Chapter 36: Inside Her Memories

The moment Ren stepped through the glowing wall of light, the world collapsed into a whirl of color. His breath caught as everything spun, then settled. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the liminal void anymore.

He was standing in a living room.

Not just any living room.

Yuki’s.

The wallpaper, the photographs on the cabinets, the small potted plant she used to forget to water. All of it felt too real, like he had walked straight into one of her memories.

Then he heard it.

A raised voice.

A man’s.

Yuki’s father.

“Yuki, you can’t keep doing this! Photography won’t pay the bills! You’re being irresponsible!”

A younger Yuki—college age—stood with trembling hands, her camera hanging from her neck. Her eyes were red and swollen.

Ren froze. He remembered this, but only from the version she had cried about years later. He had never seen it.

“I just want to try,” Yuki whispered. “I want to do something for myself.”

Her father slammed his fist on the table. “You’re throwing your life away!”

The memory cracked like fractured glass, but Ren couldn’t move. He could only watch her shoulders tighten, her breath hitch, her hands grip the camera as if it was the only thing holding her together.

He reached for her, but his hand passed right through. A helpless ache tightened in his chest.

This was one of the reasons.

The pressure. The expectations. The loneliness she never admitted.

The light shifted again.

Suddenly, a new scene formed.

Their apartment. Late night.

Yuki sat at the dining table, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. A stack of unpaid bills lay scattered around her. The remnants of a fight echoed in the air.

His voice—his past self—filled the room.

“Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?!”

“I tried!” Yuki yelled, slamming her fist on the table. “Every time I did, you told me you were tired! You said we’d talk later!”

“That’s not fair—”

“But it’s true! I felt alone! Completely alone in our marriage!”

Ren felt a knife twist in his chest.

He remembered this night.

He remembered brushing off her feelings because work had drained him.

He remembered walking out to “get air,” leaving her crying on the floor.

He wanted to scream at his past self.

Shake him.

Punch him.

Anything.

But all he could do was watch.

The room blurred again, dissolving into swirling light.

Another memory surfaced.

Hospital sheets.

A small crib.

A baby that never existed in this timeline.

Yuki sat beside the crib, humming softly, tears falling silently. A soft lullaby spilled from her lips. Ren stood beside her, smiling, exhausted, proud.

This memory hurt the most—because their children weren’t real anymore.

He staggered back, chest tight.

“Yuki…” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were hurting this much.”

A gentle voice spoke behind him.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know.”

Ren turned sharply.

At first, he saw his mother.

Keiko Aoki.

But the way she stood, the calm commanding presence in her eyes—it wasn’t her.

She smiled softly.

“Don’t be mistaken. I’m only using this body because it’s convenient.”

Ren stared, stunned. “You… you’re not Mom?”

“I’m the spirit who watches over Miyazuma Shrine,” she said. “Call me what you like. Guardian. Deity. God of Time. It doesn’t matter.”

Ren swallowed hard. “Why do you look like her?”

“Your mother prayed to me.” Her expression softened. “She begged for your marriage to be saved. She begged for Yuki’s happiness. She begged that you both find each other instead of drifting apart.”

Ren’s knees weakened.

“So I borrowed her form,” the deity continued. “A familiar face makes the truth easier to accept. And she offered, willingly.”

Ren tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

“Why show me all of this?” he finally managed.

The deity stepped forward, passing her hand through a vision of Yuki kneeling on the carpet, crying into her palms.

“Because you keep blaming fate,” she said simply. “You think time is your enemy. But it was your choices that broke you two apart.”

Her eyes, though gentle, cut through him.

“You were given a second chance. A reset. You and Yuki were returned to the past to repair what you shattered.”

Ren’s fists tightened.

“And Yuki?” he whispered. “Why did she disappear?”

The deity looked toward the swirling vortex of memories.

“She was pulled into her own trauma. Into the moments that shaped her breaking point. To save her, you must face the truth of both your hearts.”

She paused.

“But understand this: saving the timeline isn’t just about love. It’s about responsibility. Your future children depend on the choices you make now.”

Ren felt his breath catch.

“Why… why help us?” he asked, voice trembling.

The deity smiled gently.

“Because your mother believed in you.”

She placed a hand over his chest—warm, steady, powerful.

“And because Yuki still believes in you.”

The world around them rippled violently, as if rejecting their stillness.

The deity stepped back.

“Go. Follow the rest of her memories. She is waiting at the end of them. But be warned—if you falter now, the timeline won’t forgive you a second time.”

Ren inhaled deeply, nodded once, and stepped into the next burst of light.

He was ready—no matter what he had to face, no matter how painful or terrifying.

He was going to reach her.

Even if he had to walk through every memory she ever tried to hide.