The days following my mother's death were insufferably silent; It was as if all sounds were being blocked by some invisible field. People came and went, perhaps staying longer than would normally be acceptable. There were distant relatives that came to take care of me in my 'time of need', scurrying around as quite as mice, but whispering amongst themselves when they thought I was too deep in thought to hear what they were saying. Mom's co-workers occasionally stopped by, bring with them casseroles or baked goods so I wouldn't have to cook, but with all the family I had left tending to the empty apartment, I had little more to do than stare out of the window and contemplate what would happen next.

College was out of the question; There was no way that I could continue my education right now. There was simply too much on my mind to add a full course load. Plus, I had to find a new place to live, get a job to cover all the expenses, and somehow find a way to pay for my mother's funeral. She had life insurance, but it was hardly enough to give her a proper burial. There was so much to do, but I hardly had the energy or will to start any of them.

"Mei?" My aunt Tanaka, sister to Grandpa Ranka who passed a few years back, asked from behind me, "Someone is at the door to speak with you." Odd. I never heard the doorbell ring. Or a knock for that matter. How long had my aunt been here again? I shook my head and ran a hand through my messy hair that hadn't been properly brushed in days. Slowly, I stood, refusal to eat finally catching up with me as a wave of vertigo caused the room to momentarily waver. I quickly shook it away, walking, albeit off-balance, towards the front door. My aunt gave a small smile, one of those pity ones you get when something truly awful has happened and no one knows exactly what to do or say. She turned and shared a few words with the man standing outside before turning away from the door to let me through. "Yes?" I asked, wary to the well-dressed man on my doorstep, "Can I help you?" The man nodded, "Miss Fujioka, my name is Tadashi Abarai, I am your mother's lawyer." I nodded, realizing that he was probably here to discuss her will, "Mr. Abarai, please come in..." I turned and walked back towards the couch, seating myself before checking to see if the man had followed. He entered the apartment and closed the door gently; The man did not seem phased by my lack of formality. He had probably done this a hundred times, and was used to the zombie-like trance that relatives were in after someone close to them had passed. Mr. Abarai sat in a chair across from me, pulling out a folder containing a thick stack of papers, "First," He began, "I would like to say how sorry I am for your loss. Haruhi was a wonderful woman-" "Please," I interrupted, hating the pain that was blossoming in my chest, "If we could just continue..." He nodded, again unphased, "Of course. Your mother left a will before she passed; It states that until you turn of legal age, everything goes into a trust fund to dispensed in monthly allowances."

My eyebrows shot up; How would I be able to afford living in the apartment anymore? The thought to move had crossed my mind, but it was much more intimidating knowing that I would absolutely have to. "I…Okay, thank you…" I said in shock. He glanced over the papers, "The only thing I can give you is this," He opened his suitcase again, pulling a thick package that was closed with tape, "It was in her safety deposit box. Perhaps this will give you some sort of comfort." Mr. Abarai stood to leave, as I stared blankly at the package in my hands. Suddenly, his face turned grim, "However, any monetary assets, including her life insurance and all bank accounts...You will not be able to access them until your eighteenth birthday..." My eyebrows knit as I tried to piece together what he was saying, "Wait...you're telling me that I will have no rights to my mother's money?! How will I afford housing? Food?" Mr. Abarai nodded grimly, pulling a stack of brochures from his briefcase, "Here," He handed them to me, "We have programs that help with these types of situations. Or perhaps a relative can take you in..." I was quite for a long moment. With that, the man exited.

All that was left by my mother was a large manila envelope that felt quite heavy in my lap. I could feel my relative's stares as they waited for me to open it, but they would have to be left unsatisfied. I stood and took the package to my room, shutting the door behind me. I sat it down on the bed and sat Indian style on the soft mattress, observing the object. How odd it was to have her belongings in an envelope...

After a moment of hesitation, I tore the tape away from the top before flipping it over and allowing its contents to spill upon my light blue comforter. The first thing I noticed was a picture; It was one that I had seen only in my distant memories; My mother stood, dressed as a boy, among five other males, who I hoped were all actually male. Otherwise, they were way too convincing for my tastes. Her eyes were crinkled in the corners only slightly as she leaned against a red-headed twin. The look brought tears to my eyes. I bit my lip to keep myself from allowing any more tears to be shed; My mother wouldn't like to see me in such a state. Then again, if it were my mother's choice, she would still be here right now.

The next object was a small, black book. Gently sitting the picture back onto the bed, I took the book in my hands. It was worn and torn on the left corner, but otherwise a seemingly sturdy item that I was surprised mom had left in some box to rot; Proof of that being in the leather binding where age had disintegrated its thick thread. Carefully, I opened the binding, finding that the leather object was actually a small address book with names and numbers decorating its pages. I had to practically squint to read my mother's small, slanted writing. None of the names looked familiar...I was about to toss the book aside when a piece of paper fell out of its binding.

It was a folded letter written on my mother's favorite flowered letterhead that she had written personal letters on for as long as I could remember.

The blue ink was a bit smudged, but I could make most of it out:

'-,

You sh- hav- seen her today! Mei rode her bike all the way down to Mrs. -'s house and back, only -ling over once! She has a few scrapes and bruises, but nonetheless have I ever seen our child smile as b-ight-y as she did today when learnin- her new talent.'

The rest was too blurry to make out, but I soon realized that was because I was crying. Tears were streaming down my face in rivers; 'Our child'? This letter was addressed to my father? Quickly, I wiped the relentless, bitter water from my face. No, this guy did not deserve my tears, nor should I weep for joy of his existence. In retrospect, I suppose I was simply crying out of shock that I had found the first clue to my biological father; I had expected it to be quite a bit harder to get a lead. And yet, the letter had magically fallen from the tenth page of mother's contact book.

With shaking hands, I opened the book wider, peering at the names that were written before me; Tomaki Suoh, Kyoya Ootori, Karou and Hikaru Itachin, and two men who held no last names: a 'Honey' and 'Mori'. A phone number, address, and even a place of work for each of the men were written neatly below their names. A surge of interest, and if I dared believe it, delight begin to fill me: One of these men was my father. My child-abandoning, womanizing, never-shows-himself father.

Of course...The contact book must be out of date. The first time I rode a bike was when I was eight, making the letter at least nine years old and the contact possibly even older. How was I going to find someone who apparently didn't want to be found?