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Summary
If asked several years ago to imagine her perfect life, when she was thirty or forty or somewhere down the line, Jihyo would have mentioned a husband, a few children, and a nice house away from the city. A career under her belt, a quiet life on horizon. Something normal; something sweet and good and simple.
Instead she had a too-expensive apartment, a bed littered with threadbare stuffed animals, and Sana.
Sana, who spent an entire weekend making hourly trips to the nearest convenience store for ice when Jihyo hurt her ankle. Sana, who was unexpectedly particular about how the bed was made. Sana, who loved homemade dinners but refused to learn how to cook. Sana, who was infinitely patient, who understood everything without ever being told.
Sana, who loved her.