The Widow’s Bell

The voice on the phone was calm, cold, final.
“Yes. Tanaka is dead.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Akari’s grip loosened. Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering against the wooden floor.
For a moment, there was only silence heavy, suffocating.
Then, her knees gave way.
She crumpled, a broken marionette, hitting the ground with a soft thud. A choked gasp escaped her lips before the tears came not gentle weeping, but raw, body shaking sobs that tore through the quiet apartment.

“Akari? Akari, what’s wrong?”
Her mother rushed from the living room, slippers scuffing against the floor. She found her daughter curled on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself… my poor girl,” her mother whispered, voice thick with worry. She knelt, wrapping her arms around Akari, trying to absorb the tremors wracking her daughter’s body. “Shhh… it’s alright. I’m here. Let’s get you up.”
With gentle strength, she guided Akari to the couch. Her daughter’s hands shook so violently she couldn’t hold the glass of water her mother offered.

It slipped water splashed across the floor, glass shattering like fallen ice.
“Akari, please… tell me what happened. Who was that?”
Akari’s voice was a shattered whisper. “Ta… Tanaka. He’s… dead.”Her mother’s face went pale. “Tanaka? Your Tanaka? How? Weren’t they just on an investigation last night?”

“It was Commander Sato on the phone… He said… they found him covered in some… strange liquid.” Akari’s breath hitched. She pressed a trembling hand against her stomach. “If Tanaka is gone… what’s going to happen to me… to the child inside me, Mom?”
Her mother had no answer. The silence that followed was heavier than any cry.


Days blurred into a gray, aching haze.
Akari stopped eating. She sat by the window for hours, staring at nothing, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her mother tried everything warm soups, soft words, old memories but the light in Akari’s eyes had gone out.

After a week of watching her daughter fade, her mother made the call. They brought Akari to the hospital a quiet room with white walls and the scent of antiseptic.
Her mother rarely left her side. She’d brush Akari’s hair, read to her, hold her hand through the night. Sometimes, she’d whisper, “You have to be strong now. For your baby. For Tanaka.”
But Akari only turned away, her sobs muffled by the pillow.


Six months passed.
One crisp morning, her mother arrived with fresh sunflowers Akari’s favorite. She hummed softly, hoping today might be different.
But as she entered the hospital, a doctor stepped into her path. His expression said everything.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “We did everything we could. Her body just… gave up. But we managed to save the baby.”
The sunflowers tumbled from her grasp, petals scattering like broken light.
Slowly, she sank to her knees in the sterile hallway, a low, guttural cry tearing from her chest. There were no more words only the sound of a mother mourning her daughter, in a hospital that had run out of miracles.


END OF CHAPTER 3