This review may contain spoilers
The drama makes me cry every episode & a sobbing aftereffect
This is a watch-at-3-a.m. ruin-your-emotional-stability kind of drama.
The story follows Oh Ae Sun and Yang Gwan Shik from the 1950s, and honestly the plot is just life being extremely unkind. No villains, no big bads—just life doing what it does best: taking more than it gives. From the first scene alone, with old Ae Sun calling for her mother by the sea, I knew I was done. Like… you can grow old, but missing your mom never stops. Immediate tears. Ae Sun grows up watching her mother work as a haenyeo, diving into the sea every day just so the family can survive. This drama does not romanticize poverty or suffering. It just shows how heavy and nonstop it is. Pure generational exhaustion.
And yes—this drama has no villain.
The villain is literally life itself.
What makes this drama hurt even more is the generational POV. You see everything, being a daughter, then becoming a mother, then later a mother and a grandmother. You watch love shift forms over time. You watch sacrifices stack quietly. This drama really makes you feel how time moves whether you’re ready or not.
Yang Gwan Shik though… yeah. This man is the standard. Period. This drama raised everyone’s standards for men in the most unreasonable way, and honestly? Deserved. One of the most powerful moments is when he tells his family that Ae Sun didn’t come to live with him to become a daughter-in-law—she came to live with him as his wife. That line alone says everything. No ownership. No hierarchy. Just unconditional love and respect. Gwan Shik isn’t loud or romantic in a dramatic way. When he says he can’t give Ae Sun dreams or an easy life, it sounds sad at first—until you realize he spends his entire life backing that love up with actions. He loved her fully, consistently, and without conditions.
Marriage doesn’t make life easier. It actually gets worse. They’re REAL poor—like survival-is-the-main-plot poor. They raise three kids, lose one, and still keep going because life doesn’t pause for grief. You cry, wipe your face, and keep living. That’s the reality this drama shows.
Then there’s Yang Geum Myeong—the first daughter, the dream, the family’s future. She is painfully first-daughter coded: smart, stubborn, emotionally closed off, carrying her family’s hopes like unpaid emotional labor. Ae Sun gives her everything she never had, and Gwan Shik unknowingly sets her relationship standards sky-high. Yeong Beom loved her, but he loved being a “good son” more. Kind, gentle, but not brave when it mattered. And that hurts more than toxicity. His mom looking down on Geum Myeong because of her background? Quietly cruel. Ae Sun asking what her daughter lacks instead of fighting back? That scene hurt in a way that stayed. This drama also tells a painful truth: love doesn’t always last, and sometimes love isn’t enough. If you can’t protect the person you love, letting them go might be the greatest act of love you can offer. That is Yeong Beom-coded to the core.
Cheong Seop, though, actually gets it. He doesn’t try to control Geum Myeong or “fix” her life. He just walks her home. Watches her steps. Shows up. When he meets her family, Gwan Shik clocks him immediately—because fathers know when a man loves their daughter right. Their wedding scene? I was emotionally done.
Eun Myeong, the second child, pressured and lost, ends up in prison. When Gwan Shik sells the ship—their literal lifeline—to save his son, it’s devastating. The ship represents their survival, yet he gives it up without hesitation. Because his child will always matter more. Only then does Eun Myeong realize he was never second. He was always number one.
The small details are what completely break you: Gwan Shik’s calloused hands. Decades in the sea. No rest days. No shortcuts.
The sunrise scene is criminal. When he asks Geum Myeong to watch the sunrise with him, she realizes her father has always woken up in the dark, alone at sea, just so his family wouldn’t live in hardship. And that’s when it hits you too—our dads are the backbone. They don’t get to be tired out loud. They don’t get to slow down.
Just when life finally feels okay—Gwan Shik gets sick and dies. Yeah. Cool. Love that. Thanks.
He prepares for death the way he lived: quietly loving. Lowering shelves. Fixing locks. Leaving hair clips everywhere. Fixing the house so Ae Sun won’t struggle. He wasn’t afraid of dying—he was afraid of leaving her alone. That’s soulmate behavior. Yang Gwan Shik never lived for himself. His life was his family. Gwan Shik never spent Geum Myeong’s money. He saved every bit and gave it back to her later. He later buys Eun Myeong a car—quietly fulfilling promises, as always. No speeches. Just love. In the end, Gwan Shik lives his life fully. He works hard. He loves deeply. He stays loyal to the love of his life. He lives well. He is happy. His entire life becomes the proof that loving someone means giving everything you have, even when you have almost nothing.
This drama also gently reminds us of something heartbreaking: no matter how old we get, our dads will always see us as little kids. Always someone to protect. Always someone worth sacrificing everything for.
Huge shout-out to IU, Park Bo Gum, Moon So Ri, Park Hae Joon, and the entire cast. The acting is insane—raw, grounded, and painfully real. I cried almost every episode. The cinematography is quiet and beautiful. A true masterpiece. The OST? Honestly, I didn’t focus on it much because the drama itself was already emotionally overwhelming. Very old-song coded, fits the story, just not really my vibe—but it works.
By the end, you’re not empty. You’re just soft. And tired. And thinking about your parents. 10/10. A masterpiece. Would cry again. Would recommend. Watch at 3 a.m. if you want permanent emotional damage. This story is beautiful—truly wonderful—but rewatching it? That kind of pain isn’t casual. It feels like something I’ll need a whole lifetime to heal from before I can experience it again.
The story follows Oh Ae Sun and Yang Gwan Shik from the 1950s, and honestly the plot is just life being extremely unkind. No villains, no big bads—just life doing what it does best: taking more than it gives. From the first scene alone, with old Ae Sun calling for her mother by the sea, I knew I was done. Like… you can grow old, but missing your mom never stops. Immediate tears. Ae Sun grows up watching her mother work as a haenyeo, diving into the sea every day just so the family can survive. This drama does not romanticize poverty or suffering. It just shows how heavy and nonstop it is. Pure generational exhaustion.
And yes—this drama has no villain.
The villain is literally life itself.
What makes this drama hurt even more is the generational POV. You see everything, being a daughter, then becoming a mother, then later a mother and a grandmother. You watch love shift forms over time. You watch sacrifices stack quietly. This drama really makes you feel how time moves whether you’re ready or not.
Yang Gwan Shik though… yeah. This man is the standard. Period. This drama raised everyone’s standards for men in the most unreasonable way, and honestly? Deserved. One of the most powerful moments is when he tells his family that Ae Sun didn’t come to live with him to become a daughter-in-law—she came to live with him as his wife. That line alone says everything. No ownership. No hierarchy. Just unconditional love and respect. Gwan Shik isn’t loud or romantic in a dramatic way. When he says he can’t give Ae Sun dreams or an easy life, it sounds sad at first—until you realize he spends his entire life backing that love up with actions. He loved her fully, consistently, and without conditions.
Marriage doesn’t make life easier. It actually gets worse. They’re REAL poor—like survival-is-the-main-plot poor. They raise three kids, lose one, and still keep going because life doesn’t pause for grief. You cry, wipe your face, and keep living. That’s the reality this drama shows.
Then there’s Yang Geum Myeong—the first daughter, the dream, the family’s future. She is painfully first-daughter coded: smart, stubborn, emotionally closed off, carrying her family’s hopes like unpaid emotional labor. Ae Sun gives her everything she never had, and Gwan Shik unknowingly sets her relationship standards sky-high. Yeong Beom loved her, but he loved being a “good son” more. Kind, gentle, but not brave when it mattered. And that hurts more than toxicity. His mom looking down on Geum Myeong because of her background? Quietly cruel. Ae Sun asking what her daughter lacks instead of fighting back? That scene hurt in a way that stayed. This drama also tells a painful truth: love doesn’t always last, and sometimes love isn’t enough. If you can’t protect the person you love, letting them go might be the greatest act of love you can offer. That is Yeong Beom-coded to the core.
Cheong Seop, though, actually gets it. He doesn’t try to control Geum Myeong or “fix” her life. He just walks her home. Watches her steps. Shows up. When he meets her family, Gwan Shik clocks him immediately—because fathers know when a man loves their daughter right. Their wedding scene? I was emotionally done.
Eun Myeong, the second child, pressured and lost, ends up in prison. When Gwan Shik sells the ship—their literal lifeline—to save his son, it’s devastating. The ship represents their survival, yet he gives it up without hesitation. Because his child will always matter more. Only then does Eun Myeong realize he was never second. He was always number one.
The small details are what completely break you: Gwan Shik’s calloused hands. Decades in the sea. No rest days. No shortcuts.
The sunrise scene is criminal. When he asks Geum Myeong to watch the sunrise with him, she realizes her father has always woken up in the dark, alone at sea, just so his family wouldn’t live in hardship. And that’s when it hits you too—our dads are the backbone. They don’t get to be tired out loud. They don’t get to slow down.
Just when life finally feels okay—Gwan Shik gets sick and dies. Yeah. Cool. Love that. Thanks.
He prepares for death the way he lived: quietly loving. Lowering shelves. Fixing locks. Leaving hair clips everywhere. Fixing the house so Ae Sun won’t struggle. He wasn’t afraid of dying—he was afraid of leaving her alone. That’s soulmate behavior. Yang Gwan Shik never lived for himself. His life was his family. Gwan Shik never spent Geum Myeong’s money. He saved every bit and gave it back to her later. He later buys Eun Myeong a car—quietly fulfilling promises, as always. No speeches. Just love. In the end, Gwan Shik lives his life fully. He works hard. He loves deeply. He stays loyal to the love of his life. He lives well. He is happy. His entire life becomes the proof that loving someone means giving everything you have, even when you have almost nothing.
This drama also gently reminds us of something heartbreaking: no matter how old we get, our dads will always see us as little kids. Always someone to protect. Always someone worth sacrificing everything for.
Huge shout-out to IU, Park Bo Gum, Moon So Ri, Park Hae Joon, and the entire cast. The acting is insane—raw, grounded, and painfully real. I cried almost every episode. The cinematography is quiet and beautiful. A true masterpiece. The OST? Honestly, I didn’t focus on it much because the drama itself was already emotionally overwhelming. Very old-song coded, fits the story, just not really my vibe—but it works.
By the end, you’re not empty. You’re just soft. And tired. And thinking about your parents. 10/10. A masterpiece. Would cry again. Would recommend. Watch at 3 a.m. if you want permanent emotional damage. This story is beautiful—truly wonderful—but rewatching it? That kind of pain isn’t casual. It feels like something I’ll need a whole lifetime to heal from before I can experience it again.
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