Takahashi Residence, Five years ago

  The clock in the hallway ticked louder than it ever had. Aiko lay curled in bed, hugging her rabbit plush so tight her arms hurt. Daddy had tucked her in, but she kept staring at the door.

  Mommy was late again. She was always late.

  On her dresser, the night-light hummed, its glow reminding her of something strange—one evening, Mommy had come home carrying a weird helmet thing, wires sticking out everywhere. It had glowed faint blue, just like the night-light. Mommy had said it was for “helping people.” But the way she’d hidden it quick when Daddy saw made Aiko’s stomach twist.

  She buried her face in the rabbit’s ears. Maybe she forgot. Maybe work is more important than me.

  The house was too quiet. Daddy turned pages in the living room; the wind rattled the window. The spot beside her on the bed was cold where Mommy used to sit and tell stories, stroking her hair until sleep pulled her under.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Her eyelids drooped. She told herself she’d stay awake no matter what—this time, I’ll see her—but her eyes burned, and she drifted.

  The door creaked. Aiko stirred, blinking.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Mommy whispered.

  “Mommy?” Aiko’s voice was small, heavy with sleep.

  “Yes, it’s me.” Mommy’s smile trembled. She brushed the hair from Aiko’s face. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Tears pricked Aiko’s eyes. “I missed you, Mommy.”

  “I missed you, too.” Mommy kissed her forehead—her lips cold, like she’d been outside too long. “I promise I’ll be here more.”

  Aiko wanted to believe. But she couldn’t forget the glow of that helmet, the way Mommy’s eyes had looked—bright, distracted, like she was still staring at numbers in the air.

  “Don’t go again,” Aiko whispered, clutching her hand.

  But sleep stole her away before Mommy could answer.

  Years later, Aiko would remember: the smell of her mom’s coat, the tick of the clock, the strange blue light clinging to her memory. And she would realize—her mother hadn’t just been late. She’d been carrying secrets big enough to swallow their family whole.