RED STRING || 1

✔️ Chapter seventeen.

During Yeri’s first month, Irene’s every action was accompanied by a profound sense of caution. She was incredibly gentle, almost overly so, as though the mere thought of Yeri getting hurt would break her heart. Whenever she carried the baby, her hands would stiffen in a way that made it clear she wasn’t used to holding something so fragile. She would always ask Seulgi if she was holding Yeri the right way, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Seulgi, ever the observant one, noticed this and couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being too careful, Irene. She’s not made of glass,” she would tease, but the smile that followed revealed how much she admired Irene’s love for their child.

Nighttime was a new challenge for both of them. With a newborn in the house, sleep became a luxury neither of them could afford. They took turns staying up at night to tend to Yeri’s needs. During her shift, Seulgi would store breastmilk, knowing Irene would need it for when it was her turn to sleep. The process of pumping milk wasn’t something Seulgi enjoyed, but the sight of Yeri feeding from her was always worth the effort.

One night, driven by curiosity, Irene decided to taste the breastmilk herself. She made a face almost immediately, wrinkling her nose at the flavor—or lack thereof. “It’s tasteless,” she muttered to herself, before shaking her head and laughing at her own foolishness. She couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and amusement at how she had jumped into this new chapter of life, no longer just a partner, but a mother in every sense of the word.

Irene, despite her enthusiasm, couldn’t help but wonder about the future. She was already dreaming of their wedding, imagining the day they would finally walk down the aisle together. But for now, they both agreed that Yeri was too small, too fragile for them to focus on anything else. “We’ll wait until she’s big enough,” they decided together, shrugging off any thoughts of a wedding for the time being, focusing instead on the tiny human they had created.

Yeri was showered with love from all sides, especially from her grandparents. They spoiled her with an endless supply of toys, each one bigger and more colorful than the last. They couldn’t resist, even though Yeri was still just a month old and couldn’t yet grasp the toys in her tiny hands. It was a love so overwhelming that it made Seulgi smile to see her daughter surrounded by so many people who adored her.

But there were moments that felt surreal. Irene, for instance, would sometimes get carried away with nursery rhymes, singing and dancing around the room, her energy infectious. One night, she found herself jamming out to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” but in her own quirky way—rapping the words with exaggerated hand motions, turning the song into a little performance for Yeri. Seulgi, hearing the commotion from the hallway, couldn’t contain her laughter. “You’re too much, Irene,” she said, peeking into the nursery. “But I love it.”

Irene, though, acted more like a mother than Seulgi herself. She was the one always singing, the one always caring for Yeri, attending to every need before Yeri could even voice it. Seulgi, on the other hand, often found herself hesitant to get too close, unsure of how to manage the overwhelming feelings she had whenever she looked at Yeri. Something about the sight of the baby stirred an ache deep inside of her, a painful reminder of everything that had happened in her life.

By the time Yeri turned seven and a half months old, things were starting to settle into a rhythm. Irene had become more confident in her role as a mother, and Seulgi was slowly finding her way too. There were still moments of doubt, but it was clear that both of them were trying, every single day. One evening, Irene, still full of curiosity, decided to taste some of the baby food they had bought for Yeri. With an exaggerated grimace, she quickly spit it out. “Ugh, this tastes like baby vomit!” she exclaimed, her face twisted in disgust.

Seulgi, on the other hand, couldn’t help but laugh at her wife’s reaction. “Why try it at all? You could already tell it would be disgusting.” Seulgi raised an eyebrow, but Irene simply rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “And yet, you tried feeding it to our baby?!” Irene teased.