Chapter 7: The Kids Who Don’t Exist

The park behind the school is almost empty after classes. A few kids kick a ball near the swings, but mostly it’s quiet. Ren and Yuki sit on opposite ends of a long bench, the kind that forces conversation because it’s too open to hide behind.

Ren fiddles with a stray leaf. “We should… talk about them.”

Yuki’s hands tighten on her skirt. “I know.”

Silence settles between them. Not awkward this time. Just heavy.

Ren clears his throat. “Do you… remember how Aoi used to cry whenever she lost her pencil?”

Yuki gives a tiny smile. “She didn’t cry. She’d puff her cheeks and say the pencil ran away because it hated math.”

Ren laughs under his breath. “Right. Drama queen.”

Yuki’s smile fades, replaced by a quiet ache. “She’d be in second grade now.”

Ren nods. “Yeah.”

For a moment, the sounds of the park fade out. All Yuki hears is the echo of a little girl calling “Mama!” while running into her arms. A memory that shouldn’t feel this fresh. A memory that shouldn’t hurt this much.

Ren looks down at his hands. “And Haruto…”

His voice thins at the edges.

“He always tried to act tough. But he’d sleep between us whenever there was thunder.”

Yuki swallows. “He hated thunder.”

Ren laughs softly. “Still pretended he didn’t.”

Another pause. This one cuts deeper.

Yuki takes a breath, trying to be steady. “They’re gone. In this timeline… they don’t exist.”

Ren nods, but his jaw tightens. He thought he had prepared himself for this day. He hadn’t.

“They weren’t just our kids,” he says quietly. “They were our family.”

Yuki looks at him. Her eyes soften in a way she hasn’t let them in years. “I know.”

The bench creaks as she shifts a little closer. Not by much. Just enough that they look like two people sharing the same storm.

“Do you think,” she asks, “if we make different choices now… they’ll be born again? As the same children?”

Ren lets out a breath. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is honest. “Maybe we’d have kids again. But maybe they’d be different. Different names. Different faces. Different everything.”

Yuki stares at her hands. “So Aoi and Haruto might be gone forever.”

Ren hesitates. “Maybe not,” he says gently. “But I don’t want to pretend I know the rules.”

Yuki nods, even though her chest twists painfully.

“Can I be honest?” she says.

“Yeah.”

She exhales. “This scares me more than the divorce did.”

He looks at her, caught off guard.

“Losing them,” she says quietly, “even in a world that hasn’t reached the point they were born… it feels like a hole I can’t fill.”

Ren swallows hard. “Yeah. Same.”

They sit with that truth for a long moment.

Then Yuki adds, “If we change too much… maybe we won’t even end up together. And if that happens, then they definitely won’t exist.”

Ren looks away. “We said we wouldn’t get involved with each other.”

“I know.” She laughs, but it’s small and tired. “Apparently the universe didn’t hear us.”

He smiles faintly. “The universe is bad at listening.”

Yuki glances up at the sky, feeling the wind brush her hair. “Do you think the future is fixed?”

“I hope not,” Ren says. “Because the old one didn’t end well.”

That earns a very dry, very Yuki-like snort. “That’s one way to put it.”

--

Just as the mood settles into something almost too raw, a loud crash erupts behind them.

Haru bursts out of the bushes like a startled boar. “AHA! Found you!”

Ren jumps so hard he nearly falls off the bench. “What is wrong with you?”

Haru pants like he just finished a marathon. “Mina said you two were acting suspicious again, so she sent me to investigate.”

Yuki presses a hand over her face. “We’re… talking.”

“Talking?” Haru narrows his eyes. “About what?”

Ren and Yuki freeze.

They absolutely cannot tell him the truth.

Ren blurts, “Homework.”

Yuki mutters at the same time, “Weather.”

Haru stares at them. “You said two different things.”

Ren panics. “Weather homework.”

Yuki gives a tiny sigh of defeat. “Yes. We have weather homework now.”

Haru squints, not convinced but too lazy to think too hard. “Whatever. Mina is waiting by the gate. She says if you keep ditching her, she’ll drag you both by your ears.”

Yuki winces. “Noted.”

Haru walks off, rustling the bushes again on his way out.

Ren whispers, “He has no idea he just killed a very serious conversation.”

“He never does.”

They share a small, tired laugh. The heaviness hasn’t disappeared, but the sharp edge of it has softened a little.

--

As they stand to leave, Ren hesitates. “Yuki.”

She turns.

“If the future changes… and we lose them completely…”

He swallows.

“Do you think we’ll still remember them? Even if they never exist?”

Yuki’s eyes soften, and for a moment, she looks like the woman he married, the woman he loved, and the woman he lost.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “I’ll remember them. No matter what.”

Ren nods.

They walk toward the gate, side by side, with a quiet understanding hanging between them.

The kids may not exist here.

But the love they had for them still does.

And that love will shape every choice from here on.