"I can't remember that," Yamato abruptly confesses to his father as he enters the apartment with bags in hand. Hiroaki peers at him questioningly from the table, watching his son mechanically store the groceries in their nearly empty cabinets. When Yamato finishes his task, he confronts his father with the wallet.
"I don't remember it," he repeats, voice cracking.
Hiroaki fingers the creased wallet he hasn't replaced, the one Natsuko gifted to him for their last anniversary. Even though their commitment to each other hadn't lasted as they had promised, at least the wallet was proof she had once lived him. But Yamato does not know this; he cannot feel the wallet's history through its leather exterior.
"The picture in your wallet," Yamato clarifies, sucking in a ragged breath that rattles his chest.
Oh, Hiroaki thinks with cold realization, he hadn't thought to hide that picture before sending Yamato to run errands. Of course it would hurt Yamato to see a reminder of a time when they were a happy family of four. In the poignant silence that follows, Yamato escapes to his room. With an exhausted sigh, Hiroaki leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Why is he always messing up and hurting everyone he loves? The chair screeches as he stands up and goes to knock quietly on his son's door and offer what little solace he can muster.