I would have been surprised if Kiko came to a decision in a week, and she didn’t surprise me. Since our talk, a week had passed, then another. A strange week. I ended up staying over at Mi’s house again because Himawari didn’t feel well after school. Wasn’t that fun. We had to search drawers for insurance details in case Himawari needed to go to the hospital, fortunately the situation not so bad. A day off work for me, a day on the couch for Himawari, watching the anime she now liked again from the start.

Of course, Himawari would have rather had Mi to keep her company, but she didn’t fuss about it. I felt a bit guilty about it too, enjoying how needy she’d been. How she had asked me to stay with her when she couldn’t sleep. Little by little, becoming closer to her.

At the same time, growing closer meant sharing her pain, how my heart had ached when she’d asked, “Is Kiko-sensei still busy?”

I didn’t blame Kiko. At no point in all of this had I ever thought poorly of her. However, it hurt that I couldn’t give Himawari what she needed to be comfortable. I almost broke.

Almost, but didn’t, the last message I sent Kiko still that one acknowledging she wouldn’t be visiting Mi any more.

Two weeks had never felt so long.

Sunday, my time at Mi’s finished after the early lunch. The girls’ tradition was still going strong, just with added ice-cream and a bit of cash to make sure Mi had enough to eat too. It was funny to me that, this tradition I’d started, I now knew nothing about. I didn’t know if Natalie had shaken her cultural shyness, if Sakura still felt guilty—nor how Mi felt. We’d shared so much, I wanted to give her space in these new parts. That was also why I didn’t ask her too much about Sakura.

All that mattered was that they enjoyed it, not like anyone was forcing them to keep going to the public baths. The sentō. Back in my own body, my mind often preferred English.

My pleasant thoughts accompanied me home, lingering, part of what made me so sure about this new life. I should have been tearing myself apart over Kiko’s silence, overthinking everything I’d ever said to her. The old me would have. To finally love someone, to feel loved….

But I wasn’t starving for love any more.

I cleaned up my little flat, washed my futon and left it over the tiny veranda’s rail to dry. Cooking for myself, I went for something lighter, easier to get fresh fish. A slow, comfortable afternoon.

Then my phone rang.

I left it for a moment, mid-sip of tea, before checking. Kiko. I tried to answer so quick I nearly dropped my phone, but managed to accept the call, pressing it to my ear to hear her voice that little louder.

“Moshi moshi,” I said with a smile.

After a few seconds of silence, she greeted me back, sounding like she very much wasn’t speaking with a smile. “Are you free to talk?” she asked.

“Yes?” I said, the uncertainty I felt at her tone chipping at my nerve.

A long sigh crackled through, the sound of not-too-distant cars. Thinking that sounded nice, I went to my tiny veranda, gentle wind calming me.

“I know this is something we should talk about in person, but it’s too hard,” she said, voice soft—weak.

“It’s fine. Whatever you need,” I said, the urge to comfort her rushing my words out.

As if she could hear that, she chuckled. “Thank you.”

Silence again, lingering, and I didn’t dare break it. Didn’t want to. I’d waited two weeks already, could wait a minute more.

“My parents were abusive. My father would hit me just for being in the same room, and my mother would scream at me for upsetting him. Despite that, I would always try and sneak into the lounge, just to see them,” she said, flat, and she used polite forms for her parents, making her sound even more detached—like she was talking about a stranger’s parents.

She continued. “When I first saw Hima-chan, it was like looking into my past and, the more I looked, the more I saw. Then there was Mi-chan, reminding me of her mother and how her mother had saved me. I thought that, as long as those two are together, things will be okay. However, the more I looked at Mi-chan, the more I realised she wasn’t her mother. Then you came along, much more like her mother….”

A long sigh trickled through.

“You are right: they are children, and we are adults. It is up to us to make the hard decisions, not because they cannot make them, but because it is unfair to burden them with that. No one made that hard decision for me, so I lived in suffering for all my childhood and, even now, I feel the ache of those days. I will not pretend to be blind because they did not speak.”

Already with a lump in my throat from hearing her share her awful, awful past, what I feared would come next made it almost impossible to talk. But some questions had to be asked. “Are you saying you will report their parents?” I whispered, so hoarse.

A second passed, then she simply said, “Yes, I will.”

My hand clenched, so tight it hurt. “I understand.”

That didn’t stop her from justifying herself, though. “I know things are well now and they are happy. However, if their parents return and ask what a stranger is doing in their house, how are we to explain? In the eyes of the law, you are not a family. You cannot make such promises to them.”

She paused for breath there, her speech quick, yet not upset or angry, more… sad. I thought so even more by her shuddery breath, imagining her with tears in her eyes.

“I wish I could wave my hand and make everything better. I cannot. All I can do is give Mi-chan and Hima-chan the peace of mind that, no matter what happens, they at least never have to call those people parents again. And I can do that now because I know you have shown them a glimpse of what a parent should be. They will not be like Riku-chan, sneaking into the lounge while knowing what will happen, yet still hoping this time will be different.”

For a long few seconds, there was silence. I waited to see if she had more to say as my mind turned and turned. Eventually, I said, “Thank you for telling me about your past.”

“Thank you for listening,” she replied. An automatic, polite response.

There was so much I wanted to say, but only two things needed saying right now. “Could you give me a day? I’d like to talk to the girls about this in person,” I said.

“Sure,” she said, her tone softer.

I smiled to myself, thinking how gentle she was. “One last thing, will you hug Mi-chan and tell her everything will be okay when I can’t? If you tell her that, she will believe it,” I said, voice wavering.

“Sure,” she said, voice wavering too.

There was a lot more to discuss, and we did, the laws and procedures for this in Japan not something I knew, but something she did and had researched the last week or so. However, one thing I never asked was: Where does this leave us?

Because we both knew we were putting the girls first.

By the time we finally hung up, I felt the finality of it. We didn’t know how long this would take or how it would end. So, well, it was probably for the best I gave up on her. More important things to focus on.

That was what I told myself, yet struggled to fall asleep, plagued by flickers of her smile, whispers of her laugh. At the least, that was probably better than overthinking how badly Mi would take the news.

In the morning, I sent Mi a message asking if I could come over for dinner. She agreed. If she suspected something was wrong, she didn’t mention it.

So began the longest day of my life, every second like an hour, making me wish I’d just taken a sick day. Somehow, I didn’t go crazy. Work finished, train back, staying on an extra stop, then walking to Mi’s house, stopping at the convenience store.

I hadn’t even thought to think about what to cook, mindlessly wandering the aisles before deciding on battered fish. The method was similar enough to karaage and it would be a nice taste of English food to leave them with. Knowing Himawari, she probably peeled a potato to soak if Mi told her I was coming for dinner, so fish and chips. Some mushy peas, fried tomato….

I walked out with way too much stuff. Extra toilet rolls, a colander, pair of mugs—one had “big sister” and the other “little sister” in English. Whenever I thought about how I might not see them for months, I couldn’t stop myself from picking up whatever I thought they’d like. Not until the shopping basket was almost too heavy to lift.

That was the sight that greeted Mi: me with all those bags, clanking and rattling and rustling with every step.

“What’s going on?” she asked with half a laugh, the confusion on her face accompanied by a sliver of worry.

“Let’s eat first,” I said.

I tried not to show my pain. Although I wasn’t an actor, I’d practised a lot in my childhood, kept it up in my relationships. Maybe Mi’s trust in me helped too.

Himawari was happy to see me and had left a peeled potato to soak. She knew me well. We cooked together, focusing on that helping me stay calm. A wonderful meal. Beer batter would have been nicer for me, but that wasn’t a recipe suitable for children—they wouldn’t be able to buy the beer.

Silly thoughts to keep me sane.

So we cooked and ate and had one of the desserts I’d bought, then Himawari went to watch the anime she liked. Such a good girl, we asked, she didn’t fuss.

“What is it?” Mi asked in Japanese.

“Well, it’s a difficult thing,” I said in English, important that, if Himawari did eavesdrop, she didn’t understand. I would talk with her about it afterwards.

My meaning clear, Mi started to close up, losing her faint smile, gaze falling to the table.

I took a deep breath in, not prepared. Never could be. “I spoke with Toyama-sensei,” I said.

She nodded, hands fidgeting. I wondered if she’d copied Himawari or if Himawari had copied that from her.

Not the time to be distracted.

“As a teacher, she is required to report child abuse. She hesitated before because she didn’t want to hurt you, but she knows that, in the end, not reporting is going to hurt you more. If you want to talk to her about this, she is willing to,” I said, parroting the topic I’d discussed with Kiko last night.

Really, how could Mi have expected that? She thought the worst news was that Kiko wouldn’t come over again.

I reached over, patting her hand, but she pulled it back as if shocked. I didn’t take it personally. “There are a few, um, ways this can end. Emancipation, foster care—you will have an advocate who can walk you through what’s best for you and Hime.” Rubbing my head, I carefully went through the other points I’d painstakingly drilled into my head over the long day.

At the end of that, Mi just sat there, so still it looked like she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open.

Finally, my heart could bleed.

“I’m so sorry, Mi,” I whispered. “I promised you so much and now I can’t be here for you in person. But we can talk whenever you want, and I can pay for anything you need, so if work is too hard with this going on, don’t worry about it.”

Finally, my heart could break.

Smiling, I whispered, “Maybe, if there’s a goddess listening, I could take your place for this.”

Finally, Mi moved, her hand coming to rest on top of mine. “No, it’s okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “D’you think Sakura can go even a week without kissing?”

“Oh, so you two kiss, do you?” I asked, trying desperately to hold onto that levity.

She ducked her head, a blush colouring her cheek.

There was a lot more to discuss, then more with Himawari, wearing me out until I felt emotionally numb. But Mi pretended to be strong, or maybe she had grown stronger. It was hard to know. I might have walked a mile in her shoes, but she’d taken them back and walked farther since then.

As for Himawari, well, she didn’t look excited at being anywhere near her mother again. Kept everything inside. Hopefully, she would talk to Mi or Kiko about it.

For now, though, I stood in the doorway, looking at both of them.

Speaking in Japanese, I said, “This isn’t sayonara, but mata ne.” Not “goodbye forever”, but “see you later”.

Mi took that harder than Himawari, giving a tiny nod. “Mata ne,” she said, then gave Himawari’s shoulder a squeeze.

Rather than say anything, Himawari ran up to me and gave me the biggest hug she ever had. Eyes prickling, I lowered myself to hug her back properly. “We still have to make cupcakes for Nat-chan, right? So I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said, stroking the back of her head. “Be a good girl for Mi-chan, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled, leaving her tears on my shoulder.

Once Himawari pried herself off of me, it was Mi’s turn to wet my other shoulder, my turn to ruin my makeup. Well, I only put on foundation today. Kind of expected it to end like this.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, rubbing circles on Mi’s back. “You’re so strong and those people are so weak, and you have so many people to support you. Sakura, Nat, Ki—Toyama-sensei. Even Hime. And once you make it through this, I’m going to be there and, this time, we’ll do it properly so we can be a real family.”

She nodded, her shaky breaths shaking my shattered heart.

“I can’t wait to call you my daughter,” I said, smiling, staining her shoulder with my tears.

She let out a spluttering laugh, then pulled away. For a moment, we looked into each other’s eyes; maybe, like me, she was trying to memorise the sight. “I can’t wait to call you mum,” she said, using the English word.

Walking away from Mi’s house, I could only feel the aching emptiness. I thought I’d been in hell before, but these coming months would surely show me what hell was like.

mialbowy

This is the last chapter! We’ll be skipping to post-whatever-happens for an epilogue to tidy up the story, and maybe an extra or two if I find some good motivation for them. As of right now, I’m just focused on the epilogue, so no promises beyond that.