First chapter! ^^

Inhee tucked her pencil behind her ear as she headed for the door. She almost had this website design finished, with a whole day to go before the client's deadline. She was privately amazed that she'd managed to get the thing done on time, given the chaos in her house. Even now she could hear chisels and hammers and God knew what else in her kitchen, as the builders ripped out the old units ready for work on the extension to start.

The ring of the doorbell had been welcome, actually. When she'd glanced at her watch she'd realised that she'd not taken a break since settling down in her home office at six. She was overdue a cup of coffee—and no doubt the builders would appreciate one, too.

A glance through the hallway window afforded a glimpse of a taxi heading up the road, but she couldn't see anyone waiting behind the frosted glass of the front door. Strange…she thought as she turned the key and pulled the door open. No one there.

Kids? she wondered, but she'd lived in this house almost all of her life, and she couldn't remember a single case of knock-door-run.

She was just about to shut the door and head back inside when a kitten-like mewl caught her attention and she glanced down.

Not a kitten.

A Moses basket was tucked into the corner of the porch, out of the spring breeze. Wrapped tight inside, with just eyes and the tip of a soft pink nose showing from the yellow blanket. A baby.

Inhee dropped to her knees out of instinct, and scooped the baby up from the floor, nestling her against her shoulder. Making sure the blanket was tucked tight; she walked down to the front gate, looking left and right for any sign of someone who might have just left a baby on her doorstep.

Nothing.

She moved the baby into the crook of her arm as she tried to think, her brain struggling to catch up with this sudden appearance. And as she moved the baby she heard a papery crackle. When she pulled the corner of the blanket aside she found a scribbled note on a page torn from a notebook. The writing was as familiar as her own, and unmistakable.

Please look after her.

Which left all the questions she already had unanswered and asked a million more.

She walked again to the gate, wondering if she could still catch sight of that taxi—if she had time to run and stop her half-sister before she did something irreversible. But as much as she strained her eyes, the car was gone.

She stood paralysed with shock for a moment on the front path, unsure whether to run for help or to take the baby inside. What sort of trouble would her half-sister have to be in to do this? Was she leaving her here forever? Or was she going to turn up in a few minutes and explain?

For the first time Inhee took a deep breath, looked down into the clear dark eyes of her little niece—and fell instantly in love.

His feet pounded the footpath hard, driving out thought, emotion, reason. All he knew was the rhythm of his shoes on the ground, the steady in-out of his breath as he let his legs and his lungs settle in to their pace.

The sun was drying the dew on the grassy verges by the road, and the last few commuters were making their way into the tube station. The morning commute was a small price to pay to live in this quiet, leafy part of suburban Seoul, he guessed.

He noted these things objectively, as he did the admiring looks from a couple of women he passed. But none of it mattered to him. This was the one time of the day when he could just concentrate on something he was completely in control of. So, no music, no stopping for admiring glances—just him and the road. Nothing could spoil the hour he spent shutting out the horrors of the world—great and small—that he had encountered in his work over the years.

Tomorrow he'd be able to find a solitary path through the neighbourhood park, but this morning he was dodging café tables and pedestrians as he watched the street names, looking out for the address his sister had texted to him. She'd been taking furniture deliveries for him before he flew home, and had left the keys to his new place with a friend of hers who worked from home.

He turned the corner into a quiet side street, and suddenly the fierce cry of a newborn baby ahead skewed his consciousness and he stumbled, his toe somehow finding a crack in the footpath.

He tried to keep running for a few strides, to ignore the sound, but found it was impossible. Instead he concentrated on counting the house numbers—anything to keep his mind off the wailing infant. But as the numbers climbed he felt a sense of growing inevitability. The closer he drew to the sound of the baby, the more he wished that he could get away—and the more certain he became that he wouldn't be able to.

The rhythm and focus that had always come as easily as breathing when he pulled on his running shoes was gone. His body fought him, sending awareness of the baby to his ears. Another side street loomed on his left, and for a moment he willed h