Ayaka stirred before the sun rose, her body sore, her heart heavier. The sheets beside her were cold—Minato had already left for his morning jog.
She sat up slowly, staring blankly at the quiet room. Her legs felt stiff. Her hips ached with reminders she didn't want. The scent of lemon-scented cleaner mixed with something muskier—something she hadn't been able to erase.
Downstairs, she started breakfast like always. But her mind was slow, fogged. The miso soup burned while she was scrubbing the cutting board with too much force.
"You're usually more careful, Ayaka," Minato said gently as he sipped it.
"Ah… sorry," she forced a smile. "Didn't sleep well."
Sakura, already dressed in her uniform, narrowed her eyes. "Mom, are you sick or something? You look weird lately."
"Maybe I'm just getting old," Ayaka said with a tired chuckle.
The girls put on their shoes. As Hana stood at the door, she tilted her head. "You're spacing out again, Mom. Are you okay?"
Ayaka hugged them both—too tightly, too long.
"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just be careful at school."
As the door closed behind them, Ayaka stood still, staring at the slippers left behind, the echo of her daughters' voices still lingering. And then came the weight in her chest again—that heavy, throbbing guilt.
Minato left soon after. As the door shut, Ayaka collapsed onto the couch. The silence felt oppressive, like it could swallow her whole.
She picked up her phone, almost automatically. LINE had a new message.
"I miss your warmth already. That hotel room still smells like you."
Ayaka froze.
Her thumb hovered over the message.
She deleted it.
No hesitation. No reply.
She turned her phone off and tossed it into the laundry basket, burying it under towels.
She kept busy—vacuuming, wiping, refolding towels that didn't need refolding. But the guilt clung to her like static. Her hands trembled as she cleaned the family altar. She lit a stick of incense and knelt.
The smoke curled lazily upward as she pressed her hands together, eyes shut tight.
"Please… let me stop this. Before it's too late."
But even as she whispered the prayer, she didn't feel saved.
Later that evening, Minato came home early. Ayaka blinked in surprise when she saw his shadow at the door.
"I thought you had overtime?" she asked, hurrying to the door.
"Client cancelled," he said, slipping off his shoes. "Honestly, I was relieved. I got tired staring at spreadsheets."
As he took a seat, he casually mentioned, "Reina offered to stay and help wrap up the reports. She seems eager lately."
Ayaka's heart twitched.
"Do you like her?"
Minato looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Reina? She's a kid. Why would I?"
Ayaka turned away to stir the rice.
Why does he feel like the faithful one…? Why am I like this?
Dinner felt off. The girls were chatting about school, with Hana bragging about her Mario Kart skills and Sakura teasing her about losing to AI. Minato laughed and said he'd beat them both someday.
Ayaka smiled and said nothing.
Each laugh felt like a blade in her ribs.
The house eventually went quiet. The girls were asleep. Minato was in bed, snoring lightly. Ayaka stood alone in the dim altar room, lit only by the flickering candle.
She knelt again, her back straight, hands pressed together.
This time, she didn't speak at first. She just… wept silently.
Then, with her voice barely above a breath:
"Please… I need to stop this. I don't want to lose them. I don't want to lose myself."
Behind her, the cold draft from the window made her shiver.
Suddenly—her phone rang.
She gasped.
It was back on the counter. She hadn't turned it on again, had she?
She walked to it slowly, hands shaking.
Riku.
She hesitated. The phone buzzed in her palm.
She answered.
His voice came through the line—light, teasing, casual.
"Ayaka-chan… I'm outside your house."
She froze.
"You come out, or I come in?"