The mailbox opened on an evening like any other. Just before Rikuto came home from school. Shiori had returned from work and was casually reaching out while propping her bicycle against the wheel stop. A few flyers. An electricity bill. And——a white envelope. The moment she saw the sender's name, Shiori's hand froze. Shogo Sakakibara. A name she hadn't seen in nine years. In her mind, those characters flickered and repeated, once, twice, like a strobe light. Shiori stood there for a while, holding the envelope. The slanted evening light streamed into the parking lot of Copo Hamasaki, casting long shadows across the asphalt. (Should I... open it?) Hesitating, she slipped her thumb under the flap. There was only one sheet of paper inside. Written in neat, careful handwriting: "I want to meet Rikuto. I believe it's my right as his father." That was all. Shiori read it over and over. But the words wouldn't sink in. Every time her eyes traced the letters, they'd catch on the same line. "My right as his father"——that phrase alone seemed impossibly large on the paper. From somewhere distant, children's voices drifted over. Neighborhood elementary school kids riding past on bicycles. Rikuto was coming home. The moment that realization hit, Shiori's hands moved. She folded the letter, stuffed it back in the envelope, and shoved it into her bag. Inside the apartment, she opened a drawer and pushed it to the very back. She took a deep breath. Then another. "......I'm home," She spoke the words aloud to the empty room, as if testing whether her voice would sound normal. Five minutes later, Rikuto opened the front door. "Mom, you're back," "Yeah. You're early," "Today in PE we did jump rope. I did a double jump backwards five times," "That's amazing," She was surprised at how naturally her voice came out. --- The Shiomi Port Authority office was muggy from the morning on. There wasn't much wind blowing in from the harbor, and the old ceiling fan in the office swung its head back and forth. Shiori was filing documents, but her hands kept slipping. She turned the same page twice, realized it, and turned back. A file she was trying to place on the shelf slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. The soft pat of it hitting the ground made a face look up from the neighboring desk. Sayaka Kamiya——her chestnut-brown long hair was tied up high today, and the pink earring on her left ear swayed. The thirty-eight-year-old's eyes quickly checked Shiori's face. "[worried] Shiori, are you okay? Since yesterday, your complexion seems... different from usual," "I just haven't been sleeping well," "Not sleeping well? Is Rikuto having night terrors again——wait, he's nine now. That wouldn't be night terrors," "No, that's not it." Shiori gave a wry smile. "It's nothing. Really," Sayaka didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. She just said "Don't push yourself too hard" and returned to her own desk. Watching her back, Shiori let out a small breath. (Nothing, huh.) She knew better than anyone that wasn't true. Before noon, Shuhei Mouri appeared from the director's office. His white hair was cut short, his face warm. His soft brown eyes narrowed slightly as they found Shiori. "[gentle] Minazuki, don't overdo it. You can leave early this afternoon if you need to," "I'm fine. Thank you," She shook her head, but in her heart, she wanted to lean on those words just a little. Mouri, nearing retirement, offered such consideration so naturally. Shiori was genuinely grateful for it, but somewhere along the way, she'd lost the habit of accepting kindness without reservation. During lunch break, Shiori went outside alone. Right next to the port authority office stood an old breakwater. Not a tourist spot, just an old, weathered concrete pier for fishing. Shiori sat down on it without even opening her bento box, and simply looked out at the sea. The Pacific stretched wide today, endless. The horizon was hazy, and the boundary between sky and water blurred into ambiguity. She didn't want to remember what happened nine years ago. But she remembered anyway. Shogo's face when she told him she was pregnant. The surprise in his expression, then the coldness that followed. "Get rid of it"——those three words. Not the way he said them, not his tone of voice. The words themselves had pierced her then, and they were still there now. After that, everything moved quickly. A one-sided breakup. Changed contact information. She'd taken it all alone. She'd chosen to have Rikuto. She'd never regretted that. But that winter night remained submerged in the depths of her body. Like the envelope hidden in the back of a drawer. (What could he possibly want now......) The sea breeze brushed her cheek. It smelled of salt. --- After school, Shiokaze Elementary was quiet once the children had gone home. Tsubasa Sakama remained alone in the third-year, second-class classroom, reading composition notebooks. Free-writing assignments he gave the students once a week. From among the twenty-some notebooks, he picked up Rikuto's. As he began reading, his brows furrowed. "I don't have a father. Mom says 'let's do our best together,' but what is a father? If I had one, would Mom be able to smile more?" Tsubasa stared at those words for a moment. For a nine-year-old, the handwriting was neat. But the content was far heavier than something a nine-year-old should be writing. (I should talk to Minazuki.) His hand reached toward the phone. But it stopped. Calling her during work hours would startle her, and that wasn't a good idea. Besides——it didn't feel like the kind of thing to discuss over the phone. It was by chance, at dusk. Shiori was trying to park her bicycle. Rikuto ran ahead first, calling "Mom!" and Shiori waved back. Tsubasa caught sight of her profile in that moment. She was smiling. But——something was different. He couldn't quite put it into words, but from his experience as a teacher, Tsubasa could sense the difference between "someone genuinely smiling" and "someone pretending to smile." "[serious] Minazuki. Do you have a moment?" Shiori turned around. When she saw him, something flickered deep in her eyes for just an instant. But then her smile returned. "[gentle] I'm in a bit of a hurry today... I'm sorry, could we talk another time?" With just those words, she took Rikuto's hand and walked away. Her pace was a little quick. Tsubasa watched the two of them go. Rikuto turned back and waved, saying "See you later, teacher." Shiori didn't turn around. (Something's wrong.) A conviction, almost a certainty, settled quietly into Tsubasa's chest. The content of the composition and Shiori's demeanor just now seemed connected somehow. But there was nothing Tsubasa could do now, not while Shiori wouldn't stop to talk with him. That frustration gnawed at him——and he was a little surprised to realize he felt frustrated at all. --- That night, after confirming Rikuto was asleep, Shiori stood in the kitchen. When she turned on the light, the old fluorescent tube flared white. She opened a drawer without putting anything on the table. She reached to the back and pulled out the white envelope. She spread the letter on the table. "My right as his father." No matter how many times she read it, those words caught on something. My right. The man who'd said "get rid of it" the night she told him about the pregnancy——she couldn't imagine those words coming from his mouth. And yet——even as she thought she couldn't imagine it, there was something in her that she didn't want to admit. Maybe he really had changed. Every time that thought surfaced, she felt ashamed of herself. With just one letter, she was on the verge of erasing nine years of history. She told herself it was for Rikuto's sake, but maybe she just wanted to make things easier for herself. The exhaustion of carrying everything alone might have transformed somewhere into a desire to say "help me"—— (No. I have to protect Rikuto.) A knock sounded at the front door. Shiori hurriedly flipped the letter over and stood at the kitchen entrance. Who could it be at this hour? she wondered as she opened the door to find Yone Kajiura standing there. Short white permed hair. Fine wrinkles on her left cheek. A plastic container with plastic wrap in one hand. At seventy-six, Yone had the peculiar quality of being alert even at night. "[sarcastic] Sorry to bother you so late. I made too much simmered vegetables today. Eat some," "Thank you, you're always——" Yone's eyes fixed on Shiori's face. Pale gray eyes. The kind that saw through people's weaknesses immediately. Shiori knew this, so she looked away slightly. "[serious] ......Did something happen?" "Nothing," "Answering that fast means something did happen," She couldn't argue. Yone didn't turn back toward the main house. She simply pressed the container into Shiori's hands. Then she patted Shiori's shoulder once——not hard, not soft, just the right weight. "[gentle] Don't carry it all alone. If something's wrong, tell me," With that, Yone returned to the main house. She didn't look back. She didn't wait for Shiori's reply. She simply left those words behind. When Shiori closed the door, silence returned. She stood in the entryway holding the container for a while. She told herself not to cry. Crying alone in the kitchen with the light on while her child slept——that would be pathetic. She went back to the kitchen. The letter lay on the table, still face-down. Shiori folded it again and put it back in the envelope. She hid it once more in the back of the drawer. "I have to protect Rikuto," She spoke the words aloud, quietly. The whisper was absorbed by the kitchen walls and disappeared into the Shiomi night. Only the low hum of the refrigerator continued, steady and quiet. As she put Yone's simmered vegetables into the refrigerator, Shiori found herself thinking of something. The expression on Tsubasa's face when he'd called out to her at the school gate. Those quiet gray eyes had been trying to confirm something——somehow, she remembered that clearly. Shiori pushed the thought away and turned off the kitchen light.