Three weeks after her sister had dropped her little surprise off on her doorstep Inhee still hadn’t heard anything from her. Social services seemed happy that Nari was being well cared for by her aunt, and were trawling through the appropriate paperwork. To begin with, she’d thought it must be temporary, that one of these days Dahee would call and ask for her daughter back. But so far—nothing.

And barely a word from Jongin, either. Not that she had expected much after the way things had been left, but it was strange living with someone who could barely say more than good morning to her. A part of her had hoped, she supposed, that he might rethink things. That he might think that she—they—were worth taking a risk on. And then she remembered the look on his face when he told her about losing his son and knew that it couldn’t happen. Knew that he wouldn’t risk feeling like that again.

She lifted her head from the pillow and looked over at Nari, still tucked in her crib, fast asleep again after her six o’clock feed. Inhee listened to her breaths, to the steady whoosh of air moving in and out of her lungs. Nari was the same age now as Jongin’s son had been when he died. After three weeks together, Inhee could no longer imagine life without Nari—couldn’t imagine the pain of being torn from her.

So what would happen if Dahee wanted her back? How could she keep mother and daughter apart, knowing how much it hurt to want a family and have them disappear from your life?

She collapsed back into her pillows and threw her arms over her face, blocking out the world, fed up with the circles her mind was spinning her in. she wanted to make sure that Dahee was well and happy, but would that mean handing Nari over? Accepting the fact that Dahee might take off again, leaving her missing Nari as she missed the rest of her family?

Much as she had tried to remember that she wasn’t Nari’s mother, somewhere the line had become blurred. Because Dahee hadn’t just nipped to the shops and Inhee wasn’t just being a helpful aunt: she was almost her legal guardian. It was Dahee who had blurred this line, and Inhee wasn’t sure how she would cope if she suddenly turned everything on its head.

Thoughts still racing around her mind, she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her dressing gown. She’d learnt that if Nari was sleeping she’d better shut her eyes too, but this morning that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She had managed to put off a couple of her deadlines when she’d told her clients what had happened—sparing them most of the details—but she couldn’t put the off forever.

She had beta designs for two sites to finish, and while Nari was sleeping she couldn’t justify not working. Then there was the fact that she’d not bothered with the dishes last night, the fridge was looking decidedly bare, and when Nari woke up she’d want milk, clean clothes and a clean nappy. The round of chores was endless, even with Jongin’s generosity, and she sometimes felt she’d been walking through fog since Nari had arrived. A joyful fog, obviously, but an endlessly draining one, too.

She padded into the kitchen and hit the button on the kettle—still too foggy to attempt espresso—knowing that she needed coffee this morning, and wondering how feeding mums coped with the newborn stage without caffeine. She felt as if she was flailing, barely keeping her head above water, and she wasn’t even recovering from giving birth.

Over the rumblings of the kettle coming to the boil she heard her mobile ringing in the bedroom and ran to get it, hoping that she could reach it and hit the ‘silent’ button before it woke the baby. Unfortunately, Nari was already mewling quietly, and with a small sigh she scooped the baby up before answering her phone.

“Hello?” she said, as quietly as possible, rocking Nari in vain hope that she’d decide to go back to sleep.

When her social worker told her the news she couldn’t think of an answer. Why couldn’t she think of an answer? So many times these past weeks she‘d wondered how her sister was, whether she’d ever be ready to be a part of a family again, and now here was the proof that she might want that one day. She wanted to see Inhee—and her daughter—that morning.

“Okay,” she told the social worker eventually. “I’ll bring Nari to her.”

As soon as she’d ended the call tears were threatening behind her eyes. Irrational tears? She wondered. Through the sleep deprivation she was finding it hard to remember what was reasonable and what wasn’t. She needed Songju and her no-nonsense way of seeing the world, her way of cutting through the mess and making the world simple.

She dialled her number and waited, rocking slightly on the bed. “Come on, pick up…pick up..” She walked back through to the kitchen as the ringing continued on the other end of the phone. “Come on, Songju. Please pick up..”

“Everything okay?”

Not Songju. At the sound of Jongin’s voice she spun around and the tears started in earnest, though she couldn’t rationalise why. Too much family drama. Too little sleep.

“Any idea where your sister is?”

“Not sure,” he told her, and she could hear concern for her in his voice. “But I know that she had a case coming to trial this week. My guess would be the chambers or court. Is everything okay? Nari?”

“She’s fine,” Inhee told him, though she couldn’t stop the tears.

She still clutched Nari tight against her, her every instinct telling her that she must protect the baby at all costs. But protecting her didn’t mean keeping her away from her own mother, if seeing her was what she wanted.

“Look, I’ve got to go out, but please can you find Songju and tell her to meet me at the hospital as soon as possible?”

He paced the corridor of the clinic, asking himself for the thousandth time what he was doing there. The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming. It had been only a couple of weeks ago that he’d paced a similar corridor, asking himself a similar question.

Inhee.

She had been the reason then, and she was the reason now. Her voice, so quiet and shocked, but filled with a fierce protectiveness for Nari. Find Songju, she’d said.

But he hadn’t been able to. When Songju was embroiled in a case there was no telling when she might emerge for sunlight and fresh air. All she could see was her duty to her client. Just as impossible as getting his sister on the phone was the thought of leaving Inhee alone. She’d been so stoic, but he had heard the shakiness in her voice and been unable to ignore it. The way she’d sounded—those intriguing layers of vulnerability and strength—had made him want to be there for her, with her. She could do this on her own, he had no doubt of that, but it didn’t mean he wanted her to have to.

He was just relieved for now that Inhee’s sister was safe and well—he knew how much Inhee had worried about her, how much she’d hoped to have her back in her life.

Inhee emerged from the bathroom with Nari smelling fresh, but there was a fearful look on her face. When they were halfway down the corridor, without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her. Holding her close to him, he could feel her body trembling.

“Here—“he gestured to some seats set against the wall, “—do you want to sit for a minute? Get you