Chapter 22: The Mother Who Saw Too Much

It happened on a quiet Saturday that should’ve been ordinary.

Ren had gone to buy groceries with Haru, who was loudly insisting that ramen counted as “balanced nutrition.”

Yuki, meanwhile, stopped by the stationery shop near the station for a new sketchbook.

She should’ve gone home after that.

But fate never leaves them alone for long.

When she stepped outside, she heard a gentle voice behind her.

“Yuki-chan…?”

Yuki froze.

That voice belonged to someone she knew far too well—

Aoki Keiko.

Ren’s mother.

From the old timeline.

From the life where Yuki was her daughter-in-law.

Yuki’s grip on the sketchbook tightened. She turned around slowly.

Keiko stood there in a simple blouse and skirt, holding a grocery bag.

Her smile was the same—kind, soft, always a little messy at the edges, like someone who loved too much and worried too quickly.

Yuki’s heart thumped painfully.

Keiko didn’t know about the time slip.

Didn’t know they were teens again.

Didn’t know the divorce had shattered all of them.

She just saw a girl she liked.

A girl she used to call “my daughter.”

“Yuki-chan,” Keiko said, stepping closer, “it’s been a while. You look well.”

Yuki bowed too quickly. “G–good morning. Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you.”

Keiko laughed softly. “Neither did I. I’m happy, though.”

Yuki’s throat tightened.

---

Before she knew it, they ended up in a small tea shop beside the station.

Keiko insisted on treating her.

Yuki didn’t have the heart to refuse.

They sat by the window, sunlight warming the table.

Keiko stirred her tea slowly.

Then she asked the question Yuki feared most.

“How are things between you and Ren?”

Yuki almost dropped her cup.

Keiko smiled kindly. “Sorry, that was forward. I just… worry. The two of you always reminded me of a pair who met too young and cared too much.”

Yuki stared at her knees.

What was she supposed to say?

That she and Ren divorced once already?

That they loved each other but didn’t know how to talk?

That they were trapped in high school again trying to figure out if they should fall a second time?

Instead, she said:

“We’re… figuring things out.”

Keiko watched her carefully, eyes gentle but sharp.

She had always been good at reading people.

“You know,” Keiko said softly, “Ren doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

Yuki looked up.

“He always tried to carry everything alone,” Keiko continued.

“Even when he was a child. When his father left, he thought he needed to ‘be the man of the house,’ even though he was only seven.”

Yuki held her breath.

Keiko smiled sadly. “So if he ever seems distant, it’s rarely because he doesn’t care. It’s because he cares too much and doesn’t know how to show it.”

Yuki felt a stabbing ache in her chest.

Because she remembered nights sitting in their apartment—

Ren exhausted

her heart hurting

both of them silent

both too scared to speak.

“Yuki-chan,” Keiko said gently, “you made him happier than he ever realized.”

Yuki whispered, “Did I… really?”

“Yes. But happiness isn’t enough without honesty.”

Keiko reached across the table, touching Yuki’s hand lightly.

“If you and Ren walk together again… don’t forget to speak. Don’t forget to listen.”

Yuki’s eyes blurred.

She blinked quickly, refusing to cry in public.

---

They left the shop together.

Keiko walked with her toward the station, telling small stories about Ren’s childhood—

how he cried if his pencils weren’t in order

how he once got lost following a stray cat

how he pretended to be “serious and mature” even in kindergarten.

Yuki laughed through her tight chest.

She remembered the Ren from their marriage—

quiet

steady

gentle in all the wrong ways

brave in all the sad ways.

She remembered the Ren now—

awkward

talkative when he tried

shy when flustered

still carrying that same lonely weight from childhood.

Keiko stopped at the crosswalk.

“Yuki-chan,” she said, voice suddenly softer, “if something is hurting you… I hope you tell me. You were family once.”

Yuki bit her lip.

“I…”

Her voice cracked.

“I’m scared, ”

Keiko blinked.

“Scared of what, dear?”

“That if we fall in love again… we’ll break again.”

Keiko took a slow breath.

Then she said something Yuki never expected:

“Then fall better this time.”

Yuki looked up sharply.

Keiko’s smile was warm and firm.

“If you’re given a second chance, it’s because something is asking you to rewrite your ending—not repeat it.”

The light turned green.

Keiko crossed.

Yuki stood frozen for a few seconds, heart pounding.

Everything felt heavier.

And clearer.

And terrifying.

---

What Yuki didn’t see:

Far down the street, a chime flickered—

the same strange, soft tone that rang before their memories came back.

A few passersby shivered.

A street lamp flickered.

The air rippled for a single second.

Something shifted.

Something responded to the meeting that never happened in the original timeline.

Because in the old life, Yuki never met Keiko alone.

Not like this.

Not when her heart was starting to open again.

This conversation was new.

This moment was new.

Which meant—

The path ahead might not be the same one they already lived.

---

Yuki walked home slowly.

Her sketchbook felt heavier than it should.

Her heartbeat felt louder.

She stopped at a small bench near the river.

She pulled out her pencil.

Opened the first page.

And for the first time in years—

in this timeline

or the last—

she drew something that wasn’t for work

or school

or anyone else.

She drew Ren.

Not the Ren of now.

Not the Ren of the past.

But a Ren she wished she could protect.

“Maybe Kaachan is right,” she whispered.

“Maybe we can fall better this time.”

She closed the sketchbook against her chest.

The wind carried a soft chime again.

This time, Yuki felt it.

Something was coming.