Chapter 26 – Lines That Cut Too Deep

The set was quiet that morning.

Too quiet.

Aiko stood in front of the mirror in the dressing room, staring at her reflection without really seeing it. The makeup artist moved around her, brushing powder onto her skin, fixing her hair, pretending not to notice how tense her shoulders were.

Her phone was face down on the table.

No messages.

No forgiveness.

Only Yuji’s words, repeating in her head like a curse.

I hate you.

We don’t want you.

“Aiko-san,” the assistant director called gently. “We’re ready.”

Aiko nodded and stood.

Her legs felt heavy as she walked onto the set. Today’s scene was written as the emotional core of the episode. A confrontation between mother and daughter. A child demanding answers. A mother trying to hold herself together.

She had read the script last night.

She hadn’t slept.

Mai was already there, sitting on a small chair, swinging her legs. When she saw Aiko, her face lit up.

“Good morning,” Mai said brightly.

Aiko’s chest tightened.

“Good morning,” she replied softly.

The director clapped his hands. “Alright. Let’s focus. This scene is important. Take your time.”

The cameras rolled.

The room on set was dim, meant to feel empty and cold. Aiko knelt in front of Mai, exactly as written.

Mai followed her cue perfectly. Her small face scrunched up, eyes shining.

“Why did you leave me?” Mai asked.

The line was simple.

It wasn’t meant to destroy her.

But it did.

Aiko’s breath caught violently. For a split second, she forgot where she was. The lights, the cameras, the crew disappeared.

All she saw was her daughter.

Not Miko.

Mai.

Waiting.

Accusing.

Hurting.

The silence stretched.

“Aiko-san?” the director whispered.

Aiko’s lips trembled. She tried to speak. No sound came out.

Mai tilted her head, worried now. “Are you okay?”

That did it.

Aiko’s eyes filled instantly. Tears spilled down her cheeks without permission.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not to the scene, not to the script—but to her child.

The crew froze.

The director stood up. “Cut—”

Aiko shook her head, standing abruptly. Her hands covered her face as her shoulders shook.

“I can’t,” she said brokenly. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

She turned and walked off the set, her heels unsteady, her breathing uneven.

“Aiko-san!” someone called.

She didn’t stop.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly as sobs tore through her.

Behind her, Rin rushed out.

“Aiko!” she whispered urgently. “Hey—hey, breathe.”

Aiko grabbed Rin’s sleeve, her grip desperate. “She asked me why I left. Rin… she asked me.”

Rin hugged her tightly. “I know. I know.”

On set, Mai stood frozen.

The director crouched in front of her. “You did great,” he said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mai nodded slowly, but her eyes searched the doorway.

“Did I make her sad?” she asked quietly.

No one answered.

In the dressing room later, Aiko stared at the script lying on the table.

The words blurred.

Why did you leave me?

She pressed a hand to her chest, tears falling again.

She had faced critics. Scandals. Cruel headlines.

But nothing hurt like hearing the truth from her own child’s mouth.

And somewhere else in the city, Yuji felt an unexplained ache in his chest… as if something fragile had finally cracked.