Chapter 6 — Reality

Two months had passed since I arrived in the village; by now I had become one of them.

Still, the locals’ faces were full of pity, as if they saw a ghost every day. I ignored them. Even though I’d lost a lot of weight, I always had enough energy to go to the lake.

When I arrived, the mist was thicker than usual, but I heard Mari’s laughter. I saw her silhouette dart between the trees, and little Oda stumbling, almost tripping over the pine roots.

“I’ll catch you!” I shouted, though the voice felt more like an attempt than a certainty.

For a moment, joy returned — borrowed and fragile. Without thinking, I ran after them; they slipped into the lake and, before I knew it, I was nearly waist-deep too. I didn’t even know if I’d passed under the torii, but my children couldn’t wait. I dove into the water as if I were a mermaid from a story.

The fog became a wall; the sunlight dimmed to a whisper. When I finally opened my eyes, a man was dragging me out of my car. I was covered in blood.

“Ma’am! Stay with us, we’ll get you to the hospital,” someone said, distant and clear.

“What?” Everything hurt. “Have I gone back to that day?” I asked.

“Help my children…” I said in a weak voice.

“Nurse! Bring the stretcher quick! There’s a survivor!”

Voices muffled, and like bubbles they pushed me back into the lake. I shot to the surface and gulped air so big it stung my chest. At first I didn’t know what had happened.

“Why…? It’s not night…” I murmured, hands to my head.

I decided to leave it for now and went back to the village; I could try again tomorrow.

But nothing changed. Whether I passed under the torii or not, the fog remained the same: thick. Always the same. The lake returned fragments, as if forcing me to assemble an incomplete puzzle: loose pieces of the accident, images that wouldn’t quite fit.

“What do you want from me, damn lake?” I shouted, more to break the silence than to expect an answer.

A voice stroked my mind, light as a spring breeze.

“Remember.”

“You must remember; only then will you see your family…”

“Remember what?” I panted. “I remember parts. It was Golden Week, a family trip… and… that message.”

The cellphone. I didn’t usually use my phone while driving, but someone had it. My husband typed distractedly; he always said it was work stuff. In my memory his face was blurred, like a mask: I only saw his mouth, the strange curve of a smile I couldn’t read anymore.

The chime of a notification. A bell.

My husband had forgotten he’d synced his phone with the car’s screen, so the sound echoed through the entire cabin.

A name flashed across the display…

ELIZABETH

A coworker, he told me. Late arrivals, excuses… I stayed with the kids.

Another voice message:

“Love, when are you going to leave her?”

My throat tightened. The memory stopped there, like someone had erased the next frame. I don’t know if I screamed, if I turned the wheel, if there really was a sharp curve… or if rage made me lose control.

I don’t know. Maybe I never will.

All that remained was the impact, the metal noise, the sensation of time collapsing and splintering apart. Mari… my princess. Oda… my prince. That day everything broke.

The lake, indifferent, brought me back to the surface. I came up gasping; the fog parted just enough for me to breathe.

Then I felt them: warm, real, as if touch could anchor me to the truth. My children hugged me.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mommy,” they whispered.

And I cried. I cried with the same rawness as the first time I understood I had lost everything.

The mist closed again, swallowing even my children’s silhouettes. Only I remained, water up to my neck, trembling.

The same voice came back, soft and enveloping, like an echo in my head…

“You have paid…”

“Return tomorrow.”

“At dawn.”

“Join us…” it whispered, so close it might have been coming from my own mind.

The water stilled again, reflecting a face I no longer recognized.

I stayed there, unsure whether I had just been given a promise… or a sentence.