My daughter, Sophie, moved to South Korea for work a few years ago.
I remember how nervous I felt watching her board that particular flight, understanding an entire ocean would separate us for the very first time in her life.
“I’ll call you every week,” she’d promised me at the airport, understanding genuine reassurance mattered given how anxious I genuinely felt about her considerable move.
That’s where she fell in love with a man named Minho, and not long afterward, they got married.
I remember her phone calls describing him during those early months, understanding genuine happiness colored her voice throughout every single conversation.
“He’s different from anyone I’ve ever dated,” she’d told me once. “Understanding he actually listens when I talk.”
Minho always spoke English with me.
When we first met, I thought he was wonderful.
