Epilogue – The Long Way Home

It’s Sunday morning. The sun filters in through gauzy curtains, landing softly on the wooden floors of our living room. Somewhere in the kitchen, toast is burning.

“Appa! The pancakes are sticking again!”

I hear her before I see her — Hana, our daughter, standing on a stool at the counter, holding a wooden spatula like a sword. Her hair’s in two messy braids, and she’s wearing one of my old t-shirts that hangs past her knees.

Seo Yoon is beside her, sipping coffee and trying not to laugh. Her silver butterfly necklace still catches the morning light like it did the day I gave it to her. Years ago, in a quieter kitchen.

I walk over, ruffling Hana’s hair as she turns to pout.

“I said medium heat,” I say, flipping the pan off the burner.

She crosses her arms. “You said you’d teach me.”

“I am. Step one: rescue the pancakes before they cry.”

Seo Yoon shakes her head and kisses the top of Hana’s head. “Come on, little chef. Let’s set the table.”

We eat together — the three of us — with the window cracked open and the breeze carrying the scent of spring into the apartment. There’s a small stack of picture books on the corner of the table, and crayon drawings on the fridge.

Love used to be quieter. Now it has a giggle, a pink toothbrush, and a habit of stealing all the strawberries.

—

Later in the afternoon, we take a walk by the river. Hana skips ahead, chasing cherry blossoms as they fall. She insists on wearing a butterfly clip in her hair — “like Omma’s necklace.”

Seo Yoon and I walk behind her, fingers intertwined, steps matching like we’ve always done this.

She bumps her shoulder into mine lightly. “You remember the first time you walked me home in the rain?”

“I remember everything,” I say. “Especially how wet Kim Ho looked when he saw us.”

She laughs, the sound softer now. Fuller. “He still brings it up.”

“He pretends to be mad, but he likes seeing us together.”

“He likes Hana even more.”

I glance ahead at our daughter — crouched by a patch of grass, whispering something to a daisy like it’s a secret.

“She’s the best part of us,” I say.

Seo Yoon doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.

—

That night, after Hana falls asleep curled up between two stuffed bears, we sit by the window again.

Different apartment. Same window.

The city glows beneath us. Not loud. Not desperate. Just steady.

She leans her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her waist. The butterfly pendant rests just above her heartbeat.

“We took the long way home,” I whisper.

She smiles, closing her eyes. “It was worth every step.”

And somewhere in all the quiet — in the soft hum of the world we built — I know we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

Together.

Always.