The rusty door creaked open with a sound far too loud for the suffocating silence inside.
A girl, no older than fourteen, stepped through. Her thin fingers clutched the cheap doorknob for a moment longer than necessary, as though bracing herself for something.
The air smelled of alcohol.
Empty bottles and beer cans littered the stained floor. Ashtrays overflowed. Crushed cigarette butts marked a path through the cramped apartment like breadcrumbs from a tragedy long in progress.
She called out.
"Dad…?"
No answer.
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest.
'Maybe he went out to buy more drinks again…
That's what she told herself. That's what she always told herself.'
Her father used to be a good man. Kind. Smiling. Someone who patted her head and told her stories about a better tomorrow.
But ever since her mother had left — laughing, hand-in-hand with another man — he had broken.
Not all at once. Slowly. Like paper torn apart by trembling hands, day after day.
He drowned himself in cheap liquor and cheaper cigarettes. Drowned in grief. Drowned in betrayal. Drowned in regret.
But she…
'I have to stay strong. I have to help him. I have to pull him back up, even if he's given up on living. I'm his daughter. That's what I should do.'
Her trembling steps carried her through the narrow hallway into the living room.
And there—
The world collapsed.
Her father's body hung limply from the ceiling fan, casting a grotesque shadow on the wall behind him. His swollen tongue, his lifeless eyes, the stain down his trousers — she took it all in with a scream locked in her throat.
On the table beneath him lay two things:
One was a crumpled letter, written in a shaky, broken hand.
The other… a folded DNA report.
Her eyes refused to read either. Her mind wouldn't let her understand.
But even without reading, she felt the weight of her father's final moments pressing down on her.
Regret. Anger. Questions that would rot inside her forever.
'What did I do to deserve this…? Why me…? Why was I born just to suffer like this?'
Tears blurred her vision. She turned.
And ran.
She ran down the narrow stairs, out the building's cracked front door, into the night.
Ran and ran, as if she could outrun the truth. Outrun the horror. Outrun her fate.
She didn't see the headlights until it was too late.
A scream. Brakes. Impact.
Her small body was thrown to the pavement like a rag doll.
A man rushed over, shouting at the driver.
"What happened?!"
"A girl… she jumped in front of the car! I-I tried to stop, sir, but she…!"
The man looked down at her bloodied form. The girl wasn't moving. Her face was pale beneath the streetlights, her lips trembling faintly as if still trying to call out for the father who would never answer again.
"Get her to a hospital. Now."
The driver nodded, panicked.
...
The sharp scent of disinfectant.
The soft beeping of machines.
White ceilings. White sheets. White lights.
The girl slowly opened her eyes to a world drained of color.
Her body ached. Her head throbbed. She didn't know where she was or why there was a dull weight pressing on her chest, as though something had been carved out of her soul.
'Why… am I still alive…?'
She tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed her shoulder down with surprising warmth.
"Don't force yourself, dear. You're safe now."
The soft voice belonged to a woman sitting beside her bed. Refined, graceful — the very image of a gentle mother.
The woman's kind eyes looked down at her with a compassion the girl hadn't seen in years.
Behind her stood a tall man in a dark suit, speaking quietly with the doctor. His face was stern, but not cold. He had the bearing of someone accustomed to responsibility.
And between them…
A little girl no older than three peeked from behind the woman's skirt, her wide violet eyes curious yet wary.
"I'm glad you've woken up," the woman said, her hand gently holding hers. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. Everything will be alright now."
'Alright…? How could it ever be alright again…?'
Tears pricked at the corners of the girl's eyes, though she tried to hold them back.
"I'm Mrs. Takahashi," the woman said softly. "And this is my husband… and our daughter, Akane."
The man approached now, his serious gaze softening slightly as he looked at her.
"You're lucky to be alive," he said. "The doctors say you'll make a full recovery."
He glanced at the officer who had entered the room, his expression darkening as he received the report.
The officer bowed respectfully before speaking.
"It's about the girl's family… The investigation's concluded. Her father took his own life earlier today. It seems… he discovered through a DNA report that she wasn't his biological daughter. We found the documents at the scene."
Mr. Takahashi's brows furrowed. "I see."
The officer hesitated. "It appears… she has no other relatives. No one else she can rely on."
Silence hung heavy in the sterile air.
Mrs. Takahashi squeezed her trembling hand a little tighter. "Poor child…" she whispered.
Her husband nodded. "Then she won't be left alone."
He turned to the girl, his voice firm but not unkind.
"What's your name, young lady?"
Aiko blinked at him, her throat dry, the words catching as if they'd been locked away for years.
"…Aiko."
"Aiko, is it?" Mr. Takahashi repeated, as though testing how the name felt on his tongue. "It's a good name."
Mrs. Takahashi smiled gently. "Aiko… from today on, you don't have to worry anymore. We'll take care of you."
Tears finally broke free, sliding silently down Aiko's cheeks.
'Why? Why were these strangers being so kind? Didn't they understand? I am just an abandoned, unwanted girl — proof of someone's betrayal. A mistake left behind by cruel adults.'
Yet Mrs. Takahashi's hand didn't let go.
"You can cry, Aiko. It's alright now. You're not alone anymore."
Little Akane tilted her head, watching silently as her mother wiped the tears from Aiko's face with a soft handkerchief.
"I promise you," Mrs. Takahashi said softly, "you'll be safe with us."
Through the blur of tears, Aiko saw the child Akane's curious gaze.
Saw the warmth of a family she had never known.
And something deep inside her, fragile and aching, slowly began to mend.
Years Later
Mr. Takahashi sat in his study, documents neatly arranged before him. Aiko, now a young woman, stood respectfully across from him, her posture straight, her eyes lowered in quiet obedience.
"You've grown well, Aiko," he said. "We're proud of you."
"Thank you, sir."
"You understand what this family has given you."
"Yes, sir."
"A home. A future. A purpose."
Aiko's gaze didn't waver. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Takahashi leaned back slightly in his chair. "Akane is entering an important stage in her life. There are many responsibilities waiting for her… and many dangers, seen and unseen."
He tapped a finger against a file on his desk.
"I want you by her side. Always. From this day forward, your duty is to serve as Akane's personal caretaker. Her aide. Her protector. Her shadow, if necessary."
Aiko's heart gave a soft, quiet throb.
'By her side…? Always…?'
"Do you understand the weight of this responsibility?"
"I do, sir."
"You will answer to no one but me and my wife. Your loyalty belongs first and foremost to Akane."
'Loyalty…?
No. It's already something far deeper than that.'
"Yes, sir. I accept this duty."
Mr. Takahashi nodded in satisfaction.
"You are family, Aiko. Never forget that."
Family.
The word echoed in her chest like a prayer.
She bowed deeply, her heart calm, her purpose clear.
'From now on… I live for Akane.'
'Her happiness is my everything. Her pain is my pain. Her enemies are my enemies.'
'I will protect her from this world… even if it means burning it down for her sake.'
Outside the study window, young Akane stood in the garden, her violet eyes gazing up at the sky — unaware of the obsession and devotion quietly taking root.
Of love, already twisting into something far deeper within Aiko's heart.