Chapter 42 : “A Place That Isn’t Yours”

Rurika noticed it in fragments at first.

Not all at once. Not as a single realization. It came in small moments that slipped under her skin and stayed there.

“Papa,” Touko said from the kitchen, voice light and natural.

The word landed softly, perfectly placed. Kei answered without looking up, the way one did when the sound belonged to them.

“Yes?”

Rurika stood in the hallway, holding her school bag with both hands.

She had never called him that.

She had thought about it once. Late at night, lying awake in the spare room. The word felt too big in her mouth. Too heavy. Like something she could break if she used it wrong.

So she stayed silent.

At breakfast, Touko passed Kei his mug. The same one every morning. White ceramic. Slight chip on the rim.

Rurika reached for a different cup without asking.

Touko did not look at her, but she smiled.

The house was full of photographs.

They lined the walls, filled the shelves, sat in frames on every surface. Touko as a child in a school uniform, smiling proudly. Touko at a festival, cotton candy in hand. Touko between Kei and Yui, their shoulders touching.

Rurika appeared in none of them.

She stopped once in front of a picture near the stairs. Kei holding Touko on his shoulders, both of them laughing. Yui standing beside them, hand raised to block the sun.

Rurika could imagine herself there. Standing just outside the frame. Holding the camera. Or not invited at all.

She told herself it was unreasonable.

She had only just arrived.

Still, the feeling grew.

At dinner, Kei asked Touko about her day. Listened closely. Asked follow up questions. When he turned to Rurika, his smile softened.

“And you?” he asked.

“It was fine,” she replied quickly.

Touko nodded. “She finished her homework early.”

Kei smiled. “That’s good.”

He did not ask how she felt.

Later that night, Rurika heard laughter from the living room. She paused in the hallway, unsure if she was meant to join them. Touko was telling a story from elementary school. Kei laughed loudly, unguarded.

Rurika leaned against the wall and listened.

The sound made her chest ache.

She was not unhappy. That was the worst part. No one was unkind. No one told her she did not belong.

She simply felt it.

In the way conversations moved around her. In the way decisions were made without her. In the way the house remembered a life that existed before her and would continue after.

She was a guest pretending to be family.

The realization settled quietly.

The next day, she found herself standing in front of the photos again. She traced the edge of one frame with her finger. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass. Pale. Uncertain.

Touko’s footsteps stopped behind her.

“You like that one?” Touko asked calmly.

Rurika flinched. “I’m sorry. I was just looking.”

Touko stepped beside her. She followed Rurika’s gaze, then smiled.

“That was my eighth birthday,” she said. “Papa carried me all day. He said I was getting heavy, but he didn’t put me down.”

Rurika nodded. “You look happy.”

“I was.”

They stood there in silence. The house felt very quiet.

Touko tilted her head slightly. “You know,” she said, still smiling, “these photos won’t change.”

Rurika’s fingers curled against the frame.

Touko turned to her then, eyes clear and steady.

“You’ll never replace me.”

The words were calm. Not angry. Not cruel.

Just true.

Rurika felt something hollow open inside her chest.

“I wasn’t trying to,” she said quickly. “I would never.”

“I know,” Touko replied. She reached out and gently adjusted the collar of Rurika’s shirt. The touch was precise. Familiar. “That’s why we get along.”

Rurika swallowed.

Touko’s voice lowered, kind and even. “This is my family. You’re allowed to stay. As long as you remember that.”

Rurika nodded.

Of course.

That night, lying in the spare room, she stared at the ceiling and listened to the house breathe around her. Doors closed softly. Footsteps moved with purpose. The sounds of a home that knew itself.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Somewhere down the hall, Touko laughed quietly.

Rurika closed her eyes.

She did not dream of belonging.

She dreamed of not being asked to leave.