Her father didn't answer immediately.
He stood near the doorway, his hand still resting on the strap of his bag. His eyes searched her face—not suspicious, not defensive, but, uncertain.
"How do you know about that?" he asked quietly.
Seo-yeon's heart pounded.
Because the truth was simple.
She didn't know from this life.
She knew from the one he never survived.
She lowered her gaze slightly, choosing her words carefully.
"You mentioned it before," she said softly.
It wasn't entirely a lie.
Just incomplete.
Her father didn't respond.
The silence stretched between them.
He looked older in that moment—not physically, but emotionally.
Like a man standing at the edge of something he wasn't sure he had the strength to face again.
"It didn't work out," he said finally.
Seo-yeon stepped closer.
"Or you didn't take it," she replied gently.
He froze.
She saw it clearly now.
The fear.
Not of failure.
Of hope.
Because hope required risk.
And risk could destroy everything.
"I couldn't afford to start over," he admitted.
Her chest tightened painfully.
In her first life, he never got the chance.
Now he had the chance, but fear still held him in place.
She reached out and took his hand.
It was warm.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," she said.
He stared at her.
Not like a child.
Not like someone fragile.
Like someone who understood more than she should.
And for the first time—
He didn't pull away.