Sungho

挨拶

The morning creeps in slowly through the window, warm and clear, painting the simple curtains of the house in gold. Sungho has been awake for a while, with his baby resting on his chest, breathing softly, a little hand clinging to his t-shirt as if, even in sleep, she feared letting go. He moves just enough, with the careful restraint of someone who has learned to exist without making noise. From the kitchen comes the calm sound of Haebeom preparing breakfast.