Sae's hands were dusted in flour, her apron smeared with batter. The smell of vanilla and sweet red bean filled the little kitchen. Morning sun spilled through the curtains, catching in the wisps of steam rising from the kettle.
Her husband—Takeshi—snuck behind her, warm arms wrapping around her waist. His chin rested on her shoulder, rough with a bit of stubble.
"You're making enough to feed the whole block," he murmured with a grin.
"That's because you eat like the whole block," she replied, elbowing him playfully.
From across the room, Yui sat at the table, crayons scattered around her as she drew on a placemat. Her cheeks were already smudged with bits of dough she'd insisted on kneading.
"Papa, you got flour on Mama's nose!" Yui giggled, pointing.
Sae turned, eyes wide, mock-offended. "You did what?"
Takeshi stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Guilty. But she's even cuter now."
They laughed—big, unfiltered laughter. Yui's laugh turned into hiccups, which only made them laugh harder. Takeshi swept Yui up into his arms and spun her in a lazy circle, her tiny hands grabbing at his collar.
Sae leaned against the counter, smiling as she watched them—her heart full. The kitchen was small, the linoleum cracked, the lights a little too yellow… but in that moment, it was perfect. A little world made of love, flour, and laughter.
"Okay, okay!" Sae said, wiping her hands. "You two go set the table before the pancakes burn."
"Yes ma'am," Takeshi saluted, setting Yui down and giving her a soft pat on the head. Yui ran off humming a tune, and Takeshi stayed for a second longer, brushing a strand of hair from Sae's face.
"You're amazing, you know that?"
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You only say that because I let you lick the bowl."
"Damn right I do."
Their foreheads touched for a second. Just a second. But long enough for Sae to remember it later—when everything else was falling apart.
—
Hospital light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden like a blessing. Sae lay back against the pillows, exhausted but glowing. Takeshi stood over her, tears running freely as he cradled their newborn son, swaddled in pale blue.
"Kenji," Sae whispered, voice cracked with joy. "His name is Kenji."
Takeshi smiled, brushing the baby's cheek with a trembling thumb. "Kenji," he repeated softly, like it was sacred.
Yui peeked over the bed, eyes wide with wonder. "He's so small…"
Sae reached out and pulled her daughter close, resting her cheek against both their heads. "Our little family," she murmured. "All here now."
—
Kenji gurgled softly in her arms, his tiny fingers clenching the edge of her shirt. Takeshi sat on the floor beside them, grinning like a fool as Yui tugged on his sleeve.
"Look, Papa! I drew us!"
She held up the crayon-scrawled paper with both hands—four smiling stick figures beneath a crooked sun. One tall, one with long hair, one little girl with pigtails, and one tiny baby in a blanket. Above them, she'd scribbled in bright letters: "MY HAPPY FAMILY."
Sae laughed, pressing a kiss to Kenji's head.
Takeshi pulled Yui into his lap. "You forgot something," he said.
"Huh?"
"Our cat," he grinned.
"We don't have a cat!" Yui giggled.
Sae smiled, tucking the memory close. In that moment, everything was whole.
And she had no idea how much she'd miss it.
—
The room smelled faintly of incense and wilted flowers. People moved in hushed murmurs around her, black clothes and solemn eyes passing like shadows. Sae sat still on the tatami, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The photo of Takeshi rested on the small altar—smiling, as if the world hadn't just shifted forever.
Yui's tiny hand tugged at her sleeve.
"Mama," she whispered, eyes wide and round, "what happened to Papa?"
The words caught in Sae's throat.
She looked down at her daughter—only five, too young to understand grief, too innocent to carry its weight. But the question had been asked, and the truth, even if softened, had to be given.
Sae pulled Yui gently into her lap, wrapping her arms around her.
"Papa…" she began, voice trembling, "Papa was very tired. His body couldn't keep going. So he went to sleep—a deep, peaceful sleep."
Yui blinked up at her. "Will he wake up?"
Sae's heart cracked a little more.
"No, sweetheart," she said, pressing a kiss to Yui's forehead. "Not here. But… we carry him in our hearts now. That's where he'll always stay."
Yui was quiet for a moment, then nestled closer.
"Okay," she said softly. "I'll keep him in mine, too."
Sae held her tighter as the soft hum of mourning filled the room again. Her tears fell silently—half for Takeshi, half for the weight their daughter now carried.
—
The door clicked open with a soft creak, and Sae stepped into the dim apartment, the scent of curry and laundry detergent lingering in the air. Her shoulders ached from the long shift, and her bag slipped lower on her arm.
"Mama!" Yui's voice rang out like a bell, her bare feet pattering against the floor as she ran to the entrance. She flung herself around Sae's waist, nearly knocking the bag loose.
Sae smiled tiredly, brushing a hand over her daughter's hair. "Hey, slow down, Yui. I'm still in my shoes."
Yui ignored the warning entirely. "Kenji laughed today! Like, really laughed! Auntie was feeding him and he made this squeaky sound and then pff—banana everywhere! It got on the fridge, Mama. The fridge!"
Sae let out a quiet laugh as she stepped out of her shoes. "Poor fridge."
Yui leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Oh yeah! Auntie Emiko also mentioned something about money. Bills or something."
Sae paused, her smile fading just slightly. "Mm."
Yui didn't notice the shift—already off, skipping toward the kitchen. "I saved you the last dumpling! But it's kind of cold now."
Sae stood there for a moment, letting the door close behind her with a soft click, the weight of the day settling into her bones. Then she followed the sound of Yui's voice, toward the kitchen, toward the warmth that was left.
—
The night had deepened, but Sae's world hadn't quieted.
The apartment was still, save for the soft tick of the clock and the faint rustling of fabric. Kenji was asleep in the crib, Yui curled up on the futon, her small breaths rising and falling. Sae sat on the floor beside the low table, a half-sewn patch of fabric spread across her lap. Her fingers moved fast, practiced—needle, pull, tie.
A stack of uniforms waited in a basket nearby. More to fix before morning.
She shifted, wincing as her knees ached. Earlier that day, she'd cleaned offices downtown, broom in hand for hours. Then the corner store shift. Now this.
The apartment's single lamp cast a warm glow, making the room look softer than it felt.
As she reached for another shirt, her hand brushed against an envelope on the table—the latest bill, unopened. She didn't need to read it to know the number inside.
She glanced toward her sleeping children, exhaustion pulling at every part of her, but her hands kept moving.
Sew, tie, fold. One more. Always one more.
The night had deepened, but Sae's world hadn't quieted.
The apartment was still, save for the soft tick of the clock and the faint rustling of fabric. Kenji was asleep in the crib, Yui curled up on the futon, her small breaths rising and falling. Sae sat on the floor beside the low table, a half-sewn patch of fabric spread across her lap. Her fingers moved fast, practiced—needle, pull, tie.
A stack of uniforms waited in a basket nearby. More to fix before morning.
She shifted, wincing as her knees ached. Earlier that day, she'd cleaned offices downtown, broom in hand for hours. Then the corner store shift. Now this.
The apartment's single lamp cast a warm glow, making the room look softer than it felt.
As she reached for another shirt, her hand brushed against an envelope on the table—the latest bill, unopened. She didn't need to read it to know the number inside.
She glanced toward her sleeping children, exhaustion pulling at every part of her, but her hands kept moving.
Sew, tie, fold. One more. Always one more.
—
The hospital hallway was cold and too white. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Sae sat stiff in the plastic chair, Kenji burning with fever in her arms. His tiny body was limp against her chest, breath shallow, cheeks flushed.
The doctor stood in front of her, clipboard in hand, face carefully composed.
"It's the same condition your husband had," he said gently. "We caught it early, but he'll need immediate treatment. Aggressive. Expensive."
Sae's heart stopped for a moment.
"How much?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He told her. The number felt like a slap. More than she had. More than she could earn in time.
Her arms tightened around Kenji.
"There has to be help. Assistance, or—"
"We'll explore every option," the doctor nodded. "But we'll need to begin treatment very soon. Days, not weeks."
Sae stared past him, eyes glazed. The hallway around her blurred. Somewhere down the corridor, a baby cried. In her lap, her own son whimpered, too tired to even cry now.
She swallowed hard and kissed the top of Kenji's damp head.
"I'll find a way," she whispered. "Mama will find a way."
—
Sae stood on the balcony, the night air cool against her skin, one hand gripping the phone tight to her ear.
"Emiko, please," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You said you'd pay it back by spring. It's already April. Kenji needs the money now. It's life or—"
"I know, Sae," Emiko snapped on the other end. "I didn't expect things to get this tight either. I have my own kids, rent, everything piling up—"
"I'm not asking for a favor," Sae cut in. "It's the money I lent you. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't for Kenji."
There was silence. Then a frustrated sigh.
"I can't help you. Not right now."
"Emiko, wait—"
The call ended.
Sae stared at the screen, the silence louder than before. Her hands trembled. Below the balcony, traffic moved on as if nothing had happened. As if her world wasn't slipping through her fingers.
She shut her eyes and lowered the phone.
—
The man across the table wore a gold ring and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His suit was too clean for this part of the city.
"You understand the terms," he said, sliding the envelope forward.
Sae nodded once, her jaw clenched. She didn't touch the money yet. Her hands stayed in her lap.
"It'll keep him alive," she said, more to herself than to him.
The man leaned back, lighting a cigarette. "For now."
She took the envelope.
—
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, painting golden lines across the worn tatami floor. The apartment was quiet, peaceful even, the calm before a long-awaited day.
Sae moved about the small kitchen, packing the last of what Kenji would need for his stay at the hospital—extra clothes, a small blanket, his favorite stuffed bear with the missing ear. Yui sat at the table, swinging her legs and eating rice balls with sleepy focus.
"Mama?" she asked between bites, "Is Kenji gonna get better today?"
Sae smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she zipped the bag shut. "Yes, sweetie. Today's the big day. The doctors are ready, and Kenji's already stronger thanks to the medicine."
Yui beamed. "Can I give him my red ribbon? The one from school? I think it'll make him brave."
"That's a wonderful idea." Sae leaned over to kiss her daughter's head. "You're such a good big sister."
Kenji, still a little pale but no longer feverish, rested in his bassinet nearby, cooing softly. The room, for once, didn't feel like it was caving in. There was hope again. A path forward.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp raps. Too forceful. Too certain.
Sae froze, her body tensing. Yui looked up.
The door creaked open without permission.
Two men stepped inside. Black suits. Cold eyes. The taller one closed the door behind him with a soft click. The other—stockier, with a jagged scar across his chin—glanced around the room like it was already his.
"Morning, Sae-chan," the tall one said, his voice slick with mock politeness. "We were in the neighborhood. Thought we'd stop by."
Sae's blood turned to ice. She stood quickly, blocking Yui instinctively. "I have the money. All of it. I told you—I just need to get my son to the hospital."
Scarface chuckled. "That so? Then why not hand it over now and save us the trip later?"
"No," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "I borrowed it to save his life. The operation is today. You'll get it back after. I just need time."
The smile dropped from the tall one's face.
"You think time's free?" he said coldly.
Before Sae could react, he lunged forward and shoved her hard. She crashed against the table, knocking over Yui's bowl. Yui screamed.
Sae tried to scramble to her feet, but Scarface grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back down. A sharp fist to her ribs stole the breath from her lungs.
"Mama!" Yui cried, running forward, but the tall one shoved her aside. She hit the ground hard, her elbow thudding against the floor.
Kenji wailed from his crib, his cries sharp and terrified.
"STOP!" Sae screamed, coughing as she crawled toward her daughter. "Please, take the money, just—leave them alone!"
Scarface rifled through the hospital bag and found the envelope. He opened it, fanned through the bills with a sneer.
"Smart girl," he muttered.
Then they were gone, just like that. The door swinging open, then closed behind them like a slap.
Sae pulled Yui into her arms, trembling. Blood trickled from her mouth. Her ribs ached. Kenji's cries filled the room like sirens.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking as she held her children tight. "I'm so sorry…"
The sunlight still streamed in through the window, but it felt like the world had gone dark.
—
The hospital lights flickered faintly overhead, humming like a lullaby that had lost its tune.
Kenji lay in Sae's arms, still as porcelain. His little chest no longer rose. His skin had gone cold, his tiny fingers limp in her grasp.
"No…" Sae's voice cracked as the word spilled from her lips. "No, no, please…"
She clutched him tighter, rocking him, as if warmth alone could call him back. Nurses stood nearby, quiet, helpless. One reached forward, then stopped herself.
Sae buried her face into the curve of Kenji's neck. He had stopped crying hours ago. And now, even silence had left her.
Yui stood frozen in the doorway, her small hand gripping the frame. She didn't make a sound.
Sae rose slowly, the weight of her son heavy in her arms, heavier than he had ever felt in life. Her legs moved on their own, out of the hospital, into the street, past the glass doors and the blur of voices calling after her.
The night air bit at her face, wind tugging at her hair, but she walked without pause. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A car passed. The world continued on, indifferent.
She reached the edge of the city, where the streetlamps faded and the concrete gave way to dirt and fog. There, in the shadows, a man stood. His face—obscured, like it had been painted in rain, details lost to time.
"You want him back," the man said, not a question, but truth.
Sae said nothing. She only held Kenji closer.
The man stepped forward. In his hand bloomed a strange flower—its petals shimmered unnaturally, shifting color with the faintest movement, as if alive with something more than nature.
"You want to undo this," he said. "To make them pay. All of them."
Sae's lips trembled. "I would give anything."
The man held out the flower.
"Then take it," he whispered. "And in your heart, speak your true desire. Your wish. Let it guide you."
She stared at the flower, breath shallow. The world seemed to vanish around her—no more street, no more night, only her grief and the possibility curling like smoke in her lungs.
Sae reached out.
And the petals began to glow.
—
She stared at the flower, breath shallow. The world seemed to vanish around her—no more street, no more night, only her grief and the possibility curling like smoke in her lungs.
Sae reached out.
And the petals began to glow.