The Cherry Blossoms: Part 2

I tried to make it special for her.

We woke up early, packed a bento box just the way she liked—little octopus sausages, rice shaped like bunnies, and the strawberries she always stole first. The kitchen still smelled like the sweet soy sauce when we left.

On the train to Shinjuku, she pressed her face to the glass, watching the city blur into ribbons of gray and green. I sat beside her, brushing strands of hair from her cheeks, thinking how much she looked like him when she frowned.

When we arrived, the world was awash in pink. The cherry blossoms swayed like soft rain clouds, petals drifting lazily to the ground. I hoisted her up onto my shoulders so she could see above the crowd, and she giggled, the sound echoing against the laughter and camera shutters of everyone beneath the trees.

We spent hours there. She chased falling petals, we made pretend crowns from loose blossoms, and she dared me to pose like a silly samurai while she “defeated” me with a twig sword. I played along, let myself laugh, even when my chest ached knowing her father wasn’t there to see it.

By late afternoon, we sat on a bench, sharing the last strawberry from our bento. The sky had shifted to gold, the air filled with the hush of petals drifting down.

“Mommy?” Chiyo asked suddenly, swinging her legs beneath the bench.

“Mm?”

She tilted her head, her little brows knitting together. “What makes someone… a good person?”

The question caught me off guard. I stared at her for a moment, my throat tightening.

“What makes you ask that, sweetheart?” I said softly.

She shrugged, her small hands fidgeting with the edge of her skirt. “Just thinking.”

I inhaled slowly, trying to find the words. Then, with a grin, I planted my fists on my hips and sat taller on the bench, striking a superhero pose.

“A good person,” I said in my boldest voice, “is someone who listens to their heart… but thinks with their brain. And someone who isn’t afraid of doing the right thing, even when it’s hard.”

Chiyo’s eyes widened. I flexed my arms like a wrestler, making an exaggerated face. She burst into giggles, clutching her stomach.

I laughed too, pulling her into my lap and spinning her around until she squealed. For that moment, under those cherry blossoms, there was no empty seat at home, no late-night phone calls. Just her smile—bright and unshaken—and I swore to myself, as petals caught in her hair, I would do anything to keep it that way.