One winter afternoon, Haruki came home to find the house silent. No smell of miso soup. No laundry folding on the sofa. Just a note on the table: “Gone to the hospital. Grandma fell. Back late. Rice is in the warmer.”
He stared at the note. Then he ate his rice alone, watching the snow pile on the windowsill. At 8 p.m., she still wasn’t home. At 10 p.m., he called her phone. No answer. At midnight, he pulled on his jacket and walked two miles through the blizzard to the city hospital. okaasan no koto nanka zenzen suki janain dakara ne
“Okaasan no koto nanka zenzen suki janain dakara ne” — “It’s not like I like you or anything, Mom.” Every morning, thirteen-year-old Haruki muttered this under his breath before slamming the front door. His mother, Yuki, would just smile from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Have a good day, Haru!” One winter afternoon, Haruki came home to find