The wooden house in Cambodia was alive with tiny noises now.
Mi‑un sat on the floor, a bundle of laughter and chaos in her arms. The child, now nearly a year old, was full of energy, crawling over her lap, tugging at her hair, and squealing with delight.
"You little troublemaker!" she laughed, lightly scolding him, though her fingers couldn't help but brush over his soft cheeks.
The baby's eyes sparkled, and he wriggled happily, babbling sounds that were almost like words. Slowly, over weeks and months, he was learning—imitating her smiles, waving tiny hands, and even trying to repeat the first few syllables of his name.
Mi‑un watched him intently, heart swelling with a warmth she hadn't felt in years. Raising him was exhausting—she was constantly tired, her arms sore, her back aching—but every little achievement filled her with pride.
"Did you see that?" she whispered one afternoon, as he reached out to grab a brightly colored cloth hanging nearby. "You're learning colors too… almost like I taught you."
The baby giggled, tossing the cloth onto the floor and crawling after it with determination. Mi‑un laughed again, wiping tears of joy from her cheeks.
The house, once quiet and lonely, now felt alive with the sounds of life. Birds chirped outside, the wind rustled through the wooden walls, and inside, there was constant movement, chaos, and laughter.
Mi‑un found herself humming softly, the old lullabies from her childhood blending with new tunes she made up herself. The baby's tiny hands clutched at her shirt, eyes wide with fascination, soaking in every sound, every touch, every moment.
Sometimes, in the still of the night, she would hold him close and whisper softly,
"I know life hasn't been easy, sweetheart… but look at us. We're here. We're together. And we'll keep going."
And when she looked down at his tiny sleeping face, Mi‑un allowed herself to smile without guilt for the first time in years.
One year had passed since she had taken that first step away from everything she had known, carrying the child into an uncertain world. Now, that year had transformed them both. The child had grown, learned, and laughed. And Mi‑un, in turn, had found fragments of hope she thought were lost forever.
She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Happy one year, little one," she whispered.
"You may not know it, but you've brought light back into my life."
Outside, the sun shone warmly over the small house. And for the first time in a long while, Mi‑un felt that maybe, just maybe, the future wa
sn't so terrifying after all.