My Best Friend's Secret Baby

The Confusion

The next few nights at home were a delicate kind of chaos—filled with quiet cries, soft lullabies, and the rhythmic hum of the rain against their windows. Sleep came in fragments, in between feedings and whispered laughter, in between moments of warmth Chaeyoung couldn't quite name.

At first, it was simple admiration. Mina had always been beautiful, but now, there was something different about her—something softer, something that drew Chaeyoung in like gravity. Maybe it was the way Mina's voice dropped into a hush when she spoke to their daughter, or how her tired smile still reached her eyes even after another sleepless night.

But then came the moments Chaeyoung couldn't laugh off.

One night, sometime after 3 a.m., MinYoung's small cries broke through the silence. Mina stirred, half-awake, reaching for the baby, but Chaeyoung was already sitting up.
"It's okay," she whispered, "I've got her."

She handed MinYoung to Mina, expecting the usual rhythm of nursing and humming—but this time, something in her chest stuttered. Mina's nightgown slipped slightly off her shoulder as she adjusted the baby, her skin pale under the lamplight, her expression tender and serene.

Chaeyoung froze. It wasn't lust—not in the way she'd ever known it. It was an ache, something quiet and startlingly human. A part of her wanted to look away, but another part couldn't.

She turned abruptly, pretending to fix the blanket. "Do you... need anything?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Mina smiled, not noticing the way Chaeyoung's hand trembled. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

But Chaeyoung couldn't. Not after that.

Every night after, she woke before Mina did, and every morning began the same: the soft sound of Mina breathing beside her, the faint weight of her arm draped over Chaeyoung's waist. Sometimes Mina's head would rest against her chest, and Chaeyoung would lie completely still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loud.

Her heart always beat too fast in those moments—loud enough she was sure Mina could hear it.

And when Mina murmured her name in her sleep, voice low and trusting, Chaeyoung felt something she didn't understand tighten inside her.

During the day, it wasn't any easier. She found herself watching Mina too often—when she tied her hair into a messy bun, when she hummed while folding baby clothes, when she kissed MinYoung's forehead and smiled that tired, perfect smile.

Once, Mina walked out of the bathroom still wrapped in a towel, steam following her into the hallway.
"Can you grab me a new pajama top? I forgot mine," she said casually.

"Y-yeah, sure," Chaeyoung stammered, her ears burning. She turned too quickly, fumbling through the drawer. Her hands shook slightly as she handed the shirt over, eyes fixed anywhere but Mina's bare shoulders.

"Thanks, Chaeng," Mina said, smiling—completely unaware of the chaos she'd just caused.

That night, Chaeyoung lay awake staring at the ceiling, her mind looping through every fleeting touch, every smile, every morning they woke tangled in the sheets.
She told herself it was just exhaustion. Proximity. Hormones. Anything but what it felt like.

But the more she denied it, the stronger it grew.

Chaeyoung started lingering beside Mina during their quiet talks after dinner—their little tradition since college. They'd sit on the couch, MinYoung asleep between them, talking about everything and nothing. Mina would laugh softly, sometimes leaning against Chaeyoung's shoulder without thinking. And each time, something strange happened—her breath would hitch, her pulse would stutter, and she'd feel this odd flutter in her chest she couldn't quite name.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Mina was her best friend—her constant, her family in every way that mattered. Her wife, yes, but only in name, in circumstance, in the strange twist of fate that had brought them here.

So why did it suddenly feel different? Why did her skin tingle when their hands brushed, or her stomach tighten when Mina smiled too softly in the quiet?

She told herself it was just exhaustion, or maybe hormones from the constant lack of sleep, or maybe just gratitude—because Mina had always been there, patient and steady. That had to be it.

But the more she tried to reason with herself, the more confused she became. Mina's laughter lingered in her mind long after it faded. Her scent clung to the sheets. The space beside her on the bed felt too cold whenever Mina wasn't there.

It didn't make sense. She had always been straight—everyone knew that, including herself. Mina was supposed to be her sister, her safe place. So why did her heart beat faster when Mina looked at her that way, gentle and unguarded? Why did she suddenly notice the curve of her smile, the warmth in her eyes?

By the time Chaeyoung realized she couldn't tell where comfort ended and something else began, it was already too late.

That morning, she caught her reflection in the kitchen window—hair messy, dark circles under her eyes—and whispered under her breath, "What's wrong with me?"

But there was no answer. Only the quiet thrum of rain against glass.

Chaeyoung sighed, rubbing at her temple as MinYoung's faint cooing echoed from the other room. She turned toward the sound, the corners of her mouth softening as she watched Mina hum a lullaby, rocking their daughter gently in her arms. The sight eased something inside her—yet, at the same time, made her chest tighten with that same unexplainable ache.

She shook her head quickly, scolding herself under her breath. Get a grip, Chaeyoung. She's your best friend. That's all.

Just as she was about to speak—maybe to offer to take over the rocking, maybe just to break the silence—a sudden knock echoed through the apartment.

Three soft taps. Hesitant, familiar.

Mina looked up, startled. "Were you expecting someone?"

Chaeyoung frowned. "No. You?"

Mina shook her head, passing MinYoung carefully into her arms before walking toward the door. The rain had started to pour harder now, drumming against the windows in steady rhythm.

Chaeyoung swayed gently, cradling the baby, her mind still tangled in thoughts she couldn't name. She heard the door open, followed by a silence so sharp it made her look up.

Mina stood frozen in the doorway.

"Hi," a man's voice said softly—deep, uncertain.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened.

Jungkook.

He stood there, rain dripping from his hair, a bouquet of lilies clutched awkwardly in one hand. The look in his eyes was a mix of regret and longing—and something that twisted Chaeyoung's stomach in ways she didn't expect.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air between them thickened, heavy with things left unsaid.

Behind the sound of rain and MinYoung's quiet breathing, Chaeyoung heard her own pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't know why her chest suddenly felt tight—or why, when Jungkook's gaze briefly flicked to her, she had the sudden urge to turn away.

Then his voice broke the silence, low and careful.

"I told you I'd come back, didn't I, love?"

Mina froze.

Chaeyoung did too—her arms tightening protectively around MinYoung, confusion and unease tangling deep in her chest.

And in that fragile, rain-soaked moment, everything—their calm, their rhythm, their quiet pretending—began to unravel.