The next day hadn't fared much better.
Her morning began like all her mornings did, waking up early to prepare the children for school.
She rose in near-darkness, creeping to her bathroom (hers, not his) to start off with a shower. Nice and cold, the way she liked (and needed).
Once she was done (don't look in the mirror again-), she dressed herself and headed to the kitchen. She knew her eldest would be waking up soon, likely waking her middle on their way to breakfast.
She made a simple, nutritious breakfast for them before starting on their lunches (made with all the love she had left) and waiting for her children to come in.
Sure enough, her two eldest (followed closely by a sleepy, yawning Natsuo) walked in, following the scent of food. Her quiet Touya, her sweet Fuyumi, and her energetic Natsuo would sit at the table and eat together, usually silent save for the clinking of dishes. They would put the dishes in the sink and she would hand them their lunches, giving each a kiss on the forehead (which Natsuo would playfully wipe away, had he been more awake). Once they were gone, she could begin cleaning up (as well as eating her portion).
She missed her loving, cheerful Shouto rushing in on the heels of his older brothers, mismatched eyes searching everywhere until they set their sights on her. He always seemed to cling to Touya and her the most, though she had never minded; he had brought her peace and quiet joy, something she hadn't truly felt since she was a teenager.
But now he was gone, a mere child (not much unlike she was-) forced to conform to his father's hellish ideals without breaking completely. Their lives had been forcibly separated, and most days all she wanted was to be able to hug her child, her baby boy, again.
No doubt today's training would be more of the same; she'd grown used to treating his wounds with her ice (something she held some pride for still, as he clung to it most) or letting Fuyumi practice wrapping him up (the eternally-helpful girl that she was). Then she would take him in her arms, this child, her child, and soothe his tears. She would lull him into a lullaby before taking him to his room (so, so isolated) to sleep.
She would pointedly ignore the longing sadness in her children's eyes as they watched her go. The subtle clenching of Touya's fists. The glint off of Fuyumi's glasses. The turn of Natsuo's head.
She would be forced to answer to Enji later once he realized that Shouto would not be returning to training. She would be forced to stand before him as he shouted, be forced to keep her voice from trembling, be forced to keep her frightened tears at bay.
He would not hit her, of course; if he left a mark (again again again), she would have more cause to finally do something about his abuse. He would not hit her, but he would hurt her in other ways.
She was raised to be calm in the face of turbulence. She was raised to withstand the worst that others had for her.
She would withstand, and she would bare it.
She would bear it all if it meant keeping her family safe. She would bear that man's anger if it meant none of them would be hurt beyond repair.
She would die in the flames before one of her children inevitably did.