Jongdae stares at his impossibly clever, beautiful little girl, and feels like crying. It does not seem right – it is not fair – that she should come to them in tears, her tiny little daughter in her arms as she explains that her wife has left, and isn't coming back.

He doesn't know what to say. Decades of cleaning up after his children's snot and blood and tears has not prepared him for this, it has not told him how to tell her that this woman is selfish and stupid and a thousand other things for leaving his daughter and granddaughter without a second thought. Later, he will probably analyse her actions and allow her a little more leeway than he is now, but in this moment – this terrible, heartbreaking moment – he is just painfully, painfully sad.

But there is one thing he knows how to do: and that is to hug his children and tell them it will be alright, in time. Sunhwa might be in her mid-twenties, she might be an adult with a baby of her own – but she's still his little girl, and she still needs her daddy's reassurance that it will be all okay.

“Come here, baby,” he says, his voice hoarse and deep because he's angry and hurt and so, so very worried and can't let her see any of it. He holds out his arms, and she rushes to him immediately, her daughter held tightly in her arms.

He cradles both, daughter and granddaughter, and wonders what he should tell her. She deserves better? She'll see it's for the best, in time? She's a selfish who needs to be chased down by dogs and – no, he can't tell her that. That would be...ill-advised.

Part of him wishes Yixing were here, instead of out doing the shopping, but he knows he would probably just remove himself to make a cup of tea, because that's what Yixing does in difficult situations: offer hot beverages. He knows, that when he comes back, he will feel the same all-consuming mess of emotions, that he will probably cry and leave the room so that their daughter does not see his pain when all she wants is comfort.

And he knows that he will echo the sentiment when he says tenderly, “You don't need to worry about anything, darling. You can stay home for as long as you like.” It warms his heart to know that Sunhwa still considers this some kind of home, and that as soon as her world fell apart she came running to them.

His spunky, quirky daughter grins just a little in response. “I was hoping you'd say that,” she says quietly, looking down at the baby in her arms. Nimueh is five months old, bright and bubbly and becoming more and more curious every day. She reminds him very much of Sunhwa at that age, and – as he does with all of his grandchildren – he dotes on her, because he can just hand her back to her mother when she gets cranky.

He shrugs, and holds his arms out for the baby. Carefully – Sunhwa is still so cautious with her first baby – she settles her in his arms, and he takes her with the practised ease of a parent of three. “You're always welcome here, you know that.” He clucks at the baby, who turns her big, wide eyes – Yixing's eyes – up at him. “You love your granddads, don't you, honey?”

Nimueh smiles widely (a new development) in response, and attempts to grab his nose with her plump little fingers. She is calm, despite her mother's emotional turmoil, obviously unaware of the upheaval her little family has gone through. He is fairly sure that once the tense atmosphere gets to her, she will begin howling – but for now, she is happy.

His heart aches to think that she might not be, as she grows older. It is different, for this child: the laws that state parents should care for their children can be bent out of shape for a child with same- parents. Her other mother can slip away, and, legally, it will all be very easy, as Sunhwa is her biological mother.

He doesn't understand how she can leave – how she can think there is anything better out there than his child – but he supposes he won't. “I'll go set up the travel cot,” he tells her decisively, hoisting Nimueh on his hip in one familiar movement. “It'll do for the night.” He pulls his daughter into a one-armed hug, and kisses the top of the head. “You just sit tight, for a bit, my love, and I'll be back before you know it.”

“And bàba?” She asks, reaching to tickle her daughter's tiny palms.

He nods. “And bàba,” he promises, knowing Yixing will be back eventually – even if he never checks his bloody phone.

Sunhwa looks up at him, her chin set firmly. He can tell she's trying not to cry, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell her that she doesn't need to hold the tears back – she knows that. What she needs is for him to pretend he doesn't see them. “Thank you,” she says simply.

She doesn't say I don't know what I'd do without you, but she doesn't need to.

“I'm your dad,” he says gently, placing his free hand on her face. “It's what I'm here for.”