her steps taught him to appreciate the beauty of progress.
~
Later, as Sarang napped on the couch, her NG tube taped gently to her cheek, Do Hwan took a moment to reflect. He gazed at her tiny chest rising and falling steadily and marveled at the transformation she had brought into his life.
"When you were born, Sarang-ah," he murmured softly, "Appa didn't know what to do. I was so scared. But you... you taught me that love doesn't need a script."
He recalled the countless nights he stayed up, not because Sarang demanded it, but because he couldn't stop watching her. Every coo, every giggle, every milestone, however small, became treasures. He had learned to celebrate things he once took for granted — the first time she lifted her head, her first word, "Appa," and the first hesitant step she took while gripping his fingers tightly.
Looking at her now, he smiled. "You've given me so much, Sarang-ah. More than I ever thought possible."
His friends and family often told him how much he had sacrificed for her. "You put your career on hold," his mother had said once, concern evident in her eyes. But for Do Hwan, it never felt like a sacrifice. Sarang had given him the greatest gift of all — the chance to see the world anew, through her eyes.
"Appa," Sarang's voice stirred him again, sleepy but insistent. She reached for him, her tiny fingers curling in the air.
"Yes, Sarang-ah. Appa's here," he said, scooping her into his arms.
As he held her close, the weight of her small body against his chest felt like the anchor he didn't know he needed. The New Year stretched ahead, full of uncertainties, but one thing was certain: Sarang was his everything.
She yawned, her eyes fluttering shut again. Do Hwan pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering, "You are my light, Sarang-ah."
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of life that Sarang brought into it. And as the first day of the year unfolded, Do Hwan embraced the quiet joy of being her father, knowing that the love they shared was a story all its own.
Her tiny hands gripped a soft, plush rabbit she refused to part with. He held her close, her warmth a constant reminder of the life that had transformed his own.
He remembered vividly the moment he held her for the first time. The nurses had swaddled her tiny, pink form and placed her in his trembling arms. She had Down's syndrome, they said. She would have developmental delays. She would face challenges, both physical and cognitive. But none of that mattered. Holding her, he felt an overwhelming surge of love that transcended anything he'd ever known.
Now, as Sarang rested against him, he thought back to those early days. The sleepless nights spent learning how to care for her—understanding her needs, adapting to the NG tube that fed her, and navigating the intricacies of her therapy sessions. Each small victory had been monumental: the first time she grasped his finger, her first laugh, the way she brightened at the sound of his voice.
The past three years had been anything but easy. Balancing his acting career with the demands of single parenthood had required sacrifices. He'd taken fewer roles, choosing instead to focus on Sarang's needs.
"Appa," Sarang said suddenly, her voice soft but clear. The word, simple as it was, filled him with pride. She reached for the picture book on the table beside them, her coordination unsteady but determined. He helped her turn the pages, his heart swelling as she pointed to the colorful illustrations and babbled words only she understood.
"That's right," he encouraged, his voice gentle. "That's a bunny. Just like your toy."
She giggled, a sound so pure it seemed to light up the room. In moments like this, he saw the world anew—through her eyes. Every small achievement, every smile, every laugh was a reminder of life's beauty.
Raising her had also brought moments of doubt and loneliness. Late-night feedings and hospital visits were a constant reminder of how different their life was from others. There were days when he questioned whether he was doing enough, whether he was strong enough. But every time he looked at her—her resilience, her unshakable spirit—those doubts faded.
Do Hwan knew his life had changed irrevocably since Sarang's arrival, but he wouldn't have it any other way. She had given him a new purpose, a new way to see the world, and above all, a new kind of love—one that would last forever.
