But the thing was, I’d started learning Korean after Sophie got married.
I’d downloaded a language app nearly two years earlier, understanding I wanted genuine connection with my daughter’s new home and culture.
I hadn’t told anyone about it yet.
I’d simply been studying it quietly.
I practiced most evenings, understanding gradual, consistent effort had built considerably more comprehension than anyone in my life genuinely realized.
I’d used flashcards, language apps, and even Korean dramas with subtitles, understanding multiple approaches helped reinforce genuine, lasting vocabulary retention throughout those two quiet years.
And then I froze in the doorway when I heard WHAT Sang-chul was saying to his son.
Sang-chul, in Korean: “Oh my God, how much longer are you going to hide this from Sophie? You DON’T deserve her. You’re DISGRACING our family.”
Minho: “Stay out of it. You know WHY I married her. You know exactly WHAT I need. And no one can ever find out.”
Sang-chul: “If Sophie or her mother finds out what you’ve done, you’re going to be in serious trouble.”
Minho: “Yes, they’ll hate me. I know that I…”
When I heard the REST of Minho’s conversation with his father, my knees nearly gave out.
I felt so sick that I ran outside with my phone in my hand, still wearing my slippers, so I could call Sophie IMMEDIATELY.
The rest of Minho’s sentence had been simple.
Devastating, but simple.
“I know that I should have told her about Jihoon before we ever got married.”
A name.
A child’s name.
