Saturday dawns with a clarity that fills me with resolve. Today, maybe we can be a family for a few hours, whatever that looks like with only one of the fathers. I text Yul to be ready, and then herd the kids into the car—a cacophony of excitement and morning energy.
The drive to Yul's is punctuated by Yuji and Seungho's chatter about school projects and the animals they're hoping to see, while Seulgi hums contentedly in her car seat. The boys speculate on whether the goats will be as rambunctious as last time, and Yuji insists she's going to pet every single rabbit there.
I pull up to Yul's building, a bundle of nerves beneath a calm exterior. He's waiting outside, looking like he belongs more in a photography studio than at a petting zoo. His eyes meet mine, and there's an unspoken conversation in that gaze—a thank you for inviting him, an acknowledgment of this new beginning.
"Hey," he greets us, sliding into the passenger seat. His presence changes the dynamics instantly; the kids erupt in greetings, and Yul answers with a warmth that belies his usual reserve.
We drive toward the petting zoo park, the cityscape giving way to greener vistas. Seungi is recounting his latest soccer match with such animated gestures that I have to remind him to keep his seatbelt fastened. Yuji joins in with her ballet recital tales, while Seulgi asks Yul if he remembers the big pig from their last visit.
I watch Yul interact with them—his laughter genuine, his responses thoughtful—and it's like watching sunlight break through clouds. This is what I want: a semblance of normalcy, a semblance of family.
We arrive at the petting zoo park, which sounds confusing because that's literally all I can call it. It's basically a farm-themed amusement park for city kids who never get to see farm animals up close in any other setting. We spill out of the car into a day filled with promise. The air is ripe with scents of hay and earth as we approach the entrance. Yul scoops Seulgi into his arms as we make our way in, her laughter bubbling over at being so high up.
The kids scatter toward the gift store and fountains as soon as we're inside. I take a deep breath, savoring this moment of peace before joining them.
***
Holding Seulgi's hand, I hang back, observing the scene unfurling before me. Yul's assisting the boys with the ponies, a gentle patience emanating from him as he helps Seungho swing a leg over the saddle. The boy beams down at us from atop his new friend, pride swelling in his chest like a sail catching wind.
Seungi is next, hesitant, casting glances at the pony's flicking ears. Yul places a reassuring hand on his back, murmuring words lost in the distance but undoubtedly filled with encouragement. With a deep breath that lifts his shoulders, Seungi mounts and finds his balance, Yul's steadying presence a tangible safety net.
I feel Seulgi tug at my hand, her gaze locked on her brothers. "Can I have a turn too?" she asks, her voice tinged with the high pitch of longing.
"In a bit," I assure her, squeezing her hand. "Let's watch them for now."
Seulgi nods and shifts her attention back to the ponies, content to wait her turn. I watch Yul through new eyes—through the lens of this second chance I've been given—and something shifts inside me. He's helping Yunho last, holding the smallest boy in the saddle for him. There's a softness to him in these moments, a tenderness that is so different from his usual quiet demeanor.
The sight is soothing—something to off-put the uncertainty of the last few days. Here, in this snapshot of time, I can almost believe that we are just like any other family out for a day of fun and laughter.
Yul catches my eye from across the paddock and offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes but speaks volumes nonetheless. It's an acknowledgment of our shared experience today—a silent vow that we're in this together.
And as I stand there holding my daughter's hand, watching my sons ride ponies under their father's watchful eye, I relax a little, allow myself to just enjoy the moment.
We navigate through the crowds toward the food court, the kids' energy undiminished by their time with the animals. Their voices rise and fall in excited waves, discussing which animal was their favorite and what they want to eat. I suggest pizza, universally loved and easy to share, and it's met with enthusiastic agreement.
We find a table large enough to accommodate us all, and I head to the counter to order a variety of pizzas—cheese for the picky eaters, pepperoni for those a little more adventurous, and a vegetable-laden one for myself. Yul offers to help, but I wave him off, insisting he stay with the kids.
When I return, balancing a tray laden with steaming pizzas and paper plates, I catch sight of Yul at the center of our little family circle. He's already opened juice boxes for Seungi and Yunho, expertly popping the straws through the small foil-covered holes without spilling a drop. Seulgi watches him with big eyes, patiently waiting her turn.
"Here we go," I announce as I set down our meal amidst cheers of excitement. The kids immediately reach for their favorite slices, while I start cutting smaller pieces for Seulgi.
Yul beats me to it though. He's already taken a slice of cheese pizza and is cutting it into bite-sized portions for her. "You like the edges, right?" he asks Seulgi softly, remembering her preference for crusty ends over gooey centers.
Seulgi nods vigorously, her eyes following every movement of his hands. "Yes! And lots of napkins," she adds seriously.
"Of course," Yul chuckles, placing a small mountain of napkins beside her plate.
He moves on to help Yunho next, who is struggling to keep his slice from flopping over and dropping its toppings. With a quick fold that turns the pizza into something resembling a taco, Yul hands it back to Yunho who grins in triumph at his now manageable meal.
Seungi's next, already halfway through his slice but with sauce smeared across his cheek. Without missing a beat, Yul wipes his face clean with a napkin before it can stain his shirt—a practiced move that speaks of many such meals together.
Watching Yul with the children—our children—stirs something warm within me. His actions are so natural, so caring; it's clear this isn't out of character for him.
I take my seat beside Seulgi as we all dig in, sharing stories between bites about our morning adventures. The table is alive with laughter and chatter, and for just this moment, everything feels right.
After lunch, we wander through the park, the kids with renewed vigor from their meal. Yul's laughter rings out, easy and unguarded as he hoists Yuji onto his shoulders. She squeals with delight, her small hands gripping his as if he's her personal tower, standing tall above the rest of us.
Seungho and Seungi run ahead, pretending to be airplanes with arms outstretched, looping around Yul and Yuji. I watch them, a smile playing on my lips, the sound of their joy the only music I need. It's moments like these that etch themselves into your heart, that remind you what it feels like to be part of something whole.
Yul pretends to stumble near the pig pen, inciting mock gasps from the boys. "Whoops! Almost dropped you into a piggy mud bath!" he teases.
Yuji clings tighter to him, giggling uncontrollably. "No way! You can't catch me!" Seungho challenges, darting closer to Yul's reach before sprinting away at the last second.
Seungi, not one to be left out of any game involving a hint of danger and dirt, joins in the playful taunt. "Yeah! We're too fast for you!" He laughs breathlessly as he evades Yul's outstretched arms.
I can't help but join in their laughter, watching as Yul feigns exasperation at his inability to catch the slippery boys. It's a dance they seem to know well—a routine of mock chases and narrow escapes that leaves them all breathless with laughter.
The kids circle around Yul like satellites in orbit, their energy boundless. The pigs in their pen seem amused by the commotion outside their muddy beds, grunting and snuffling in what sounds like porcine laughter.
Yunho toddles up to me and tugs at my hand, his big eyes asking silently if he can join his siblings in their game. I nod and ruffle his hair before sending him off to join the chase.
He runs straight toward Yul, who swoops him up into a big bear hug before playfully swinging him around. Yunho's squeals mix with his siblings', creating a symphony of pure childhood delight that fills the park air.
This scene—this picture of familial harmony—it's like finding a piece of myself I didn't know was missing. Watching them all together with Yul so naturally woven into the fabric of their lives fills me with a sense of purpose.
The go-kart track looms ahead, a tangle of twists and turns that promises a rush of adrenaline. Seulgi's eyes sparkle with excitement as we choose our kart—a bright red number that seems to vibrate with untapped speed.
"Ready to go fast?" I ask her, securing our helmets.
She nods, her tiny hands gripping the steering wheel with determination. "Super fast!"
Yul and Yunho settle into a kart of their own, and I catch the twinkle in Yul's eye—an echo of the competitive spark in Seulgi's. The other kids rev their engines, the sound filling the air with the promise of impending chaos.
The flag drops and we're off, our kart leaping forward like a hound released from its leash. Seulgi squeals with delight, and I can't help but laugh as we surge around the first bend.
I glance over my shoulder to see Yul and Yunho gaining on us, their kart a blur of blue as they navigate the track with surprising skill. The kids weave around us, each one vying for the lead in their own private battles.
Then, with a sudden burst of speed, Yul pulls up beside us. He gives me a mischievous grin before playfully ramming our kart. The jolt sends a shockwave of laughter through me—I hadn't expected him to be so bold.
I retaliate with a gentle nudge back, and his laughter joins mine—a rich sound that seems to resonate deep within his chest. There's a lightness in his eyes I haven't seen before, an unguarded joy that's infectious.
Seulgi cheers us on, her voice rising above the roar of engines. "Faster, Omma! Catch Appa!"
I push down on the pedal, feeling the kart respond eagerly beneath us. We round another corner, and for a moment, it's just us and the track—no past or future concerns—just speed and wind and exhilaration.
Yul glances back at us, his smile wide and carefree as he maneuvers around another turn with Yunho still secure in his lap. His hair is tousled by the wind, his usual composure abandoned in favor of this pure moment of fun.
We race on, lap after lap—the world reduced to the whirr of engines and the rush of competition. It's freeing in a way I hadn't anticipated; this simple joy of being present in the moment.
As we cross the finish line, Seulgi throws her hands up in triumph regardless of our placement—it doesn't matter who won; it's clear we've all found something worth celebrating.
The roar of the go-karts fades behind us as we make our way out of the park. Yul strides alongside Yuji and Seungho, their conversation animated as they debate who took the sharpest turns and who was the fastest. I marvel at how effortlessly Yul treats all the kids as if they are his own, showering them with attention and encouragement.
He listens intently to Seungho's excited recount of overtaking Yunho on the last lap, his eyes crinkling with pride. "You're a speed demon, kid," he tells Seungho, who puffs up at the praise.
Yuji tugs at Yul's sleeve, eager to share her experience. "I almost caught up to you!" she proclaims, a playful challenge in her tone.
Yul ruffles her hair affectionately. "Next time, you just might," he replies with a wink.
As I watch them, it strikes me just how deeply Yul cares for each child. It's in his gentle teasing with Yuji, his high-fives with Seungho, and even in the way he scoops up Yunho when his little legs grow tired from walking. He treats them all with equal love and patience—qualities that don't go unnoticed by their young hearts.
This is more evidence that whatever happened between Inha and Yul, it must've been significant. To witness such a bond now makes it clear that their relationship before must have been quite close. How else could this natural rapport exist? It's a connection that seems to transcend whatever rift now lies between them.
Sorrow makes my chest feel tight when I consider this is what we've lost—a unity that once was but is now fractured. The framework is still there, but it's held from being complete by the big gaping hole created by the mysterious thing that tore it apart.
As we reach the car, I catch Yul's eye—a silent conversation passes between us once more. I can almost see the thoughts running through his head, probably along the same lines as mine.
I have the nanny meet us halfway back to the apartment to pick up the kids and take them home so Yul and I can go have dinner before I take him home. We park and Yul helps me unload all the kids and reload them into the nanny's minivan. Yul bids each of them goodbye individually and Seulgi wails from her car seat in the back until Yul promises her ice cream the next time he sees her if she stops.
The laughter of the children fades as the nanny's car pulls away, leaving Yul and me standing in the quiet aftermath. The day's joy seems to hang in the air, and for a moment, I want badly to hold onto it, dreading the silence.
"Shall we?" I ask, gesturing toward my car. Yul nods, and we slide into the leather seats. The engine purrs to life, a soft vibration under our feet as we drive toward the restaurant.
The drive is quiet—too quiet. I sneak glances at Yul, noticing how his shoulders slump slightly, how his gaze drifts to the window, fixed on something far beyond the city lights.
At dinner, seated across from him in a cozy booth tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, the change is undeniable. The man who was so alive with the children is now withdrawn, like someone turned down his brightness.
He picks at his food, his usual attentiveness replaced by a pensive distance. It's as if he's here but not quite present, his thoughts elsewhere.
I clear my throat, trying to bridge the gap. "The kids had a great time today," I say. "You're amazing with them."
He offers a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "They're easy to love," he replies softly.
I reach across the table, covering his hand with mine. "And they love you," I say firmly. "We all do."
Yul's eyes lift to meet mine, and there's a flicker of something—appreciation, maybe even affection—but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. He pulls his hand back gently and returns to his meal.
I let out a breath and decide to change tactics. "How's your work been," I inquire. "Any new projects?"
For a moment he hesitates, then begins to speak about his work. As he talks about light and shadow, about capturing moments in time, he comes back to life—his hands moving with animation as he describes his latest shoot.
But even as he speaks passionately about his art, there's an undercurrent of melancholy that wasn't there before—a sense of something lost.
The more time I spend with him, the more I can't shake the feeling that Yul is holding onto a secret sadness that runs deeper than just missing the kids' laughter.
The ride back to Yul's place is cloaked in a quiet that feels heavier than the night sky pressing down on us. We're both lost in our own thoughts, the hum of the engine a soft backdrop to the silence that has settled between us.
I park outside his building, the same modest structure that seems so opposite of the glamour I live with Inha. The lights from the windows above cast a warm glow onto the pavement, a beacon in the cool darkness.
"I'll see you soon," I say, trying to infuse some of the day's warmth back into my voice.
Yul nods, his features etched with the same quietness that's been with him since we left the children. He reaches for the door handle, but before he can open it, something inside me stirs—a need to reach out, to connect.
My hand moves almost of its own accord, resting gently on his wrist. His skin is warm under my touch, and for a moment, he looks at me, his expression unreadable.
The moment my fingers brush against Yul's wrist, a floodgate opens within my mind. Images, sounds, and scents cascade through me, vivid and startling in their clarity.
There's laughter—ours—echoing in a kitchen splattered with the chaos of an impromptu baking war. I see him, grinning with mischief, a dusting of flour on his nose as he chases me around the island counter.
Then we're outside, drenched by an unexpected downpour, sprinting for cover. We huddle under an awning, our breaths mingling in the cool air. Yul turns to me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of adrenaline and something tender. His hands cup my face, raindrops weaving trails through our hair as he leans in to kiss me—softly at first, then deepening as if trying to communicate every unsaid word between us.
The visions shift again, and now we're on a patio bathed in moonlight. I'm wrapped in a blanket beside him as his fingers dance over guitar strings I had been told he couldn't play. He's singing—a melody that stirs something deep within me—and it's not just any song; it's our song.
His touch ignites a spark, a surge of images flashing through my mind with the intensity of a storm breaking the calm. My breath catches as I'm pulled under by the current of memories. The vision unfolds like a petal in bloom, revealing Yul and me twined together, every part of us touching, in sync.
I see us, laughter trailing behind us as we stumble into a bedroom, our sanctuary from the world's gaze. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine from an open window, and Yul's hands are on me, tracing the lines of my body with a tenderness that belies his urgent need. His lips find mine, hungry and insistent, and I respond with equal fervor, lost in the whirlwind that is us.
His kisses blaze a trail down my neck, and I feel Yul's fingers deftly tugging at my shirt, his touch sending waves of heat coursing through me. There's a desperate edge to our movements, as if we're trying to close every inch of space between us.
I throw my head back, giving in to the sensation that overpowers all reason—a primal ecstasy that erases everything but the feel of Yul against me. My heart races, pounding in rhythm with our entwined bodies as we move together.
The flashback fades as quickly as it came.
I gasp for air, clutching at my chest as a wrenching pain slices through it. Tears stream down my face, and I make a terrible sound—somewhere between a sob and a strangled cry.
The memory—no, the deluge of memories—has left me reeling, struggling to anchor myself in the present moment. It's as if I've been thrown into a raging current, the force of it threatening to sweep me away.
Yul's eyes widen with concern, his hand reaching out instinctively to steady me. "Yena? What's wrong?"
I shake my head, unable to find the words. How can I explain the torrent of emotions that have been unleashed? The intimacy we once shared, the way it makes me feel as if something has been torn away from my body—it's all come crashing back.
Alarmed, Yul rushes around to my side of the car, yanking the door open. He crouches down in front of me, his eyes wide with worry. Before I can protest, his hands are on me—the first time he's touched me since my mind was wiped.
His fingers gently brush away the tears streaking my cheeks as he cradles my face, his gaze searching mine. "Yena, talk to me. What's wrong?"
I draw in a shuddering breath, struggling to find the words. How can I begin to explain what's going on in my head when I don't understand it myself? The intensity of the memories, the passion I felt—it was as if I had been transported back in time, everything feels misplaced inside of me. I'm feeling things that don't fit and have spaces left open inside of me with nothing to piece them together.
I choke on my tears, the sobs wracking my body as I grapple with the confusion and heart-wrenching sorrow that the memories brought on. It feels like a gaping wound has been torn open, raw and bleeding.
"Why?" I manage to gasp out, my voice breaking. "Why does it feel like you broke my heart?"
Yul's eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at me, his expression a mix of anguish and regret. He lets out a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.
Without a word, he pulls me into his embrace, his arms enveloping me in a protective cocoon. I bury my face in his chest, seeking solace in his warmth as the sobs continue to wrack my frame.
"It's because I did," he finally whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "And that's why I can't forgive myself either."
His words hang heavy in the air, each syllable laced with a sorrow that cuts deep. I cling to him, desperate for an anchor in the storm of emotions that threatens to sweep me away.
Yul holds me tighter, his fingers gently carding through my hair in a soothing rhythm. "I'm so sorry, Yena," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple. "I never meant to hurt you like this."
His apology only seems to intensify the ache in my chest, his words dig into something buried in my subconscious. A conversation I don't remember but my heart does. Images and sensations continue to assault me, fragments of a life.
I feel the ghost of Yul's touch on my skin, the echo of his lips on mine. The memories are vivid, yet hazy—like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. They slip through my fingers, leaving me disoriented and grasping for purchase.
I wonder how long I'm going to keep being assaulted by snippets of another life and bombs of emotion that have nothing solid to connect with in this reality I've made.