That child is so impossible. >> [screaming and crying] >> 49 nannies had already quit the job. Some lasted days. One lasted only 6 hours, but none of them were prepared for the moment they met the 3-year-old son of the most feared CEO in Seoul. The 3-year-old boy stood on top of a $15,000 Italian leather sofa, a pair of scissors in his tiny hand, staring down at nanny number 49 like she was the enemy.
“Min-jun, please.” The woman begged, her voice shaking. “Just put the scissors down and we can talk about this.” He didn’t speak. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in 18 months. Instead, he opened the scissors wide and aimed them at the curtains. “No, those are custom silk from Milan. They cost more than my car.” Snip.
The fabric tore with a sound that made the nanny’s soul leave her body. She quit on the spot. Downstairs in his home office, Park Jae-won, the most feared CEO in Seoul, a man who had made grown investors cry in boardroom meetings, sat with his head in his hands, listening to another nanny scream her resignation through his penthouse. 49 nannies in 18 months.
49 highly trained, highly recommended professionals, and his 3-year-old son had defeated every single one of them. One lasted 6 hours. Another made it 3 days before she claimed the child was possessed and tried to perform an exorcism. Number 37 quit via text message from the bathroom where she’d locked herself after Min-jun released crickets into her bedroom.
His assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Sir, that was nanny 49. She’s requesting immediate payment and therapy coverage.” Jae-won didn’t even flinch anymore. “Wire her double. Add a non-disclosure agreement.” “Already done, sir. Should I contact the agencies again?” “They’ve blacklisted us. All of them.
” A pause. “All of them?” “Apparently, there’s a group chat. We’re listed under do not accept. One agency called us a hazard to their employees mental health. J-One would have laughed if his life wasn’t falling apart. Upstairs, his son, the heir to a 500 billion won empire, was probably destroying something priceless.
And J-One had no idea how to stop him because every time he looked at Min-jun, all he saw was his dead wife’s eyes staring back at him, silently asking why he couldn’t protect their son from this pain. 18 months ago, Park Min-jun was the happiest toddler in Seoul. He giggled. He played. He ran into his father’s arms every evening yelling “Appa!” so loudly the entire penthouse echoed with joy.
Then his mother died, and that little boy died with her. What remained was a tiny hurricane of grief who trusted no one, spoke to no one, and seemed determined to single-handedly destroy every expensive thing in their home. J-One’s phone buzzed. His mother, “Come to dinner tomorrow. I found someone. Don’t argue.” He stared at the text.
Someone? As if one more stranger would make any difference. As if there was anyone left in all of South Korea who hadn’t heard about the demon child of the Park family. But he was desperate, and desperate men don’t have the luxury of pride. He typed back, “What time?” Across the city in a cramped but cheerful apartment in Hongdae, Ade Nike Johnson was having the worst day of her 27 years on earth.
Rejection email number 47 had just landed in her inbox. “Thank you for your interest in the position. Unfortunately, we have decided to move forward with other candidates who better fit our company culture.” Company culture. The polite Korean way of saying we don’t hire black women. She deleted the email and resisted the urge to throw her laptop across the room.
That would be dramatic, and the laptop was expensive, and she was currently too broke for drama. That bad. Her roommate Sumi poked her head into the room, holding two cups of ramyeon. Email 47. Same excuse, different company. Nikki took the offered cup and inhaled the steam. I have a master’s degree in child psychology from Yonsei University.
I graduated top of my class. I have published research. I have field experience in three countries and apparently none of that matters because I don’t fit the culture. Sumin sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. Korea can be difficult. Korea is beautiful. Seoul is my home now, but these companies Nikki shook her head.
They see my name, they see my face in the video interviews and suddenly the position is filled. Not all companies are like that. Enough of them are. She stabbed her chopsticks into the noodles. My visa extension depends on employment. I have 2 months, Sumin. 2 months to find something or I have to leave. You could go back to Lagos.
Your mom would love that. Nikki snorted. My mom would love that too much. She’s already planning my wedding to some guy I’ve never met. Nikki, you’re 27. Your eggs are getting old. I’m not even 30. African moms and Korean moms should start a support group. They ate in comfortable silence for a moment before Sumin’s phone chimed.
Oh, Professor Yun posted in the alumni group. Someone’s looking for a child psychologist. High-profile family. Emergency situation. She scrolled. The pay is Wait, this can’t be right. What? 15 million won monthly plus housing. Nikki nearly dropped her chopsticks. 15 million? That’s triple the normal rate. What’s wrong with the child? Are they feral? It says here they’ve gone through 49 caregivers in 18 months.
49? Nikki’s professional curiosity kicked in. That’s not normal turnover. That’s either severe behavioral issues or terrible management. Maybe both. It says the child is 3 years old and hasn’t spoken since his mother died. Nikki’s heart squeezed. She knew that pain. She’d lived it. Trauma-induced selective mutism, she said quietly.
Classic grief response in young children. The caregiver has probably tried to force communication instead of creating safe space for processing. Poor kid. You should apply. Me? Sumi said, “They rejected 49 people. What makes you think they’d accept me?” Because those 49 people clearly didn’t know what they were doing, and you do.
Plus, you’re desperate. Desperation makes you brave. Nikki considered this. 15 million won monthly would solve every problem she had. It would secure her visa, pay off her loans, and give her breathing room to find something permanent. But 49 failed caregivers meant something was deeply wrong, either with the family, the child, or both.
“What’s the family name?” Sumi checked. “Park. Park family of Seongbuk-dong.” Nikki’s eyes widened. “The Park family? Park Industries Park family?” “You know them?” “Everyone knows them. Park Jae-won is the CEO. His company is worth billions. He’s on magazine covers. He’s famous for being ruthless in business, and” She trailed off, remembering.
“His wife died of cancer about 2 years ago. It was all over the news.” “So, the kid lost his mom. That explains the trauma.” It explained everything. A 3-year-old losing his mother, a father drowning in grief and work, a revolving door of strangers trying to replace the irreplaceable.
No wonder the child was breaking. “I’ll apply,” Nikki said suddenly. “Really?” “Really. That child needs help, not another nanny. And I’m qualified to help him.” What about the Park family? They are traditional, old money, conservative. You don’t think they’ll have a problem with with me being black? Nikki met her friend’s eyes.
Probably, but that’s their problem, not mine. If they are desperate enough to post in university alumni groups, they are desperate enough to look past their prejudice. Maybe. Sumin grinned. There’s my brave friend. Not brave. Broke, but I’ll take it. She fired off an email to Professor Yun before she could overthink it.
His response came in 3 minutes. Interview tomorrow, 10:00 a.m., Park family estate. Wear something professional. And hey, Nikki, don’t let them intimidate you. The child needs someone strong. Nikki read the message three times. Tomorrow. She had less than 24 hours to prepare for an interview with one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in South Korea.
An interview for a child who had destroyed 49 caregivers. An interview that would determine whether she stayed in the country she’d come to love or left in defeat. No pressure. She looked at Sumin. I need to borrow your good blazer. Already getting it. That night, Nikki couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed researching everything she could find about Park Jae-won and his son.
The articles about his wife’s death were heartbreaking. Lee Yuna, dead at 29 from aggressive cancer. Photos showed a beautiful woman with kind eyes and a bright smile. In every picture with her husband, they looked genuinely in love, not the staged affection of arranged marriages common among wealthy families. There were fewer photos of Min-jun, the family clearly protective of his privacy.
But the ones that existed showed a happy toddler with round cheeks and his mother’s smile. Then nothing. After Yuna’s death, Min-jun disappeared from public view entirely. Nikki found one interview with Jae-won from 6 months ago. The interviewer had asked about his son. Min-jun is adjusting, he’d said, his face carefully blank.
Children are resilient. But his eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of a man who was lying to himself. Children weren’t resilient. They were survivors. And survival looked different from healing. She closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow she would walk into one of the wealthiest homes in Seoul.
She would face a family who probably had never met a black woman before, let alone hired one. She would try to convince them that she, a foreigner with no connections and no money, was exactly what their broken child needed. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. It was exactly the kind of challenge that made her blood sing.
She smiled in the darkness. All right, Min-jun, she whispered. Let’s see if we can’t figure this out together. Somewhere across the city, in a penthouse bedroom, a three-year-old boy clutched a torn photograph of his mother and cried silently into his pillow, alone in a house full of people who didn’t know how to reach him.
He had no idea that tomorrow everything would change. That tomorrow the 50th person would walk through his door. And this time, she wouldn’t leave. The gates to the Park family estate were taller than any gates had a right to be. Nikki stood outside them at 9:55 a.m., adjusting Sumin’s blazer for the hundredth time. The fabric was slightly tight across her shoulders, her own curves more generous than her friend’s slim frame.
But it would have to do. Through the iron bars, she could see a mansion that looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine. All glass and clean lines and money. So much money it probably had its own zip code. Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother. My daughter, have you eaten? Remember to eat. And smile.
Men like women who smile. Nikki typed back. This is a job interview, Mama, not a date. Every meeting is a potential date if you have the right attitude. She pocketed her phone before her mother could continue the lecture and press the intercom button. Miss Johnson for the 10:00 a.m. appointment. The gates swung open silently, because of course they did.
Rich people’s gates didn’t creak. A butler met her at the front door. He was older, distinguished, with kind eyes that widened only slightly when he saw her. Miss Johnson, welcome. I’m Mr. Cho. Please follow me. The interior of the house was even more intimidating than the exterior. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, art that probably cost more than her entire education.
Everything was pristine and cold and looked like nobody actually lived there. It felt like a mausoleum pretending to be a home. “Madam Park is waiting in the blue sitting room,” Mr. Cho said, leading her down a hallway lined with family portraits. She noticed there were no recent photos, nothing from the last 2 years, as if the family had stopped existing after Yuna’s death.
The blue sitting room was exactly as advertised. Blue furniture, blue curtains, blue flowers in a vase. Sitting primly on a cream sofa was an elegant woman in her 60s wearing a modern handbag that probably cost more than a car. Park Jae-won’s mother. Beside her sat a younger woman, early 30s, designer everything, with a face that said she smelled something unpleasant.
Nikki recognized her from her research. Park Min-seo, the eldest daughter, known for charity galas and opinions she shared loudly. “Miss Johnson,” Madam Park said, her voice cultured and careful, “please sit.” Nikki sat in the indicated chair, back straight, hands folded, every inch the professional. “This is my daughter, Min-seo.” “Mrs.
Kim,” Nikki said, using the woman’s married name. “It’s nice to meet you.” Min-seo’s smile was sharp. “How interesting. Professor Yun sent you?” “He recommended me, yes.” “And you have experience with difficult children. The way she said difficult made it clear she meant something else entirely. “I have experience with traumatized children.” Nikki corrected gently.
“There’s a difference. Difficult suggests bad behavior. Trauma suggests pain. They require different approaches.” Madam Park’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “You’ve researched Min-jun’s situation.” “I’ve researched what’s publicly available. Three-year-old boy who lost his mother 18 months ago. Hasn’t since. Has rejected multiple caregivers.
Classic presentation of complicated grief and attachment disorder.” “49 caregivers.” Min-seo interjected. “49 trained professionals couldn’t handle him. What makes you think you can?” Nikki met her eyes directly. “Because those professionals were trying to be nannies. I’m not a nanny. I’m a child psychologist who specializes in trauma and loss. Different skill set.
” “You’re very young.” “I’m 27 with two advanced degrees and field work in crisis situations across three continents. My age doesn’t negate my qualifications.” “And you’re” Here it comes, Nikki thought. “Foreign.” Min-seo finished delicately. “Nigerian-British.” Nikki said. “Born in London, raised in Lagos, educated in both Nigeria and South Korea.
I speak English, Yoruba, and conversational Korean. I’m also working on my reading comprehension, though medical terminology still trips me up sometimes.” “And you think a Korean child will respond to someone so different?” There it was. The real question beneath all the polite dancing. Nikki leaned forward slightly. “Mrs. Kim, with respect, your nephew isn’t responding to anyone.
Not different caregivers, not similar caregivers, not expensive caregivers or experienced caregivers or caregivers who look exactly like his mother. He’s rejecting everyone equally. So, perhaps different is exactly what he needs. The room went silent. Then Madam Park did something unexpected. She smiled. Tell me about your father, Ms. Johnson.
The question caught Nikki off guard. My father? You mentioned in your application that you experienced early parental loss. I’d like to hear about it. Nikki took a breath. My father died of lung cancer when I was six. I remember being angry. Not sad at first, just angry. Angry that he left, that everyone kept saying he was in a better place, like anywhere was better than with me.
I stopped talking for 3 months. Madam Park leaned forward, genuinely interested. What made you start again? My grandmother. She didn’t try to make me talk. She didn’t tell me to be strong or that everything would be okay. She just sat with me every day and told me stories about my father. Funny ones, sad ones, real ones.
After 3 months, I had a story to tell back. So, I told it. And Min-jun needs someone who will sit with him in his grief instead of trying to rush him through it. Children don’t need to be fixed, Madam Park. They need to be seen. Another silence, but this one felt different, warmer. The position is live-in, Madam Park said.
You would have your own quarters, but availability would be essentially constant. My son works long hours. Min-jun needs consistency. I understand. The salary is 50 million won monthly with housing, meals, and health care provided. Nikki managed not to react, but internally her student loans were doing backflips.
And you would report directly to me and to Mr. Park. He has final say in all matters concerning Min-jun, of course. Min Seo cut in, her voice tight. Mother, we should discuss this privately before making any decisions. This is highly irregular. Our family has a reputation to consider. Our family has a three-year-old child who hasn’t smiled in 18 months to consider, Madam Park said firmly.
That takes precedence over reputation. People will talk. People always talk. They talked when your father married me. They talked when Jae-won married Yuna. They talked when Min-jun was born. And they’ll talk about this. But Min-jun won’t hear their talk. He’ll hear Ms. Johnson’s stories and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have one to tell back.
She turned to Nikki. Can you start Monday? Nikki’s heart was racing. Yes, mhm. Then welcome to the Park household, Ms. Johnson. My assistant will send you the contract details this afternoon. Thank you, Madam Park. I won’t disappoint you. See that you don’t. Min-jun has already been disappointed enough. Min Seo stood abruptly.
I need to speak with you, Mother, privately. As Nikki was escorted out by Mr. Cho, she could hear Min Seo’s voice rising behind closed doors, sharp and angry. Mr. Cho gave her a sympathetic look. Ms. Min Seo is protective of the family. I understand. Change is difficult. Change is necessary, he said quietly. Min-jun deserves better than what he’s had. I hope you can give it to him.
I’ll do everything I can. Outside, as the gates closed behind her, Nikki pulled out her phone and called Sumi. How did it go? I got it. I got the job. Sumi screamed so loud Nikki had to pull the phone away from her ear. Are you serious? Oh my god. We’re celebrating. I’m buying soju. I’m buying all the soju. Nikki laughed, giddy with relief and terror in equal measure. I start Monday.
That’s 5 days away. I know. 5 days to prepare for the biggest challenge of my professional life. You mean 5 days to prepare to meet Park Jae-won in person. I saw his pictures, Nikki. That man is fine. He’s also grieving, widowed, and my boss. So, that’s not relevant. Everything is relevant to these eyes. Nikki rolled her eyes and started walking toward the bus stop, but she couldn’t quite suppress her smile.
She’d done it. Against all odds, she’d actually done it. Now, she just had to succeed where 49 others had failed. No pressure at all. Monday morning arrived with the weight of destiny. Nikki stood outside the Park estate with two suitcases and her good luck charm, a small carved wooden elephant her grandmother had given her.
“For strength,” her grandmother had said, “elephants never forget where they come from.” Mr. Cho greeted her warmly. “Welcome back, Ms. Johnson. Let me show you to your quarters.” Her quarters turned out to be a small apartment within the main house. Bedroom, bathroom, small sitting area. It was nicer than any place she’d ever lived. “Mr.
Park would like to meet with you before you see Min-jun,” Mr. Cho said. “He’s in his study.” Nikki’s stomach flipped. She’d researched Park Jae-won extensively, but research and reality were different things. The study was all dark wood and leather, books lining the walls. And in the center of it stood the man himself. Photos had not prepared her.
Park Jae-won was tall, easily 6’2″, with shoulders that filled out his charcoal suit like it was tailored to him, which it probably was. His face was all sharp angles and cold beauty, like someone had carved him from marble and forgotten to add warmth. But his eyes, his eyes were what made her breath catch.
They were devastated, exhausted. The eyes of someone who had been holding on too long and too tight and was about to let go. “Ms. Johnson.” His voice was deep, controlled. Thank you for coming. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Park. He gestured to a chair, but remained standing himself, clearly more comfortable in a position of power.
I’ll be direct with you. I don’t believe you’ll succeed where 49 others failed. Well, that was direct indeed. May I ask why you hired me then? My mother believes in you, and I trust my mother’s judgment more than my own lately. He turned to face her fully, but understand this. My son is not a case study.
He’s not a challenge to be conquered or a problem to be solved. He’s a 3-year-old boy who lost his mother, and every person who’s tried to help has made it worse. How did they make it worse? The question seemed to surprise him. What? How did they make it worse? What specifically did they do that hurt rather than helped? He was quiet for a moment, considering.
They tried to replace her. They tried to make him forget. They tried to force him to be happy again. Nikki nodded slowly. And you? What did you do? His jaw tightened. I hired them. I worked. I provided everything he needed except the one thing I couldn’t give. Which was? His mother back. The pain in his voice was raw, unfiltered.
This was a man who had buried his grief in work and money and distance, and it was eating him alive. Mr. Park, Nikki said gently, I can’t bring his mother back. Nobody can. But I can sit with him in missing her. I can help him understand that love doesn’t end when someone dies. That it’s okay to be sad and angry and confused.
That healing doesn’t mean forgetting. Something flickered in his expression. Hope, maybe, or just exhaustion. You talk like someone who understands. I lost my father at six. Cancer. I know exactly what Min-jun is feeling. The difference is I had people who let me grieve. Min-jun has had people trying to make him stop.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with shared pain. Min-jun is in the playroom, J1 said finally. Third floor, east wing. I should warn you, he hasn’t spoken to anyone except to scream since Yuna died. Not a word. Nikki stood. Then I won’t ask him to speak. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. Miss Johnson.
She looked back. If you hurt my son in any way, I will destroy you. I don’t care about degrees or qualifications. That child is all I have left. Do you understand? The threat should have scared her. Instead, it made her respect him. I understand, Mr. Park. And for the record, I don’t break. I bend and I bounce back.
Your son will learn that, too. She walked out before he could respond. The playroom was exactly what she expected from 49 failed nannies, chaos. Toys scattered like shrapnel, crayon marks on walls, curtains torn down, books with pages ripped out, furniture overturned. And in the middle of it all sat a tiny boy with round cheeks and enormous dark eyes, currently in the process of systematically pulling stuffing out of an expensive-looking teddy bear. Park Min-jun.
He was smaller than she expected, more fragile. His hair stuck up in several directions, and his clothes looked like he dressed himself, shirt on backwards, socks mismatched. Nobody was caring for him properly. They were surviving him, not supporting him. Nikki didn’t announce herself. She simply walked in, sat down on the floor about 5 ft away from him, and pulled out her phone. Min-jun froze.
He stared at her with suspicious, red-rimmed eyes. She ignored him completely, scrolling through her music until she found what she wanted. Soft jazz filled the room. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. For 10 minutes, nothing happened. Then she heard shuffling. Tiny footsteps. She kept her eyes closed, listening.
Something soft hit her knee. She opened one eye. The teddy bear, now missing an arm and most of its stuffing, sat on her lap. Min-jun stood 3 ft away, watching her with an intensity that made her heart ache. She looked at the bear, looked at him. Did you throw this at me or give it to me? He said nothing. Of course he didn’t.
Because if you threw it, I should probably throw it back. That’s the rules. She picked up the bear, examined it seriously. But if you gave it to me, I should say thank you. She waited, giving him time. He’s missing an arm, she observed. Min-jun’s lower lip trembled slightly. That’s okay.
I knew someone missing an arm once. She arranged the bear carefully in her lap. Mr. Adiyemi. He lived in my grandmother’s compound in Lagos. Lost his arm in an accident when he was young. Know what he told me? Min-jun didn’t respond, but he hadn’t run away. That was something. He said he was the best hugger in the whole compound because he only had one arm, so he had to hug with his whole heart instead.
She set the bear down gently beside her and closed her eyes again, resuming the music. Five more minutes passed. Then she felt it. A tiny hand on her knee. She opened her eyes to find Min-jun standing right in front of her, his face crumpled in that way children’s faces do right before they cry.
I didn’t throw it, he whispered. His first words to anyone in 18 months. Nikki’s heart cracked wide open, but she kept her voice steady and soft. Then thank you, Min-jun. He’s a very nice bear, even without an arm. He has break. Broken things can still be loved. Sometimes they need even more love because they are broken. His face crumpled completely and tears started streaming down his little cheeks.
Silent tears that said he’d learned to cry quietly so nobody would come. Before Nikki could react, he climbed into her lap, buried his face in her shoulder, and sobbed. Deep, wrenching sobs that shook his tiny body. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, rocking slightly, humming the lullaby her grandmother used to sing. He cried for 20 minutes straight.
Years of grief pouring out of him in waves. And Nikki let him. Didn’t shush him. Didn’t tell him it was okay. Didn’t try to make it stop. She just held him and let him break because sometimes breaking is the first step to healing. What she didn’t know was that Park Jae-won had been standing in the doorway for the last 15 minutes watching his son cry in the arms of a stranger.
Watching his son finally, finally let someone in. And for the first time since Yuna’s death, Jae-won felt something shift in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like hope. He backed away silently, not wanting to disturb them and returned to his study where he sat at his desk and cried for the first time in 18 months. Because if his broken son could let someone help him heal, maybe he could, too. Maybe they all could.
And that thought was terrifying and beautiful in equal measure. It changed everything. The boy who had terrified 49 nannies suddenly began eating full meals instead of pushing his plate away. The child who used to scream through the night now slept peacefully. But only if Nikki sang the soft Nigerian lullaby that had somehow become their nightly ritual.
And slowly, unbelievably slowly, Min-jun started speaking again. Not long sentences, just small words. Yes. No. Hungry. Sleepy. But always to Nikki. The entire household noticed the change. Mr. Cho smiled every time he saw them together. Song Auntie began making extra food after Min-jun declared Nikki’s jollof rice his favorite meal in the world.
Even Madam Park once paused in the hallway watching the two of them play a chaotic game that had no rules except laughter. He laughs again, she whispered to Mr. Cho. Yes, madam. Every day now. She swallowed softly. I had forgotten what his laugh sounded like. But not everyone was pleased. Minute Seo had been watching carefully.
And when Minute Jun called Nikki Nikki Omma for the first time, something sharp flashed in her eyes. It happened in the garden. Nikki was kneeling beside him while he watered flowers with a tiny green watering can. Nikki Omma, look look. Nikki froze. Omma, mother. What is it, sweet hat? It grow. I make it grow. You did.
Yes, I give water. I good helper. You are the best helper. He grinned proudly. From the upstairs window, Minute Seo watched the scene unfold. Taha. This wasn’t healing. This was a problem. That evening she called a family meeting. We need to talk about that woman, Minute Seo said the moment everyone sat down.
Jae-won sighed tiredly. Her name is Miss Johnson. She’s turning Minute Jun against his own family, Minute Seo snapped. He called her mother today. I heard. And you’re okay with that? Jae-won leaned back in his chair. For the first time in two years my son laughs. He eats. He sleeps. If calling her that helps him heal, I won’t stop it.
Minute Seo’s face flushed. You’re letting a stranger replace Yona. No one can replace Yona, he said quietly. But that doesn’t mean Minute Jun has to grow up alone in his grief. The room fell silent. Madam Park calmly sipped her tea. I rather like the girl, she finally said. She has spirit. Minute Seo grabbed her purse.
When this explodes, don’t say I didn’t warn you. She stormed out. Upstairs, completely unaware of the family drama, Nikki was tucking Min-jun into bed. “Story time?” she asked, pulling the blanket over him. “Tortoise story.” he said immediately. “We read that yesterday.” He shook his head stubbornly. “Have to read seven times.
” “Seven times?” she laughed. “Who made that rule?” “I did.” “Well, that sounds very official.” He grinned proudly as she opened the worn book. Soon her voice filled the quiet room. “Once upon a time, there was a clever tortoise who wanted to go to a feast in the sky.” By the time she finished the story, Min-jun was quiet, his little body curled against his pillow.
Then he whispered softly, “Nikiyama.” “Yes, baby.” “My real mama. She in sky?” Nikki felt her chest tighten. “I think she is.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Sky mama see me?” “I think she does. And I think she’s happiest when she sees you smiling.” He thought about that very seriously. Then he looked back at her.
“I have two mamas.” Her eyes stung. “I think that would be very lucky.” He nodded sleepily. “Okay.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “When I miss sky mama, I hug you.” Nikki squeezed his tiny fingers. “You can always hug me.” Min-jun smiled, satisfied. “Good.” He fell asleep in her arms. An hour later, Jae-won found them like that.
The sight stopped him in the doorway. Nikki sitting quietly with his sleeping son curled against her chest. Something warm and painful twisted inside him. Together they carefully placed Min-jun in his bed. “He called you mama.” Jae-won said quietly. “I can correct him if it’s inappropriate.” “Don’t.” She blinked in surprise.
“If that’s what he needs to call you, let him. They stepped into the hallway. My sister thinks you’re manipulating us, he added. What? She thinks you’re making Min-jun attached to secure your job. Nikki’s face fell. That’s ridiculous. I know. There was a pause. Then he said softly, you’re the only person who’s reached him. They were standing too close.
Nikki, he murmured. She made the mistake of looking up. The way he looked at her made her breath catch. Tell me you don’t feel this, he said quietly. Her heart raced. She tried to lie. She couldn’t. I can’t say that. His fingers gently brushed a curl away from her face. I haven’t felt anything except grief for 18 months, he admitted.
Then you walked into my house and suddenly I feel everything again. This is a terrible idea, she whispered. I know. You’re my employer. I know. This can’t happen. I know. But neither of them stepped away. Finally, he forced himself to. Good night, Nikki. She stood in the hallway long after he left. The next few days were strange.
Every time they were near each other, the air felt electric. Even Min-jun noticed. Why are you and Oppa staring at each other like that? We are not staring. You are, he said seriously. Like in cartoons when people fall in love. Song Auntie nearly choked trying not to laugh. One week later, Jae Won announced something unexpected at dinner.
We’re going to Jeju. Min-jun jumped out of his chair. The beach? Yes. Can Nikki Halmeoni come? Nikki hesitated. It’s a company retreat. I shouldn’t. You work for my son, Jae Won said calmly. Where he goes, you go. Min-jun grabbed her arm. Please, please, please. She looked at Jae Won. He looked back with quiet hope. “All right.
” She sighed. Jeju Island was breathtaking. Blue ocean, soft sand, warm sunlight. Min-jun spent the entire day building sand castles while Nikki watched from the beach. That evening there was a formal dinner. Nikki almost didn’t wear the purple dress Sumi packed for her. But when she walked into the dining room, conversation stopped.
Even Jae-won forgot how to breathe for a second. “You look beautiful.” He said when he reached her. “It’s just a dress.” “It’s not just anything.” During dinner their knees brushed under the table. Once, twice, three times. “Appa.” Min-jun suddenly said. “Yes.” “You’re staring at Nikki armor again.” Nikki nearly dropped her fork.
Later that night there was dancing on the terrace. Jae-won held out his hand. “Dance with me.” “People will talk.” “They already are.” She took his hand. Under the glowing lights they swayed together. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He murmured. “About what?” “About needing time.” Her heart pounded.
“I realized something.” He said. “You deserve the freedom to choose this.” “Not feel trapped by your job or visa.” “What are you saying?” “If you want another position, I’ll help you find one.” “Anywhere in Korea.” She stared at him. “You’d let me leave?” “I’d hate it.” He admitted. “But I want you to stay because you want me, not because you need me.
” Later they walked along the quiet beach. “Tell me about your wife.” Nikki said softly. Jae-won smiled faintly. He told her about Yuna. Their awkward first date, their wedding, the day Min-jun was born, and the day he lost her. “She told me to keep living.” He said quietly. The waves crashed softly behind them.
“She’d like you.” He added. “Really?” “You’re stubborn, brave, you to let the world push you around.” She laughed softly. “The world tries. And you keep winning.” They stopped walking. “I’m scared.” she admitted. “So am I. What if we try and fail? What if we don’t try and regret it forever?” She looked at him. “I’m not leaving.
” she finally said. “But I need time.” “I’ll wait.” He kissed her forehead gently. Two months passed. Min Joon started preschool. The house felt lighter. And Nikki realized something terrifying. She was completely in love with Jaywon. One night she found him on the terrace again. “I made a decision.” she said.
He turned slowly. “Yeah. I’m done running.” His eyes widened. “I choose you.” He crossed the distance in seconds and kissed her. Finally, soft, desperate, real. When they pulled apart he whispered, “I love you.” She laughed through tears. “I love you, too.” Three months later Jaywon proposed. Not in some luxury restaurant, not on a yacht, in the kitchen, covered in flour, while making chin chin with Min Joon.
“Marry me.” he said suddenly. Nikki froze. “You’re serious?” “Very.” Min Joon clapped excitedly. “Say yes, Nikkihama.” She looked at the man she loved, at the little boy who had changed her life. “Yes.” she said softly. The wedding was small but beautiful. Family, close friends. Min Joon proudly carried the rings.
Even Min Seo attended, though she looked uncomfortable. During the reception Madam Park raised her glass. “Family is not defined by blood or race.” she said. “It’s defined by love. Aid Nikki walked into our home when no one else could reach that little boy. She didn’t just heal him. She healed all of us. She turned to Nikki. Welcome to the family.
Later that night, Nikki danced with her husband under glowing lights. What are you thinking? Jaywon asked. That life is funny. She smiled. How so? 49 nannies failed. He laughed. And the 50th? The 50th married the boss. Min-jun ran over and squeezed between them. Family hug. They lifted him into the air.
A father, a mother, and a little boy who finally laughed again. If you enjoyed this story, subscribe to Shadow Tales by Lola for more unforgettable love stories that cross borders and break expectations. The best stories are just beginning.
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
