Chapter 23 – The Scene That Wouldn’t Let Go

The set was quiet in a way that felt unnatural.

Lights were dimmed. Crew members spoke in whispers. Even the director’s voice carried a strange restraint, as if everyone sensed something fragile was about to crack.

“Scene twenty-three,” the assistant director announced.

“Mother and daughter. Take one.”

Aiko took her position on the worn sofa set. Her costume was simple. No glamour. No distance. Just a woman who had lost too much.

Across from her, Mai stood small and still, clutching the edge of her dress.

Action.

Aiko lifted her gaze, eyes already wet.

In the scene, the daughter had just found out the truth. She was scared. Angry. Confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mai said, her voice trembling exactly where it should.

Aiko swallowed.

“I was afraid,” she replied softly, following the script. “Afraid that if I told you… you would disappear.”

Mai’s lip quivered. She took a step forward.

“Were you going to leave me too?”

The words hit harder than acting ever should.

Aiko felt it. A sharp, sudden pain deep in her chest. Her throat tightened.

“No,” she said, voice breaking in a way no rehearsal had captured. “Never. Even if the whole world fell apart… I would stay.”

Mai looked up at her.

Something in the child’s eyes shifted. The fear softened. Replaced by trust.

Mai stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Aiko’s waist.

The hug wasn’t scripted.

Gasps rippled through the crew.

Aiko froze for half a second.

Then instinct took over.

Her arms wrapped around the small body, holding her tighter than the role required. Her eyes filled completely.

“I’m here,” Aiko whispered, forgetting the next line. “I’m right here.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

The director didn’t cut.

Mai buried her face against Aiko’s chest.

“I won’t disappear,” Mai said quietly.

Aiko’s heart shattered.

Cut.

Silence.

Then applause. Soft at first. Then louder.

“That… was perfect,” the director said, visibly shaken. “We’re keeping that.”

Aiko stayed seated long after the scene ended. Mai didn’t pull away right away either.

When they finally separated, Mai looked up at her curiously.

“You cried for real,” Mai said.

Aiko laughed weakly, brushing tears from her cheeks. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Did it hurt?” Mai asked seriously.

Aiko shook her head. “No. It felt… warm.”

They sat together on the steps while the crew reset.

Mai swung her legs back and forth. “You’re good at being a mom.”

Aiko’s breath caught.

“…Am I?”

Mai nodded. “You listen.”

Aiko hesitated, then asked gently, “Miko… can I ask you something?”

Mai looked up. “Okay.”

“Do you remember your mother?” Aiko asked, keeping her voice calm.

Rin, standing a short distance away, stiffened.

Mai tilted her head. “Papa said she’s in heaven.”

Aiko’s hands trembled slightly.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Was she… kind?”

Mai smiled faintly. “I think so. Papa says she loved me very much.”

Aiko had to look away.

Rin stepped in quickly. “Break time,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s get something to eat.”

A small corner restaurant near the studio buzzed quietly with lunchtime customers.

Aiko walked in alone, still wrapped in the weight of the scene, hoping for tea and silence.

Then she saw them.

Near the window.

A man sat hunched slightly forward, jacket worn, hands careful as he wiped a child’s mouth with a napkin. His movements were gentle. Familiar.

Yuji.

Across from him, Rin laughed softly at something Mai said. Mai swung her feet under the table, smiling wide.

A family.

Alive.

Real.

Aiko’s vision blurred instantly.

Her hand flew to her mouth as tears spilled without warning.

Yuji looked up.

Their eyes met.

Time stopped.

Shock crossed his face first. Then something colder. Something guarded.

Aiko’s knees weakened.

She turned away before he could stand, before the tears could fully betray her.

She stumbled out of the restaurant, breath shaking, heart breaking all over again.

Behind her, Yuji stayed seated.

Mai tugged his sleeve. “Papa?”

“…It’s nothing,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the door Aiko had just disappeared through.

But Rin watched him closely.

And for the first time in six years, the lie holding all of them apart had begun to crack.