Chapter 57:

Chapter 55: “Collapse Is Quiet”

Welcome Home , Papa

Collapse never announced itself.

It arrived in the pauses between conversations. In the way chairs were no longer pulled out for her. In the silence that followed when she entered a room a second too late.

Mizuki Aoyama noticed first at work.

Not the exclusion. That came later.

She noticed the watching.

It wasn’t obvious. No one stared. No one whispered when she passed. It was subtler than that. People looked up when she spoke, then looked away too quickly. Conversations stalled when she joined them, like a song losing rhythm. She began to feel like she was interrupting something just by existing.

She apologized. Often.

“I’m sorry, I’ll redo it.” “I’m sorry, I misunderstood.” “I’m sorry, that’s my fault.”

No one corrected her anymore.

Her access card stopped working one morning. Just once. Fixed within minutes. Enough time to make her sweat. Enough time to make her wonder if she’d imagined the mistake.

Emails went unanswered. Then answered curtly. Then forwarded without comment.

She stayed late. She always stayed late.

If she worked harder, she could fix it. That was how these things went. That was what she had always believed.

Kei avoided her.

Not intentionally. That was the worst part. He was polite. Careful. Professional. But the warmth was gone. The easy conversation. The quiet reassurance. The way he used to check if she was okay without making it a question.

Now there was distance.

Boundaries.

HR language.

Mizuki blamed herself.

She replayed every interaction in her head, over and over, like scrubbing a stain that wouldn’t lift.

Had she said too much? Stayed too late? Looked too relieved when someone helped her? She remembered asking Kei a question after hours. Remembered thanking him twice. Remembered his pause before replying.

That must have been it.

She stopped asking questions.

She stopped eating lunch with others.

She stopped speaking unless spoken to.

The office didn’t notice her disappearance until it was complete.

At home, the quiet was louder.

Her apartment was small and neat. Everything in its place. Nothing personal on the walls. She sat on the floor most nights, back against the couch, phone in her hands.

Messages unsent.

Drafts deleted.

She checked her work email obsessively. Then stopped. Then checked again.

She Googled herself once.

Nothing came up.

That scared her more than rumors would have.

She began to feel watched everywhere. On the train. At the convenience store. In the reflection of dark windows. She lowered her head. Walked faster.

Sleep became difficult. When she did sleep, she dreamed of meetings that never ended. Of voices saying her name without faces attached.

One evening, she received a message.

Unknown sender.

The tone was polite. Almost kind.

I think there’s been a misunderstanding.

Mizuki stared at it for a long time.

Her hands shook as she typed.

I’m sorry. I never meant to cause trouble.

The reply came quickly.

I know. That’s why I wanted to clear things up.

Relief washed through her so suddenly she felt dizzy.

They understood.

Someone understood.

The messages continued over days. Short. Neutral. Reasonable. They framed her mistakes gently. Explained how her behavior might have been perceived. How boundaries mattered. How intentions didn’t erase impact.

Mizuki thanked them. Repeatedly.

She adjusted herself according to the advice. Became smaller. Quieter. More careful.

The watching did not stop.

At work, she was reassigned. Temporarily. For clarity. For structure.

She didn’t protest.

She began to believe she was dangerous without meaning to be.

At the Nishima house, Touko observed updates the way one watched weather patterns.

She did not rush the end.

She waited until Mizuki stopped correcting others when they blamed her.

Until she stopped defending herself even in her own thoughts.

Until her apologies sounded automatic. Empty.

Touko chose the timing carefully.