Masahiro stared at the scene in terror and threw himself among the shards, picking them up one by one, stunned. He broke down in agonizing sobs, struggling to breathe. Lisa was dead—no, she had disintegrated right there, in front of him. And he hadn't been able to do anything to stop it.
A wave of helplessness overwhelmed him, and the guilt grew heavier with every second.
"L-Lisa… w-what have I done to you… it's my fault… it's all… m-my fault…"
He couldn't escape the thought.
If he hadn't run, if he hadn't searched for the house, Lisa wouldn't have come looking for him. He had dragged himself and his life into that house, and now he had destroyed everything forever.
At that moment, Masahiro sank into a vast, dark spiral of thought, and this time, there would be no Lisa to break that thick, suffocating stream. The emotional pain of losing the most important person in his life left him too weak even to remain sitting upright. The silence was deafening, and the solitude crushed him like a furious crowd.
Masahiro was alone—more alone than ever—and he could only blame himself for everything that had happened.
It was his fault he had lost everything.
It was his fault Lisa had died.
It was his fault, too, that he wouldn't make it out of that house alive.
All that was left of Lisa was her bag. With a shattered heart, Masahiro searched for her phone.
"What did you want to tell me, Lisa…? Why did you come so far to find me…?"
The only thing that could make him feel even a little closer to the woman who had been his wife was understanding what she had tried to say to him. That was now the only, fragile connection left between them, and Masahiro clung to it with all his strength. It was the only thing left that made it worth staying alive, trapped in that nightmare.
What did she want him to know?