Seungcheol is twenty when he and Jeonghan are set to adopt the son of their dreams, Hansol Vernon Choi. He’s a quiet one—and Jeonghan actually wanted a daughter at first—but to Seungcheol who came all the way to busy New York in America (“We don’t speak enough English combined , Cheol,”) to chase all of his dreams of freedom, little Hansol’s eyes sparkled with promises to give them the world. Hansol ends up smiling (apparently for the first time) at Jeonghan and the other was sold, holding the baby in his arms so easily, like he had always been his parent. Seungcheol stared on as Jeonghan cooed at Hansol, and then at the workers helping them who simply smiled and gave them a moment, and he thinks about how he already is enjoying the sweet taste of freedom.

Seungcheol is twenty-five, and he’s bent over backwards to become the best damn office worker he could be so that his (and only his, a somber thought that clutches his heart from time to time and never lets go) now five-year-old Hansol Vernon Choi can live the best five-year-old life he possibly could; although, to Hansol, living his best life was watching Pororo—well, having it on as background noise—while he colored quietly. Sometimes his best life included ice cream during times he probably shouldn’t be having ice cream, but Seungcheol gives it to him anyways because he’s such a good boy and it really doesn’t hurt to have a little more ice cream sometimes.

Jisoo is eighteen when she runs away with a man by the name of Mark Tuan; he’s twenty-two and a bad decision according to everyone else, but she’s in love and he tells her that he is, too. Besides, Jisoo thinks as she flies 1500 kilometers from South Korea to Taiwan (they skipped heading back to Los Angeles, where Mark’s family is), she’s not sure if she can do much about her situation now as she looks down at her stomach that’s began to show a little bit. Mark gives her one of his signature soft, easy smiles and even though his voice is a little shaky, he made sure to promise her forever.

Jihyo is twenty three—long since back in South Korea, long since she’s heard from Mark—working as a simple florist (when she’s not giving piano lessons, or teaching little kids how to sing). Tzuyu is now five-years-old and despite not living in Taiwan for very long, her accent is still present around the edges of her Korean. It’s endearing though, not just to Jihyo, but to literally everyone around the little girl who can’t stop gushing about her big eyes (just like her mother’s, they say, and it makes Jihyo smile) and her adorably chubby cheeks (might be from her father, but Jihyo doesn’t want to think about that).