Chapter 11 – The Money and the Distance

Aiko stood in front of her childhood home for a long time before pressing the bell.

Nothing had changed.

The gate was still spotless. The garden still trimmed to perfection. The house still looked like a place where mistakes were never allowed to exist.

Her stomach tightened.

When the door opened, Midori  froze.

For a brief second, mother and daughter simply stared at each other.

“Aiko…” Midori whispered.

Aiko bowed deeply. “Mom.”

Midori’s eyes dropped immediately to Aiko’s stomach. The swelling was still small, but impossible to miss now. Her hands trembled as she stepped aside.

“Come in.”

The living room felt colder than Aiko remembered. The air was thick with things left unsaid. Midori poured tea with practiced movements, her hands steady now, her expression carefully controlled.

“You look thinner,” Midori said quietly.

Aiko forced a small smile. “I’m eating well.”

Silence followed.

Midori finally spoke again. “Your father doesn’t know you’re here.”

“I understand,” Aiko replied. “I won’t stay long.”

Midori hesitated, then stood and disappeared into another room. She returned holding an envelope and placed it on the table.

Aiko’s eyes widened. “Mom… what is this?”

“Money,” Midori said softly. “One hundred thousand yen.”

Aiko shook her head immediately. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” Midori said, firmer now. “And you will.”

Aiko’s voice trembled. “I left the house. I chose my life. I don’t want to burden you—”

“This isn’t charity,” Midori interrupted. “It’s responsibility. You’re still my daughter.”

Tears burned Aiko’s eyes.

“For the baby,” Midori added. “I won’t forgive your choices. But I won’t abandon my grandchild.”

Aiko bowed deeply, tears falling onto the tatami. “Thank you… Mom.”

When she returned to the apartment, Yuji noticed the envelope immediately.

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

“My mother,” Aiko said. “She insisted.”

Yuji frowned. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I know,” she replied. “I want to use it properly.”

And she did.

Over the next few days, Aiko transformed the apartment.

A small refrigerator that didn’t rattle. A secondhand washing machine. A proper bed instead of the futon. A heater for winter. A used laptop so Yuji wouldn’t have to write job applications on his phone.

By the time the envelope was empty, the apartment finally felt like a home.

Yuji stood in the doorway that night, staring.

“…You spent all of it?”

Aiko nodded, nervous. “Was that wrong?”

Yuji didn’t answer immediately.

He knew exactly what one hundred thousand yen meant.

It meant weeks of night shifts. It meant aching legs and skipped meals. It meant saying no to rest.

He sat down slowly.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “I just… needed a moment.”

Aiko’s voice shook. “I wanted us to be comfortable. For the baby. For you.”

Yuji exhaled, then smiled tiredly. “Thank you.”

But later that night, when Aiko was asleep, Yuji stared at the ceiling.

He couldn’t accept it.

The next day, he went alone to the  Hoshizora house.

Midori answered the door, surprise flashing across her face.

“Sakamoto-kun?”

He bowed deeply. “Thank you for helping Aiko. Truly.”

Midori’s expression hardened.

“You didn’t need to come,” she said.

“I did,” Yuji replied. “That money wasn’t easy to earn. I wanted you to know I don’t take it lightly.”

Midori’s lips pressed together.

“You’re polite,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”

Yuji waited.

“But politeness doesn’t change reality,” she continued. “You dragged my daughter into hardship.”

Yuji bowed again. “I won’t deny that I’m poor. But I love her. And I will work for her and the child.”

Midori laughed quietly. “Love doesn’t feed mouths.”

She stepped closer, her voice sharp now.

“You’re an orphan, aren’t you?”

Yuji stiffened.

“I know,” she said. “No parents. No backing. No safety net.”

His hands curled into fists.

“You don’t even know how a proper family works,” Midori said coldly. “How could someone like you protect my daughter?”

Yuji swallowed hard.

“I may be an orphan,” he said quietly, “but I know what it means to not run away.”

Midori turned away. “Take your pride and leave.”

Yuji bowed one last time. “I will repay every yen.”

She didn’t answer.

When he returned home, Aiko knew immediately something was wrong.

“You went to my mother,” she said softly.

Yuji nodded.

“…What did she say?”

He hesitated, then forced a smile. “Nothing important.”

Aiko looked at him for a long moment, then hugged him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Yuji held her back, eyes closed.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I chose this life.”

But deep inside, the words orphan echoed louder than he wanted to admit.

And Aiko, holding him, felt the distance growing wider… even as they stood together.