The morning sun streamed through the small wooden windows, painting warm golden streaks across the floor. Mi‑un carefully arranged a tiny cloth on the table, balancing a small cake she had managed to bake despite the limited ingredients.
The baby, now just over one year old, crawled around the room energetically, squealing with delight whenever he saw Mi‑un's movements. He was a handful, always reaching for everything, knocking over cups and cloths, giggling at his own chaos.
"Hey! No, not the cake!" Mi‑un laughed, scooping him up just in time to prevent disaster. The baby responded with a laugh that echoed through the room, pure and infectious.
Mi‑un took a deep breath, smiling despite her exhaustion. One year ago, she had been standing at an airport, alone with her child, unsure of what the future held. Now, the room was alive with tiny noises, little hands, and tiny feet racing across the wooden floor.
She set the baby down and clapped her hands. "Look! Today is your day, little one!"
He squealed and waved his hands, fascinated by the flickering candle she had placed on the tiny cake. Mi‑un carefully guided him to press his tiny fingers on it, smearing icing everywhere, laughing at the mess.
Outside, the village children had begun to gather, curious about the celebration. Some brought small gifts—brightly colored fabrics, handmade toys, and fruits. The neighbors peeked in, offering smiles, quietly admiring how Mi‑un had carved a life from nothing.
"Happy birthday!" they all cheered softly.
The baby looked around, blinking in surprise at the attention, before giggling and trying to reach for everyone at once. Mi‑un chuckled, scooping him up. "You're going to be the center of attention forever, huh?"
As the day went on, Mi‑un caught herself staring at him often, marveling at how much he had grown, how much life had returned into their tiny house.
She whispered quietly while holding him close, "I promised to protect you… and I will. Always."
For the first time in a long while, Mi‑un allowed herself to relax. There were still struggles ahead, sleepless nights, and days when she would be utterly exhausted—but for this day, she let herself enjoy the simple joy of the child's laughter, the warmth of neighbors' kindness, and the light returning slowly into her own heart.
As the sun set over the small wooden house, Mi‑un tucked the baby into his small cradle, his eyes already heavy with sleep. She sat beside him, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, and whispered softly:
"You've brought me back to life, little one… and I promise, no matter what comes, I'll always be here for you."
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, carrying the faintest hint of the past, of MK's presence, as if approving of this fragile, hopeful new beginning.
And for the first time in a long while, Mi‑un smiled without tears, watching the child drift into sleep—a small, perfect miracle she
had fought so hard to protect.