Chapter 12: Ghosts of Kids Who Aren’t Born Yet

Yuki woke with her hands shaking.

She reached for a glass that wasn’t there, in a room that wasn’t the one she remembered. It took her a few breaths to realize the cry still ringing in her ears belonged to a child who didn’t exist here. Not yet.

Not anymore.

She sat up, rubbing her face. In the dream she had been arguing with Ren—no, in that memory she had been arguing with him—and somewhere in the middle of angry words and slammed doors, their daughter had burst into tears. Big, trembling sobs. Arms reaching for a mother too frustrated to hold her.

Yuki pressed her palms to her eyes.

“Not again,” she whispered.

Across town, Ren stared at the ceiling of his room. His chest felt tight. He could still hear his son’s small voice, soft and apologetic.

‘Dad… if you and Mom fight again… can I have two houses?’

Ren had tried to laugh it off in the dream—memory—whatever it was. He had put a hand on the boy’s head and said something clumsy like, “No way. I’m too broke to buy even one.”

But the kid’s eyes had been serious. Real. Hurt.

Ren sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and exhaled like someone who had forgotten how oxygen works.

---

They met behind the library. Not by intention. Just the kind of coincidence that wasn’t really one.

Yuki blinked in surprise.

Ren froze in place.

They both looked rough. The kind of tired you don’t get from homework.

“…Nightmare?” Ren asked.

Yuki nodded. “You too?”

“Yeah.”

Silence settled between them. Normally, it would’ve been awkward. Now it just felt heavy. Familiar.

Yuki leaned against the wall. “I saw her again.”

Ren didn’t ask who. He didn’t need to.

“I heard him,” he said quietly.

Their eyes met—long enough to admit everything without saying it.

“I miss them,” Yuki said, voice cracking on the last word.

Ren swallowed. “Me too.”

They both looked away. Of course they looked away. Two people with this much history weren’t allowed to stare too long.

Yuki hugged her arms. “I’m scared, Ren.”

“Of what?”

“That if we… if we repeat anything… the same future will happen.”

Ren scratched his neck. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking that too. Like, what if we mess up again? What if time didn’t reset to give us a second chance but to warn us?”

“Or punish us,” Yuki said softly.

“I don’t think it’s punishment,” Ren murmured. “I think it’s… correction. Like the universe going, ‘Try again, idiots.’”

Yuki gave a weak laugh. “If the universe is calling us idiots, it’s probably right.”

Another quiet beat.

“Ren,” she whispered, “I don’t want to lose them again.”

“Me neither.”

It was the closest they’d come to admitting they still cared. The words were right there—almost. If the world stayed still a little longer, they might’ve said them.

The world did not stay still.

“HOI!”

Haru burst around the corner like he was auditioning for the role of Human Jump Scare.

Ren stepped back. Yuki nearly punched him.

“What are you two doing here alone?” Haru demanded, eyes narrowed like a discount detective. “Secret meeting? Love confession? Illicit pact?”

Before he could accuse them of tax fraud, Mina appeared.

She grabbed Haru by the ear without slowing down.

“Haru. Stop ruining moments you don’t understand.”

“Ow ow ow—Mina, mercy—my ear wasn’t born for this—”

She dragged him away like a delinquent puppy.

Ren and Yuki watched them vanish.

Silence returned, annoyed and embarrassed.

Yuki sighed. “We should… go.”

“Yeah.”

They went in opposite directions.

But for the first time since coming back to this timeline, they didn’t feel alone.

They felt haunted.

By kids who weren’t born yet.

By a family they still loved.

And by a future they weren’t sure they had the right to want again.