After the pain and confusion surrounding Miss Shu's decision to leave, life began to settle into a new rhythm. She lived close by now, coming over each morning to help Goo and Yang get ready for school, and often stayed late into the evening to cook dinner or quietly read. The family was different than before, but the love stayed—changed, softer, a little bit braver.
At school, a new event was announced: Family Day. The children would perform songs and take part in games with their parents. There would be races, a lunch picnic, and a contest for family artwork. Excitement ran through the halls, and even Goo, who usually acted too old for such things, felt a flutter of hope. Yang, gentle and creative, wanted nothing more than for their little family to be together, to show his mother and brother his best work and maybe even win a prize for them all.
The weeks before Family Day were filled with practice and preparation. Every evening after homework, Goo would help Yang practice his song—one about courage and love that reminded them of everything Miss Shu had done. At the same time, Miss Shu encouraged both boys to make something for the family art contest.
Yang worked on a painting of their family: his mother in the center, surrounded by himself, Goo, and their father. He used bright, hopeful colors. Goo teased him for drawing everyone's heads too big, but when Yang glared and threatened to start over, Goo apologized and joined in. They painted together by lamplight, the kitchen glowing with laughter and soft conversation.
Miss Shu watched them and felt joy returning. Even in a separate house, her heart was whole when she saw her sons together.
At school, some children whispered about Yang and Goo living with just their dad or only seeing their mom sometimes. Yang heard, but his teacher encouraged him: "You have a loving family, Yang. Families come in all shapes."
Goo was more defensive, getting into a small argument with a boy who teased him. That night, he confessed to Miss Shu, "One boy said we're not a real family if our parents are apart. Is that true?"
She hugged him and shook her head. "A family is made with care, not just by living under one roof. Our love is strong enough."
Encouraged by his mother, Goo promised not to fight but instead to show everyone how close they truly were.
A few days before Family Day, the school sent out a letter asking parents to participate in a relay race. Miss Shu, still weak sometimes, hesitated. Goo saw her worried look and joined her on the couch.
"Mom, you don't have to run if it's too hard," he said softly. "We'll still cheer for you."
But Miss Shu smiled and patted his hand. "I want to try. For you and Yang. For myself too—I want to show you I'm still strong."
Goo nodded, feeling proud. He promised to support her on race day, even if she needed to go slowly.
On the morning of Family Day, the family gathered at the school field. Miss Shu looked at the happy parents and children, heard Yang's voice singing with the choir, and began to let go of some of her old hurt.
During lunch, Goo set out a small picnic of rice balls and fruit his father had helped prepare. Miss Shu smiled at the familiar taste, and the boys noticed her eating more than usual—her energy growing with their encouragement.
The big event was the family relay race. Each family needed a team of three. Yang, Goo, and Miss Shu formed theirs. As the whistle blew, Yang started, running awkwardly but bravely down the grass. He passed the baton to Goo, who ran hard and fast, enjoying the wind and the way his classmates cheered.
When it was Miss Shu's turn, she started out slow, her legs unsteady. Goo and Yang called out, "Go, Mom! Go!" Other parents and children cheered too, surprised by her determination. Halfway through, Miss Shu stumbled—her knee buckled, and she nearly fell. The crowd gasped, but she steadied herself, looked at her sons, and pushed forward.
With every step, she remembered nights spent working, her surgeries, her sadness; but she also remembered laughter, hope, and her children's love. When she reached the finish line, Goo and Yang ran to her and hugged her tightly, both yelling, "We're proud of you, Mom!"
Though they finished toward the back of the pack, their teacher awarded them a special medal—the "Bravest Family" title. Miss Shu's eyes filled with tears, but this time from happiness, not pain.
After the race, there was the art contest. Yang and Goo's painting was displayed in the gym. The judges smiled and praised its color and feeling. Another child won first prize, but the principal read from Yang and Goo's entry: "Our family is strong because we keep trying, even when life is hard."
Parents and teachers applauded, and many came to shake Miss Shu's hand. "You have good boys," one said. "Their kindness shows in everything they do."
Goo glowed with pride, and Yang hugged his mother, whispering, "We did it, Mom. People see our love."
As the sun set and the family walked home, Miss Shu felt lighter than she had in a very long time. She realized that the simple moments—making art with her sons, sharing lunch, running together even with pain—were the seeds of a new beginning.
At home, the boys showed their father the medal. He placed it on the kitchen shelf, saying, "This is for all of us. We're still a family."
Later that night, as Miss Shu tucked Yang into bed and turned off the light, she lingered at the doorway. Yang called, "Goodnight, Mom. I love you."
Miss Shu smiled, closing her eyes. "I love you too, Yang. Goodnight, my treasure."
From that day on, Family Day became more than just an event at school. For Miss Shu, Goo, and Yang, it marked the start of something warmer and stronger between them. A new family tradition grew—a reminder that even after loss, love can knit together new patterns, bright and surprising, in the fabric of life.