Chapter 36 – The Gift That Never Reached Her

Aiko Hoshizora did not sleep that night.

The city outside her apartment glowed until dawn, neon lights reflecting against glass like stars that never faded. She sat on the floor beside her bed, back against the wall, the small gift box resting in her lap.

A rabbit-shaped hairpin. Pink enamel. Simple. Childish.

Perfect.

She turned it slowly between her fingers, imagining how it would look tucked into soft black hair. Imagining small hands reaching for it. Imagining a voice calling her a name she did not deserve to hear.

“Mom.”

Aiko’s breath trembled.

She pressed the box to her chest, fingers tightening until her knuckles hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty room. “I’m so sorry.”

Six years.

Six years of running. Six years of convincing herself that staying away was mercy. That disappearing was kindness. That Yuji was strong enough to raise their child alone.

Tonight shattered that lie.

That photo. Yuji’s tired smile. Mai’s small face glowing in candlelight.

She had not ruined them by leaving.

She had simply been erased.

Morning arrived without warning.

Aiko stood in front of the mirror, dark circles beneath her eyes carefully concealed with makeup. The world expected Hoshizora Aiko today. Actress. Professional. Untouchable.

She dressed in neutral colors, hair tied neatly, emotions folded and hidden.

Before leaving, she placed the gift box inside her bag.

Just in case.

The car ride to the studio passed in silence. Her assistant noticed but said nothing. Everyone around Aiko had learned when not to ask.

On set, the energy buzzed as usual. Lights. Cameras. Crew members moving with practiced efficiency.

Aiko took her mark.

“Rolling!”

She delivered her lines flawlessly. Tears fell exactly when required. Her voice cracked on cue.

The director smiled. “Perfect. One take.”

Applause followed.

Aiko bowed politely, but inside she felt hollow.

They clapped for pain that wasn’t real.

And ignored the one that was.

During a short break, Aiko stepped outside, phone in hand.

Her finger hovered over a saved contact.

Yuji Sakamoto.

She had never deleted it.

She had never dared to call.

Her chest tightened.

What would she say?

I’m sorry I disappeared.

I’m sorry I lied.

I’m sorry I let you tell our daughter I was dead.

Aiko shut her eyes.

She couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and opened her bag instead.

The gift box stared back at her.

“You should hate me,” she murmured. “You should.”

But even hatred would mean she mattered.

Across town, Yuji’s morning began with routine.

Open the shop. Arrange the shoes. Greet customers with polite nods and quiet smiles.

But his thoughts kept drifting.

Mai’s birthday had passed, yet something felt unsettled. Like a door left open somewhere he couldn’t see.

His phone buzzed.

A message from Rin.

Have you seen the news today?

Yuji frowned.

No. Why?

A pause.

Then another message.

Aiko Hoshizora donated toys and school supplies to a local kindergarten. Anonymous, but it’s everywhere now.

Yuji’s blood went cold.

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t need to.

That afternoon, Mai’s kindergarten buzzed with excitement.

Boxes filled the hallway. New books. Art supplies. Toys still smelling like plastic and promise.

Children laughed, tugging at teachers’ sleeves.

Mai stood quietly near the window, hands clasped in front of her.

A familiar teacher crouched beside her. “Mai-chan, don’t you want to look?”

Mai shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“But these are gifts.”

Mai tilted her head. “From who?”

The teacher smiled. “A kind lady.”

Mai thought for a moment.

“…Does she have black hair?” she asked softly.

The teacher blinked. “I think so.”

Mai’s heart fluttered.

She didn’t smile.

But she walked closer.

That evening, Mai returned home unusually quiet.

Yuji noticed immediately.

“Something wrong?” he asked gently, kneeling to remove her shoes.

Mai hesitated.

“Dad,” she said. “Someone gave toys at school.”

Yuji’s hands paused.

“Oh?”

“They said she’s famous,” Mai continued. “People took pictures.”

Yuji didn’t speak.

Mai looked up at him, eyes searching. “Dad… do you think Mama sent them?”

The question landed like a blade.

Yuji swallowed.

“…Why do you think that?”

Mai shrugged. “It felt warm.”

Yuji closed his eyes briefly.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t lie more than necessary.

But truth, right now, would shatter something fragile.

“…Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe someone kind did.”

Mai nodded slowly.

That night, after Mai fell asleep, Yuji sat alone in the dark.

Anger simmered beneath his ribs.

Donations. Anonymous kindness. Public gestures.

So now she wanted to be seen.

His phone buzzed again.

A notification.

Breaking News: Actress Aiko Hoshizora spotted near kindergarten.

Yuji stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

His jaw clenched.

“So this is how you come back,” he muttered.

Not through the door.

But through shadows.

Elsewhere, Aiko sat inside her car, watching the kindergarten lights turn off one by one.

She had not gone inside.

She had not asked to see her.

She had only stood across the street, heart pounding, while children left with their parents.

Then she saw her.

Small. Familiar. Holding a man’s hand.

Yuji.

Mai looked up at him, talking animatedly. Laughing.

Aiko’s vision blurred.

“That’s her,” she whispered.

Her daughter.

Alive. Loved. Safe.

Aiko pressed her forehead against the car window as tears fell freely.

“I won’t take her,” she said softly. “I swear.”

The gift box rested unopened beside her.

For now, distance was all she deserved.

But somewhere deep inside, a truth had already taken root.

Running would no longer protect anyone.

Sooner or later—

Their worlds would collide.