Chapter Text
It hardly felt real that Yeoreum was now five years old. As Jaeyi looked around the room, she found it almost unbelievable that this was her life now — celebrating their child’s birthday alongside Seulgi, Aunt Heeyun, and her own parents, Taejoon and Eunjung.
In a quiet corner of her heart, she couldn’t help but think of Jena unnie, her older sister who had passed away years ago. If only she were still here, Jaeyi thought tenderly. She could easily imagine Jena spoiling Yeoreum to no end, probably sneaking her extra cake and showering her with too many gifts.
The birthday celebration that day was warm and lively, exactly what a five-year-old deserved. Colorful balloons and paper streamers danced above the living room, and a big “Happy Birthday Yeoreum” banner hung crookedly because Yeoreum had insisted on helping tape it herself.
They played simple games that had everyone laughing — pin the crown on the princess, balloon races, and even a mini scavenger hunt around the apartment. Yeoreum squealed with delight when she found the final clue hidden behind her favorite storybook.
The highlight was, of course, the cake. Shaped like a castle with tiny sugar flowers, it made Yeoreum’s eyes sparkle wide with awe. Jaeyi and Seulgi helped her blow out the five little candles, all while she closed her eyes tight to make a wish.
After cake, there was gift opening: plush toys, picture books, a new princess dress from Aunt Heeyun that Yeoreum immediately insisted on wearing, and a special charm bracelet from her grandparents.
At five years old, Yeoreum was a bright, energetic child whose imagination seemed endless — and whose energy often outlasted even Seulgi’s strongest days.
Some nights, after dinner, they’d all gather in the living room for playtime. Yeoreum would laugh and beg, “One more time, Mama! Be the horse again!” Her little face would light up every time Seulgi got on all fours, letting her ride on her back like a giggling princess.
But after several rounds, Seulgi would find herself wincing, pressing a hand to her lower back, and sighing, “Mommy, my back might actually fall apart.” When Yeoreum finally went to bed, Jaeyi would gently massage Seulgi’s back on the sofa, smiling at how their lively little girl could wear down even the strongest adult.
The next morning, while they were having breakfast, Jaeyi gently brought it up with Yeoreum. In her softest voice, she explained, “Yeoreum-ah, you know Mama loves playing with you, right? But sometimes Mama gets very tired after work, so we need to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. We can play games that don’t make Mama’s back hurt, okay?”
Yeoreum blinked thoughtfully, then nodded, her little brow furrowed in understanding. “Okay, Mommy. I didn’t know it made Mama hurt.”
That afternoon, when Seulgi returned from work looking tired but happy, Yeoreum ran to her with shy excitement. From behind her back, she held out a small container — the dessert from lunch she had saved especially for her mama.
“Mama… this is for you! Because I made you tired last night. I’m sorry,” she said, voice small but sincere.
Seulgi’s heart melted on the spot. She crouched down, hugged Yeoreum tightly, and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, princess. Mama’s back feels much better already.”
Moments like these reminded them both how big Yeoreum’s heart was — a thoughtful little girl learning kindness, empathy, and love from the family around her.
Without anyone really noticing when it happened, Yeoreum had quietly become the center of everyone’s universe — the little sun around which her entire family revolved.
Even Aunt Heeyun, who’d once sworn she wouldn’t spoil her niece, was now the first to show up with bags of gifts “just because it’s Tuesday.” And as for Yeoreum’s grandparents, Taejoon and Eunjung? They had long since dropped the pretense of restraint.
One Saturday afternoon, the family gathered in the living room, which was now half-playroom thanks to the ever-growing collection of toys, books, and plushies. Yeoreum sat happily on the floor, surrounded by what could only be described as a mountain of new toys: a talking doll that spoke in three languages, a set of miniature kitchen appliances, and a glittery dress fit for a tiny princess.
“Mom, Dad,” Jaeyi sighed, her voice caught between amusement and exasperation. “We talked about this. She doesn’t need so many gifts every time you visit.”
“It’s just a little something,” Eunjung insisted, clearly proud of her finds. “Besides, she looked at that dress and her face lit up. How could I not get it?”
“And the talking doll?” Jaeyi raised an eyebrow.
Taejoon cleared his throat, obviously caught. “She needs to start practicing foreign languages early,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
Jaeyi shook her head, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smile. “Your definition of ‘a little something’ is a truckload of toys.”
In the corner, Seulgi watched it all unfold, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. Even Yeoreum seemed to sense her Mommy’s mild frustration, looking up from her new treasures with wide, innocent eyes and saying, “It’s okay, Mommy. They said it’s just a small present!”
Jaeyi let out a soft laugh, finally giving up. After all, how could she stay mad when Yeoreum’s laughter and bright eyes filled the house with so much joy?
If Eunjung and Taejoon were guilty of showering Yeoreum with toys, then Aunt Heeyun’s weakness was definitely food — sweet, colorful, utterly irresistible treats.
One weekend, Yeoreum bounced happily into the living room carrying a bright pink box of macarons almost as big as her head. Behind her, Aunt Heeyun walked in, looking completely unbothered by the sheer amount of sugar she’d just delivered.
Seulgi, who was sitting on the couch, raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Auntie, seriously? When I was little, you wouldn’t even let me look at candy, let alone bring home a box that size! You’d say it was bad for my health.”
Heeyun gave a small, dramatic sigh, then waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, Seulgi, don’t be jealous,” she teased, her voice warm but playful. “Besides, your wife is a pediatrician. If anyone can handle a sugar emergency, it’s her.”
Seulgi gaped at her for a moment, half offended, half amused. “That’s not the point, Auntie! You didn’t even let me have chocolate until I turned ten!”
Heeyun chuckled, patting Seulgi gently on the arm. “And look how well you turned out,” she teased, eyes twinkling. “Now, let Yeoreum enjoy her treats. She’s only young once.”
From the floor, Yeoreum peeked up with wide, hopeful eyes. “Mommy, can I have just one?”
Jaeyi, who’d been half-listening while tidying up, exchanged a look with Seulgi. She bit back a laugh and finally shrugged. “Okay… but only one for now,” she said, gently ruffling Yeoreum’s hair.
Yeoreum’s face lit up like a lantern as she hugged Aunt Heeyun around the waist.
Meanwhile, Seulgi muttered under her breath, “Unbelievable… totally played favorites,” though she couldn’t quite hide the fond smile tugging at her lips.
So it wasn’t surprising that, on Yeoreum’s birthday today, everyone seemed to shower her with gifts and affection — an avalanche of presents, laughter, and so much love that the little girl could barely keep track of it all.
What Jaeyi hadn’t quite expected, though, was just how deeply Aunt Heeyun’s love ran for Yeoreum. Even though Jaeyi knew, deep down, that Yeoreum wasn’t Seulgi’s biological child, Heeyun’s kindness never wavered.
One quiet moment, while the others were busy setting up decorations, Aunt Heeyun pulled Jaeyi aside. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant at first.
“You know… Yeoreum is an incredibly easy child to love,” Heeyun said gently. “She’s sweet, beautiful, and so full of love herself. And that’s thanks to you — you raised her so well that everyone around her can’t help but fall in love with her too.”
Jaeyi felt something tighten in her chest. Her throat grew hot, and words caught for a moment before she finally managed to say, “Thank you… that means so much coming from you.”
Heeyun reached out, resting a comforting hand on Jaeyi’s arm. “And remember,” she continued softly, “we should never take out our old hurts on a child. She didn’t choose who her parents would be. All she’s ever done is bring love to this family.”
Tears gathered in Jaeyi’s eyes as she nodded. And then, quietly, they embraced — a moment that was gentle, warm, and healing all at once.
Across the room, Seulgi noticed them hugging. For a moment, she felt her chest swell with quiet emotion. Rather than interrupt, she simply watched, letting her aunt and her wife share that moment together.
***
The night had already stretched late, guests had gone home, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbon still littered the living room. But Yeoreum, fueled by leftover cake and the sheer joy of her special day, darted around like a little firefly — tugging at the shiny balloons and laughing at her own reflection in the window.
Seulgi and Jaeyi were tidying up, stacking used plates and tossing crumpled napkins into a trash bag. Seulgi watched Yeoreum fondly, shaking her head with a playful sigh.
“She’s definitely going to have trouble falling asleep tonight,” she teased, nodding toward the energetic little girl twirling with a party hat on her head.
Jaeyi chuckled softly, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Well,” she teased back, leaning in slightly, “congratulations, tonight it’s your turn to get her to bed.”
Seulgi grinned, stepping closer, drawn to her wife’s smile the way she always was. “Oh, really? Should I negotiate for tomorrow night too?” she whispered playfully, lowering her head as if to steal a quick kiss.
But just before their lips could meet, Yeoreum’s voice piped up, high and sweet but so determined, “Mama, don’t kiss kiss Mommy!”
Both women paused mid-motion, turning to see their daughter standing there with her tiny hands on her hips, pouting with a seriousness only a five-year-old could muster.
Seulgi couldn’t help but laugh, her forehead dropping to Jaeyi’s shoulder as she tried to stifle the giggle. Jaeyi’s eyes sparkled, her amusement mixing with warm affection. “I guess you’ve been caught,” she teased Seulgi.
“Unbelievable,” Seulgi murmured dramatically, looking back at Yeoreum. “Who taught you to be Mommy’s little protector, huh?”
Yeoreum stomped over, still pouting, and squeezed herself between them, her small arms barely reaching around both of their waists. “No kissing,” she insisted again, though her giggle betrayed her own delight at being the center of attention.
Seulgi, caught in the playful warmth of the moment, swept Yeoreum up in one quick, effortless motion — her arms strong and sure as she lifted their giggling daughter high into the air. Yeoreum let out a surprised squeal, her laughter ringing bright and clear, tiny feet kicking as Seulgi spun her just enough to make her squeak again.
Together, Seulgi and Jaeyi carried her to the sofa, setting her down gently before launching a playful tickle attack. Yeoreum squealed louder, twisting and turning under their teasing fingers, shrieking in half-protest, half-joy. Her hair flew wild, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling with delighted panic as she gasped out, “Stop! Stop, Mommy! Mama!”
But then, all at once, the lightness in the room shifted. Yeoreum’s giggles cut off mid-breath. She stiffened slightly, her chest rising in shallow, rapid movements. Her small hands pressed instinctively against her ribs as she struggled to catch a proper breath.
Jaeyi, trained eyes suddenly sharp behind the gentle warmth of being a mother, noticed the subtle change immediately: Yeoreum’s breathing looked uneven — quicker, almost forced. The color drained from her daughter’s rosy cheeks, and her tiny brow furrowed as she whispered, “Mommy, stop... I can’t breathe.”
Heart pounding, Jaeyi crouched down beside her, voice calm but edged with a concern only a mother — and a doctor — could feel. “Sweetheart, where does it hurt? Can you tell Mommy?”
Yeoreum swallowed hard, pressing her palm to the side of her chest, her breaths coming out shorter, as if each one cost her a little more. “Here... it feels funny,” she murmured.
Jaeyi took a slow breath, forcing her own heart to steady so Yeoreum wouldn’t see the worry clouding her eyes. Moving quickly but gently, she knelt beside her daughter.
“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, her voice calm and warm despite the knot of fear tightening in her chest. She placed her hand softly on Yeoreum’s back, encouraging her to lean forward just a little to ease the strain on her chest. Using simple first aid she’d learned by heart — and taught countless others — Jaeyi guided Yeoreum to breathe slowly, matching her own calm, steady rhythm.
“In through your nose… nice and slow… and out through your mouth, sweetheart.”
Bit by bit, Yeoreum’s panicked breaths slowed. The stiffness in her shoulders eased, and her tiny body relaxed against Jaeyi’s touch. The color returned to her cheeks, and she managed a faint, relieved smile, though her breaths were still a bit quick.
Seulgi, who had been hovering close with worried eyes, finally let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Softly brushing Yeoreum’s hair back, she mustered a gentle smile. “There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Then, switching to her playful, practical tone, Seulgi said, “Okay, kiddo, how about we go wash up now? You’ve been running around so much you must be sweaty, huh? And then straight to bed, okay? You must be tired.”
Yeoreum nodded, her small fingers still resting lightly against her chest as she got up with Seulgi’s help.
As they headed toward the bathroom together — Seulgi’s hand protectively on Yeoreum’s shoulder — Jaeyi stayed where she was for a moment.
A soft, nagging feeling tugged at the edge of her mind: something about the way Yeoreum’s breath had caught, the sudden sharp look of discomfort. It felt… off.
But she shook her head lightly, forcing herself to trust her earlier judgment. She probably just got too excited, too tired from the day’s fun, Jaeyi reasoned, gathering the scattered toys and decorations. She’s fine now… she must be.
***
That afternoon, the sky was bright, though a gentle breeze hinted at the coming evening. Seulgi stepped out of the car, smoothing her hair as she made her way toward the preschool gates. The cheerful noise of children laughing and running around filled the air, painting a lively, heartwarming scene.
Near the playground fence stood Ms. Mina, Yeoreum’s teacher, smiling warmly and waving as she spotted Seulgi.
“Oh, Seulgi-ssi! Good afternoon,” she greeted kindly.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mina. Thank you for looking after Yeoreum today,” Seulgi replied, her smile matching the teacher’s warmth.
They walked together toward the play area, where Yeoreum was busy scooping sand with a little shovel, giggling among her friends. Seulgi’s gaze softened at the sight of her daughter, but then Ms. Mina’s voice grew a touch more serious.
“By the way, Seulgi-ssi… there’s something I thought I should mention,” Ms. Mina began gently.
“Oh? What is it?” Seulgi asked, her smile fading into a look of quiet concern.
“Well… a few times recently, Yeoreum has told me… in her words, ‘My chest feels funny,’ or ‘Teacher, I can’t really breathe… my chest feels weird.’” Ms. Mina mimicked the innocent, slightly confused tone of a young child. “It never lasted long, and she was fine afterward, but I felt it was important to let you know.”
Seulgi’s heart sank a little, though she kept her expression calm. “Thank you so much for telling us, Ms. Mina. I’ll discuss it with my wife, and we’ll probably have Yeoreum checked by her doctor, just to be safe.”
“I think that would be a good idea. Hopefully, it’s nothing serious, but it’s always best to make sure,” Ms. Mina reassured with a kind smile.
Just then, Yeoreum looked up from her play and saw her mama standing there. Her eyes lit up, and she dropped her little bucket, dashing toward Seulgi with pure joy.
“Mamaa!” she squealed happily.
Seulgi bent down, opening her arms wide and pulling Yeoreum into a warm hug. “Hey, sweetheart! Did you have fun today?”
As she held Yeoreum’s small hand, Seulgi couldn’t help but think, I really need to talk to Jaeyi about this as soon as possible.
That night, after the soft glow of Yeoreum’s night-light filled her room and she had finally drifted off to sleep, Jaeyi stepped into the master bedroom. Seulgi was already there, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, her gaze distant with thought.
“There’s something I’d like to talk about,” Seulgi began, her voice gentle but edged with concern.
Jaeyi paused, worry flickering across her face. “What’s wrong?”
Seulgi took a careful breath. “When I picked up Yeoreum today, Ms. Mina told me that lately Yeoreum has been saying her chest feels… ‘funny.’ And sometimes she says it feels hard to breathe. It always passes quickly, but still…”
Jaeyi listened closely, her doctor’s instincts sharpening. “Did this happen while she was running or playing?”
“Yes,” Seulgi nodded. “Mostly during recess or playtime. Ms. Mina said she usually recovers quickly and keeps playing, but she thought we should know.”
Jaeyi considered this carefully. “It could be as simple as getting winded, mild asthma, or even anxiety. But we shouldn’t take chances.”
“Do you think we should take her for a check-up?” Seulgi asked.
“Yes,” Jaeyi answered gently but firmly. “A pediatric check-up would be best—maybe even some breathing tests or a chest X-ray to rule things out.”
Seulgi nodded, relief and concern mixing in her eyes. Then her expression turned slightly worried again. “But the next few days are going to be tricky, aren’t they? I have meetings, and you’re scheduled for back-to-back rounds at the hospital.”
Jaeyi let out a small sigh, remembering her own packed schedule. “Yes… for the next three days, I’ll barely have time to step out of the hospital, and you’ve got your project deadline.”
They exchanged a look that spoke of shared frustration—but also the silent agreement that Yeoreum came first.
“How about Sunday?” Seulgi suggested softly. “We’re both off then, and we could go together.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jaeyi said, her voice gentle. “It’ll be better if we’re both there. And Yeoreum won’t feel nervous if we’re together.”
“And until then?” Seulgi asked, still worried.
“We’ll ask her to slow down a bit during play,” Jaeyi said. “And we’ll keep a closer eye on her, just in case.”
Seulgi nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Alright. Thank you… I was afraid I was overthinking it.”
“You did exactly the right thing by telling me,” Jaeyi reassured her, reaching out to squeeze Seulgi’s hand. “We’ll take care of it together.”
“And… do you think it could be something serious?” Seulgi asked, her voice quieter, rawer.
“I can’t say yet,” Jaeyi admitted softly, “but the important thing is we’re not ignoring it.”
Seulgi exhaled slowly, finally letting a bit of the tension slip away. “Okay. Thank you, love.”
Jaeyi leaned closer, pressing a tender kiss to Seulgi’s forehead. “We’re her moms. Whatever happens, we’ll face it as a family.”
In the gentle quiet of the room, the weight of their shared love and concern wrapped around them, giving them both quiet strength to handle the coming days—and hope that Sunday would bring reassurance.
***
The next day, while Seulgi was in the middle of reviewing documents at the office, her phone lit up with a call from a familiar number. Seeing the preschool’s name on the screen, her chest tightened with worry.
“Hello, this is Seulgi, Yeoreum’s mom speaking,” she answered quickly.
“Hello, Seulgi-Shi, this is Ms. Mina from Yeoreum’s class,” the teacher’s gentle voice came through, tinged with concern. “I’m sorry to call you during work hours, but Yeoreum hasn’t been feeling well today.”
Seulgi immediately straightened in her chair. “What happened? Is she alright?”
“She started coughing more than usual during morning playtime,” Ms. Mina explained softly. “And she told me her chest feels tight, and that it’s a little hard to breathe. I think it would be best if you could pick her up early and let her rest at home.”
“Of course,” Seulgi said, already reaching for her car keys. “Thank you so much for calling. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She ended the call, heart pounding, and barely took a moment to inform her team that she was stepping out. The short drive to Yeoreum’s preschool felt longer than usual, every red light making her stomach twist tighter.
When Seulgi arrived, she found Yeoreum sitting quietly on a small bench near the teacher’s desk, her little shoulders hunched and her expression tired. As soon as Yeoreum saw her, her eyes brightened with relief.
“Mama..” she murmured weakly.
“Oh, baby,” Seulgi whispered, kneeling down and gently brushing hair from Yeoreum’s forehead. “I’m here. Let’s go home, okay?”
Ms. Mina offered a sympathetic look. “She didn’t have a fever, but she looked uncomfortable and kept saying her chest felt funny.”
“Thank you so much for calling me,” Seulgi said, lifting Yeoreum into her arms despite the girl’s protests that she could walk.
Carrying her daughter, Seulgi stepped back into the summer afternoon, worry pressing heavily on her heart.
That night, after Jaeyi finally returned home from her late shift at the hospital, she and Seulgi sat together at the kitchen table. Both of them looked tired but determined.
“I’ll clear my morning schedule,” Jaeyi said quietly. “We can take her for a check-up tomorrow.”
“I’ll take half a day off too,” Seulgi added, reaching across the table to squeeze her wife’s hand. “Just in case it takes longer.”
They exchanged a relieved look, hoping tomorrow they’d finally get some answers. But reality had different plans.
In the middle of the night, the peaceful quiet of their home was broken by a sudden, sharp cry.
“Mommy! Mama!”
The terror in Yeoreum’s voice made Seulgi’s heart stop. Both of them bolted from bed, rushing to their daughter’s room.
They found Yeoreum sitting upright in bed, her small hands clutching at her chest, her face pale and panicked. Each breath she tried to take came out as a ragged gasp, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I–I can’t breathe!” she sobbed.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” Jaeyi said, her voice steady despite the fear tightening in her chest. As a doctor, her training took over: she knelt beside Yeoreum, helping her lean forward slightly to ease the strain on her lungs, and kept her own breathing slow and calm so Yeoreum could follow.
“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” Seulgi murmured, quickly grabbing her phone and dialing emergency services with shaking hands. “Please, hurry—our daughter is having severe trouble breathing!”
The dispatcher on the other end spoke calmly, guiding Seulgi through the next steps while paramedics were on their way.
Jaeyi gently rubbed circles on Yeoreum’s back, whispering, “You’re okay. Mommy’s here. Just keep trying to breathe with me, okay? In… and out…”
Yeoreum’s eyes stayed wide with fear, but she tried to follow her mother’s lead, though each breath still rattled painfully.
When the paramedics arrived, everything blurred into a rush of instructions, flashing lights, and hurried footsteps. Seulgi carried Yeoreum to the ambulance, her heart pounding wildly, while Jaeyi climbed in beside them, never letting go of her daughter’s hand.
“It’s okay, baby, you’re so brave,” Seulgi whispered, voice cracking despite her efforts to stay calm.
Yeoreum whimpered, “Don’t let go…”
“Never,” Jaeyi promised softly, brushing sweaty bangs from Yeoreum’s forehead. “We’re right here, sweetheart.”
As the sirens wailed into the night, the two mothers stayed at their daughter’s side, whispering every comforting word they could think of—praying silently, desperately, that she’d be okay.
***
After they arrived at the hospital, Yeoreum was quickly taken away by the medical team. The bright hallway felt colder than ever as Seulgi and Jaeyi sat side by side on the hard metal bench outside the treatment room.
Every second seemed to stretch painfully. Jaeyi kept wringing her hands, her eyes glazed with guilt. “I should’ve acted sooner… I’m a doctor. I should have known,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Seulgi gently reached out, her hand covering Jaeyi’s trembling ones. “Hey… don’t do that to yourself,” she said softly. “We both saw her laughing and running around. It was easy to think she was fine.”
“But I kept telling myself it was nothing,” Jaeyi said, her throat tight, tears threatening to spill. “I let myself believe that… when deep down I had a feeling—”
“And I kept brushing it off too,” Seulgi admitted, her voice hushed and heavy. “I just wanted to believe she was okay… Maybe we both did. But blaming ourselves now won’t help her, love.”
For a moment, they sat there in silence, the rhythmic hum of the hospital machines in the distance filling the gaps between words. Seulgi squeezed Jaeyi’s hand a little tighter. “What matters now is that Yeoreum is getting help. We’re here for her. Together.”
Jaeyi finally exhaled, leaning her head lightly on Seulgi’s shoulder. “You’re right… Thank you.”
***
After what felt like hours, the door finally opened and Dr. Lim Jihwan stepped out, still in his white coat, his expression serious yet calm. Without hesitation, Jaeyi and Seulgi stood up at once, anxiety plain on both their faces.
“Doctor Lim—” Jaeyi called out first, her voice betraying both worry as a mother and focus as a fellow doctor.
Dr. Lim gave a brief nod of greeting. “She’s stable for now,” he began, meeting both of their eyes. “But based on the initial assessment and the chest X-ray, I suspect pneumothorax—a partial collapse of the lung.”
Seulgi’s breath caught. She reached for Jaeyi’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
Jaeyi, slipping into her medical instinct despite her shaking heart, asked quickly, “Was there evidence of blebs or bullae on imaging? And what’s the size of the air pocket?”
Dr. Lim answered calmly, switching naturally into the professional language they both shared. “There are some visible subpleural blebs, which could have ruptured. The pneumothorax itself is moderate in size—not large enough to cause hemodynamic instability yet, but significant enough to warrant very close monitoring overnight.”
“And if it progresses?” Jaeyi pressed, her mind racing through possible next steps.
“If it enlarges or causes further respiratory distress,” Dr. Lim explained, “we may need to place a chest tube first to evacuate the trapped air. But if there’s recurrence or if it proves persistent, surgical intervention—likely thoracoscopic bleb resection and pleurodesis—would be the recommended definitive treatment.”
Seulgi swallowed hard, her voice smaller than usual. “Surgery… is that the safest way?”
Dr. Lim softened his tone slightly. “If it’s confirmed as a recurrent or persistent pneumothorax, yes. It reduces the risk of it happening again and helps protect the remaining healthy lung tissue.”
Jaeyi nodded slowly, processing every word as both a pediatric cardiologist and a terrified mother. “When will we know for sure?”
“I’ll run another CT scan and a full evaluation tomorrow,” Dr. Lim said. “I promise, we’ll keep her under close observation tonight. For now, she’s resting comfortably, but we need to watch for signs of progression.”
“Thank you, Jihwan,” Jaeyi murmured, her voice tight with emotion but professional respect as well.
He offered them a gentle look, understanding the impossible balance between being a doctor and being a parent. “She’s strong—and so are both of you,” he said softly. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”
After receiving Dr. Lim’s thorough explanation, they were finally allowed to enter Yeoreum’s hospital room.
The sight that greeted them made both mothers pause at the door—Yeoreum lay asleep on the hospital bed, her small chest rising and falling under the weight of monitors and thin wires; an IV snaked into the crook of her arm, and the gentle hiss of oxygen filled the quiet space.
Jaeyi stepped closer, her eyes stinging. Her little girl had always been so healthy—rarely sick, and even if she did catch a cold, she would bounce back almost immediately. Seeing her daughter like this, looking so small and fragile under the stark hospital light, pierced her heart in a way she couldn’t describe.
Seulgi, standing beside her, reached out and squeezed her hand gently. Though her own eyes shimmered with unshed tears, she forced herself to steady her voice.
“Jaeyi,” she murmured softly, “this isn’t your fault…. It’s beyond us. We couldn’t have known.”
Jaeyi’s shoulders trembled as she bit back a sob, her gaze never leaving Yeoreum’s sleeping face. “She was always so healthy,” she whispered. “And now—look at her. She’s still so little…”
“I know,” Seulgi said, her own voice cracking. She placed a gentle hand on Jaeyi’s back, rubbing slow circles in a comforting motion. “But listen… this is part of being parents. We can’t protect her from everything, no matter how much we want to.”
She paused, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down Jaeyi’s cheek. “And don’t forget—it’s my first time, too. I’m scared, too. But we’ll do this together. Okay?”
Jaeyi finally turned toward Seulgi, leaning into the embrace she offered. “Okay,” she whispered, her words shaky but honest.
They stood like that for a moment, drawing strength from each other, before quietly pulling chairs closer to Yeoreum’s bed—ready to stay by her side through the long night ahead.
***
That morning, Yeoreum seemed as bright and cheerful as always, her little smile lighting up the sterile hospital room—though the thin medical tubes and patches still attached to her reminded them gently of why she was there.
Her appetite was surprisingly good; she ate spoonful after spoonful of the soft rice porridge, though she wrinkled her nose and complained, “Mommy, it tastes weird… it doesn’t taste like home.”
Jaeyi chuckled softly, brushing a stray hair away from Yeoreum’s forehead. “I know, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “But this food is special—it helps your body get strong again so you can go home faster.”
Yeoreum seemed to consider that, her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. Her big, curious eyes turned to her mommy. “But… why do I need to get strong again? What’s wrong with me?”
For a moment, Jaeyi hesitated, glancing briefly at Seulgi, who watched quietly from the other side of the bed. Then, taking a breath, she shifted closer to Yeoreum so they were almost face-to-face.
“Well, love… you know how sometimes when you run too fast, your chest feels funny?” Jaeyi began gently. Yeoreum nodded, listening carefully. “What happened was something a bit like that, but inside your chest there’s a part that needed extra help to work properly.”
“So… like when my toy breaks and needs fixing?” Yeoreum asked, tilting her head.
“Yes, exactly,” Jaeyi smiled, though her heart ached a little at the simplicity of her child’s question. “And the doctors here are helping to fix it, so you can run and laugh and play again without feeling that funny feeling.”
Yeoreum nodded, seeming satisfied by the explanation, and took another spoonful. “Okay! Then I’ll be brave. So I can go home fast.”
Seulgi leaned over, gently kissing the top of Yeoreum’s head. “That’s our brave girl,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of love.
That afternoon, the moment Taejoon and Eunjung heard their granddaughter had been admitted to the hospital, they wasted no time. Both were already working in the same hospital—their hospital, after all—so they hurried down the familiar corridors, white coats still on, hearts pounding with worry that only grandparents could feel.
When they stepped into Yeoreum’s room and saw the little girl lying there, still connected to tubes and monitors despite her small, brave smile, the concern in their eyes deepened. They listened carefully as Jaeyi explained what Dr. Lim had shared about Yeoreum’s test results.
After a quiet moment, Taejoon’s expression turned determined. “Don’t worry,” he told Jaeyi and Seulgi, his voice steady yet gentle. “I’ll make sure Yeoreum gets absolutely everything she needs. We’ll pull together the best team, the best treatments—this hospital will do its very best for her.”
Eunjung, standing beside him, nodded firmly, her hand resting gently on Yeoreum’s arm as if to lend strength. “Our little one is strong, and she has all of us,” she said, her voice calm but filled with grandmotherly warmth.
Jaeyi, though deeply worried as a mother, couldn’t help but let out a small, almost teasing sigh at her father’s declaration. “Dad, don’t go overboard, okay? I know you—if you could, you’d build a whole new wing just for her.”
Taejoon gave a soft chuckle at his daughter’s protest, the corner of his mouth lifting. “If it helps my granddaughter, I’d do it without a second thought,” he said, only half-joking.
Just then, the door opened and Dr. Lim stepped in, holding a tablet with test results and a calm, professional expression. But the moment he saw Taejoon and Eunjung—the hospital’s senior directors and, beyond that, figures of enormous influence in Korea’s medical world—standing by the patient’s bedside, his steps faltered slightly.
A flicker of realization crossed his face: this wasn’t just any young patient. This was the granddaughter of the very people who built this hospital—people whose reputation reached far beyond its walls. Almost involuntarily, Dr. Lim swallowed hard, straightening his posture as if bracing himself.
Noticing his subtle tension, Jaeyi gently prompted him, her voice measured yet warm. “How is it, Dr. Lim?” she asked, wanting to ease the atmosphere but also ready to hear what came next—not as a doctor this time, but as Yeoreum’s mother.
Dr. Lim took a moment, exhaled, and regained his professional calm. “Could we step outside to talk, just the three of us?” he requested, glancing briefly at Seulgi and then back to Jaeyi, his tone careful but respectful.
Jaeyi exchanged a quiet glance with Seulgi, then turned to her parents, her voice softening. “Omma, Appa, can you stay here with Yeoreum for a bit?”
Eunjung nodded right away, smoothing Yeoreum’s hair gently, while Taejoon gave an assuring wave of his hand. “Go on, we’ll be here,” he said, his gaze never leaving his granddaughter.
And so, Jaeyi, Seulgi, and Dr. Lim stepped out into the hallway—leaving behind the room filled with quiet monitors, soft breathing, and the watchful love of two grandparents—and prepared to hear what needed to be discussed, doctor to parents.
***
Once they stepped out of the hospital room, Dr. Lim led them down the hall, past the quiet hum of nurses’ stations and softly lit corridors, until they reached his office. He opened the door and gestured for them to come in, closing it gently behind them to create a pocket of calm away from the tension outside.
Inside, he set his tablet on the desk, took a steadying breath, and looked at Jaeyi and Seulgi—not as colleagues or acquaintances this time, but as parents.
“Yeoreum’s condition,” Dr. Lim began carefully, “is unfortunately already quite severe. This isn’t uncommon—especially in children so young, who can’t fully explain what they’re feeling. And with pneumothorax, there aren’t always clear physical signs at first, which makes it harder to catch early.”
Jaeyi, ever direct when it came to medicine, met his gaze squarely. “So we need to operate,” she said, her voice calm but carrying the sharpness of certainty.
Dr. Lim nodded, his expression steady. “Yes. Surgery is the best course of action now. The good news is: the success rate for this procedure, especially at Yeoreum’s age and with her general health, is very high. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it goes smoothly.”
Hearing this, Seulgi let out a slow breath, her hand instinctively finding Jaeyi’s. But next to her, Jaeyi’s professional composure began to waver; the determined doctor in her knew Dr. Lim’s skill, trusted his judgment completely—but the mother in her couldn’t help but worry, her heart tightening painfully at the thought of her little girl on an operating table.
Dr. Lim, catching the silent struggle in her eyes, offered a reassuring smile. “I promise, we’ll take the best care of Yeoreum,” he said softly.
Dr. Lim paused for a moment, then, with a faint attempt to lighten the mood, added,“And besides… she is the granddaughter of Yoo Taejoon, after all,”
His tone carried just enough humor to make both Jaeyi and Seulgi let out a small, brief laugh—one of those tired laughs that comes more from needing relief than from true amusement.
Then, as the laughter faded, Jaeyi’s expression softened into something more vulnerable.
“I know the numbers, Lim,” she admitted quietly, voice catching slightly. “I’ve seen children sicker than Yeoreum make it through just fine… but this is different. Watching your own child suffer feels… impossible.”
Beside her, Seulgi squeezed Jaeyi’s hand gently, grounding her with that silent, unwavering support.
Dr. Lim nodded, his gaze warm and understanding.
“And that’s exactly why we’ll fight as hard as we can. Here, we’re lucky—we have some of the best thoracic surgeons in the country on staff. Yeoreum won’t be alone in there; she’ll have an entire team working for her.”
Taking a slow breath, Jaeyi straightened slightly and asked, in the firm tone of a doctor slipping back into professional mode:
“Can you walk us through the procedure itself?”
Dr. Lim did. Calmly, precisely, he outlined each step: they would insert a chest tube first to relieve the immediate pressure, then proceed with video-assisted thoracoscopic surgery (VATS) to find and repair the leak in the lung. He explained that the minimally invasive method would help Yeoreum recover faster, although she’d still need close monitoring in the ICU for a short period afterward.
“And if all goes well,” Dr. Lim concluded, “we should be able to schedule it within the next two days. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way.”
Hearing that timeline made Jaeyi’s heart twist—two days felt both too soon and not soon enough—but she nodded, grateful for Dr. Lim’s openness.
***
Two days seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and suddenly it was the morning of Yeoreum’s surgery.
Jaeyi and Seulgi had cleared their entire schedules, their minds unable to focus on anything else but their little girl.
Yeoreum, dressed in a pale hospital gown just a little too big for her, clutched her mommy’s hand. Her small voice broke the anxious silence:
“After this… can I run really fast again?”
Seulgi knelt down, gently brushing a stray hair from Yeoreum’s forehead.
“Of course, baby. You can run anywhere you want—even faster than before,” she promised with a smile that trembled only slightly.
Jaeyi added softly, her own eyes warm yet clouded with worry:
“And we’ll be there to cheer you on, every single time.”
Moments later, the surgical team came to wheel Yeoreum into the operating room. Leading them was Dr. Yoon Hana, one of Korea’s top thoracic surgeons. Calm, confident, and respected across the country, Dr. Yoon radiated steady assurance.
Before they took Yeoreum, Dr. Yoon paused beside Jaeyi and Seulgi. Her gaze was kind but professional:
“I understand how precious she is,” she said gently. “I promise you both—I’ll do everything I can, and she’s in very good hands.”
Seulgi bowed her head in gratitude, her voice rough with emotion:
“Please… take care of our daughter.”
As the doors to the operating room closed, leaving them on the other side, Jaeyi reached out for Seulgi’s hand. Their fingers interlocked, holding on tightly—two hearts trying to keep steady while waiting for the one that mattered most.
***
The surgery went smoothly. A few hours later, Dr. Yoon Hana stepped out to meet Jaeyi and Seulgi in the quiet hallway outside the recovery room. Her expression was calm, carrying good news.
“The operation went very well,” Dr. Yoon explained warmly. “If her condition continues to improve, Yeoreum could be discharged in about three to five days.”
Hearing that, Jaeyi felt her knees weaken just a little from relief, while Seulgi exhaled a long, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Together, they thanked Dr. Yoon deeply, bowing their heads with genuine gratitude.
“Thank you so much… truly,” Seulgi whispered.
After Dr. Yoon left, they walked quietly into Yeoreum’s hospital room. The little girl lay peacefully on the bed, still asleep under the effects of anesthesia, her small chest rising and falling steadily. A soft beeping from the monitors filled the silence.
Jaeyi stood by the bedside, gently brushing a strand of hair from Yeoreum’s forehead. Her voice, tinged with awe and tenderness, broke the quiet:
“She’s so brave… braver than I could ever be.”
Seulgi moved closer, resting a reassuring hand on Jaeyi’s back.
“She’s brave because of you,” Seulgi murmured. “You’re her example. You’re the best mom she could ever have.”
A small laugh escaped Jaeyi, soft and a little watery.
“What would I do without you and Yeoreum in my life?”
Seulgi smiled gently, her thumb brushing over the back of Jaeyi’s hand.
“Luckily, you don’t have to find out. We’re right here—and we’re not going anywhere.”
The next morning, soft light spilled through the hospital window as Yeoreum slowly stirred awake. Her lashes fluttered, and almost immediately, she noticed the unfamiliar sensation of the oxygen mask resting over her nose and mouth. Confused and a little groggy, she called out in a small, shaky voice:
“Mommy… Mama…”
Jaeyi and Seulgi, who had barely left her side all night, were at her bedside in an instant. Jaeyi gently tucked stray hairs away from Yeoreum’s face, her smile warm and proud.
“You did so well, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’re right here.”
Yeoreum blinked, her gaze shifting between them, and then spoke weakly.
“My chest… feels weird.”
Seulgi nodded softly, brushing a gentle hand over her daughter’s hair.
“That’s okay, baby. Your lungs were just fixed, so your body needs time to get used to it. It might feel strange for a little while.”
Yeoreum listened, still drowsy, but nodded a little, reassured by their presence.
The morning passed quietly. They sat beside her, reading stories, talking about little things, and sharing gentle smiles. But as the day stretched toward noon, the pain medication that had kept Yeoreum comfortable began to wear off.
Yeoreum’s face scrunched up, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Her small hands curled around the blanket as she began to cry, soft at first, then rising in frightened sobs.
“Mommy, it hurts…”
Jaeyi leaned in, her voice calm but shaking at the edges, gently wiping the tears from Yeoreum’s cheeks.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s here. You’re so brave…”
Seeing the pain worsening, Seulgi quickly pressed the nurse call button, her expression tightening.
“It’s alright, Yeoreum. The nurse is coming to help. Just hold on a little bit,” Seulgi reassured her, though her own heart felt like it might break.
Within moments, the nurse stepped in to adjust the pain medication, and slowly, the tears eased. Yeoreum’s breathing steadied, her small hand finding Jaeyi’s. Between soft sobs, she calmed, wrapped in the quiet strength and love of her parents standing faithfully by her side.
***
Day by day, Yeoreum’s recovery moved forward steadily — though it was anything but easy. Each day seemed to bring a new worry, a new moment of hope, and a quiet gratitude that she was healing at all.
Jaeyi and Seulgi arranged their schedules carefully so that one of them could always be by Yeoreum’s side at the hospital. But on days when both were caught up in work or medical duties, Aunt Heeyun — always reliable and warm-hearted — would come to stay with Yeoreum.
One quiet afternoon, after Yeoreum had finally fallen asleep, Seulgi and Jaeyi arrived at the hospital room, their footsteps soft against the floor. Aunt Heeyun was sitting by the bedside, her hand gently resting on Yeoreum’s blanket. Seeing them, she offered a tired but gentle smile.
“She was a little fussy today,” Aunt Heeyun said softly, careful not to wake Yeoreum. “She kept saying she misses her mommies.”
Jaeyi’s heart clenched at the words, and she exchanged a quick, guilty glance with Seulgi.
“I’m sorry you had to handle that, unnie,” Jaeyi murmured, her voice tinged with guilt.
But Aunt Heeyun shook her head, her expression patient and kind.
“Don’t apologize. I’m happy to spend time with her. And you know, it’s normal,” she added gently. “She’s not feeling well, so of course she wants her parents close. That just shows how much she loves you both.”
Then there came a day when Yeoreum stubbornly refused to eat. It was Jaeyi’s turn to stay with her at the hospital, but exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. Just the night before, she had finished a demanding night shift, and hadn’t truly rested since.
At first, Jaeyi tried to coax Yeoreum gently, offering spoonful after spoonful and soft words. But Yeoreum, already tired and cranky from pain, turned her face away each time, her small brows furrowed in frustration.
The tension built, the exhaustion fraying Jaeyi’s patience more than she wanted to admit. Her voice, usually warm, slipped into something sharper.
“Yeoreum, enough! You have to eat! Do you want to stay sick forever?”
The words, so unlike her usual gentle encouragement, hung heavy in the air. Yeoreum’s eyes widened, fear and confusion welling up in them. Slowly, her lower lip began to tremble, and tears threatened to spill.
Just then, the door opened — and Seulgi stepped inside. One look at the scene, and her heart clenched.
Without hesitation, Seulgi crossed the room, kneeling beside Yeoreum and speaking in a soft, steady voice.
“Hey, it’s okay. Mommy’s just really tired, baby. She loves you so much.”
She gently pulled Yeoreum into her arms, offering comfort and warmth until the little girl’s breathing steadied and her tears faded into small hiccups.
Seulgi then glanced over at Jaeyi, who stood frozen, guilt heavy in her gaze. Seulgi reached out her hand.
“Jaeyi, it’s okay. You need rest, love. Go lie down for a bit. I’ll take care of this, alright?”
For a moment, Jaeyi hesitated, shame burning in her chest — but she saw the gentle firmness in Seulgi’s eyes and nodded. She pressed a quick kiss to Yeoreum’s head, whispering an apology, then left the room, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling at her.
And Seulgi, holding their daughter close, whispered reassurances that everything was alright, gently coaxing Yeoreum to try another bite when she felt ready — her voice a steady anchor in that small hospital room filled with love and human imperfection.
The next morning, as sunlight filtered softly through the hospital curtains, Jaeyi sat gently on the edge of Yeoreum’s bed.
Yeoreum blinked her sleepy eyes open, and Jaeyi reached out, brushing aside a stray hair from her daughter’s forehead. Her voice, low and a little shaky, carried both warmth and regret.
“Yeoreum… Mommy is so sorry for getting angry yesterday,” she said softly. “Mommy was really tired, but that’s not your fault at all.”
Yeoreum looked down at her small hands resting on the blanket. After a quiet moment, her voice, small and honest, filled the space between them.
“I’m sorry too, Mommy… I was being naughty. But my chest hurt… and the food tastes bad…”
Hearing that, Jaeyi’s heart ached, and she gathered Yeoreum into a gentle hug, careful of the medical lines and dressings.
“I know, baby… It must hurt a lot. And Mommy understands the food isn’t yummy,” she whispered against Yeoreum’s soft hair.
Pulling back just enough to meet Yeoreum’s eyes, Jaeyi added, her tone turning tender and hopeful:
“How about this? When you’re all better and we get to go home, Mommy will make your favorite food — anything you want, as much as you want. Deal?”
Yeoreum’s eyes lit up, a little spark of excitement shining through the lingering discomfort.
“Deal!” she replied, nodding eagerly.
***
A few days had passed since Yeoreum returned home from the hospital. Each morning, the house felt a little brighter with her laughter echoing through the rooms again. She’d settled back into her small routines: cuddling with her plush toys, coloring at the low table in the living room, and occasionally following Seulgi or Jaeyi around the house, asking endless questions about everything she’d missed.
Both Jaeyi and Seulgi took turns watching over her carefully, reminding her not to jump, not to twist too fast, and certainly not to run. Even Yeoreum, who usually brimmed with unstoppable energy, seemed to understand — for a while.
But by the fourth day at home, the boredom began to creep in. That afternoon, it was Seulgi’s turn to stay home while Jaeyi was on a long shift at the hospital. The sun streamed through the windows as Seulgi and Yeoreum sat on the floor, building small towers with colorful blocks.
At first, Yeoreum played gently, giggling whenever her tower tumbled. But her excitement slowly grew; she reached out too quickly, twisting her torso to grab another block.
Suddenly, she winced.
“Ow—!”
Seulgi’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Yeoreum’s small hand flew to her side, pressing against her bandage. Her face paled slightly. Seulgi hurried closer and gently lifted the hem of her shirt — and her heart dropped when she saw a small, fresh stain of red blooming on the gauze.
For a moment, fear clamped around her chest. But then she remembered what she had to do. With shaking fingers, she quickly called Jaeyi.
“Yeoreum moved too fast— her stitches… there’s bleeding,” Seulgi’s voice cracked slightly, breath uneven.
On the other end, Jaeyi took a breath to steady herself before speaking — the calm she’d mastered as both a doctor and a mother.
“Seulgi, listen to me. Lay Yeoreum down, keep her still. Press a clean cloth gently on the wound to slow the bleeding. Then bring her back to the hospital. I’ll be waiting here and will let the team know you’re coming.”
Seulgi swallowed hard, nodding even though Jaeyi couldn’t see.
“Okay… okay. I’ll do that now. Thank you.”
She knelt by Yeoreum, who looked scared and close to tears. Seulgi brushed her hair back from her forehead and whispered softly:
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here. We’ll go to the hospital and Mommy and Mama will fix it, all right?”
Yeoreum nodded weakly, tears slipping down her cheeks. Seulgi gently lifted her in her arms, trying to keep her as still as possible.
As she grabbed her bag and keys, Seulgi’s heart still thundered with worry — but she held onto the comforting thought that Jaeyi was already there, ready to help, ready to take over when she got too scared. And together, as always, they would keep Yeoreum safe.
After countless sleepless nights, quiet tears, and unwavering strength, morning finally came with news that felt almost unreal: Yeoreum was officially declared fully recovered.
She returned to school with a shy yet proud grin, her ponytail bouncing as she told her friends about her time in the hospital. There was no fear or shame in her voice—only excitement as she boasted about how brave she had been, and how amazing her two mommies were. Her words painted them as superheroes, and in Yeoreum’s small, sincere eyes, that was exactly what they were.
***
Then came Sunday morning. The sun was gentle, and Yeoreum was back to running freely in the park, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes. Jaeyi and Seulgi sat together on a bench, shoulders brushing, quietly watching her chase after birds and twirl in the grass as if the past months had been only a distant memory.
Jaeyi exhaled, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
“We did it,” she murmured. “We’ve made it through another chapter of being parents.”
Seulgi nodded, though her gaze stayed on their daughter, full of quiet relief and gratitude.
“Yeah… we really did. Even though I know there’ll be more challenges ahead.”
A playful glint sparkled in Jaeyi’s eyes as she leaned closer.
“Can you imagine her walking up to us one day—introducing her boyfriend or girlfriend?”
Seulgi groaned, covering her face with one hand.
“Don’t say that! I’m already stressed just thinking about it.”
Jaeyi laughed, the sound soft and fond, and gently nudged Seulgi’s shoulder.
“Well, we’ll deal with it together… just like we always do.”
And in that small, sunlit moment—watching their child run and laugh so freely—they allowed themselves to breathe, to be grateful, and to feel proud of the love and strength that had carried them all this way.