Chapter 23 : A Rough Childhood
Chapter Summary : How Ai ended up in the orphanage.
Ai wandered aimlessly through the streets, her footsteps echoing in the afternoon silence. School had ended an hour ago, but she took her time, deliberately prolonging her journey home. Her fingers twisted around the worn straps of her backpack as she scanned the ground, occasionally kicking loose pebbles just to watch them skitter across the pavement.
School was its own kind of prison. The other kids treated her like an outcast, and the feeling of isolation followed her through every minute of every day. Making friends seemed as impossible as touching the stars – not that she wanted to anymore. She had learned that lesson.
But at least school provided eight precious hours away from her mother's apartment.
Eight hours never lasted long enough and eventually she had to return home, where else would she go?
The sun was sinking lower in the sky when her feet finally carried her to the rundown apartment building she called home. Each step up the cramped stairwell felt heavier than the last.
As she approached their first-floor apartment, she noticed the door was already open. Through the gap, she could see the living room couch and the man lounging on it – her mother's latest boyfriend. Not her father.
Ai slipped inside, trying to make herself as small and silent as possible. But she was noticed by the man.
"Ah, you're home?" He turned away from the soccer match blaring on the TV, his smile too wide, too eager. "Welcome home, Ai."
She didn't return his greeting and instead asked, "Where's mom?"
"We ran out of miso. She went to buy some," he answered with that unsettling smile still plastered across his face.
"Okay," she whispered, already turning toward her room.
Her bedroom was a mess, clothes and books scattered everywhere, but she never bothered organising her stuff — she knew where everything was anyway, and besides, what was the point?
"Ai!" His voice boomed from the living room. "There's dishes in the kitchen sink. Your mother asked you to take care of them."
Of course. The chores were always left for her.
Ever since her mother had found this new boyfriend eight months ago, she'd been spending less time taking care of the house and more time hanging off his arm, laughing at his jokes, pretending they were some perfect couple. Slowly leaving more and more chores to her.
Ai threw her backpack in its usual corner and changed into more comfortable clothes before stepping into the kitchen and dragging the stepping stool to the sink.
She stepped up, her hands now on the right height for her to work comfortably. She picked up a dirty dish to scrub, that's when she heard the man again, "Your mother makes you work a lot huh?"
She responded with a noncommittal hmm and turned on the tap, hoping the sound of running water would discourage conversation.
She heard him stand up, his footsteps heavy against the cold floor as he approached. Soon he was standing right behind her, watching as she scrubbed at a stubborn food stain. The smell of alcohol hung thick in the air between them.
Her shoulders tensed as his cold hand settled on one of them. "Your mother doesn't appreciate you enough," he said softly, his fingers moving in what he probably thought was a comforting pattern. "Look how great you are at doing your chores."
She didn't know how to push him away. He had always tried to be friendly, always hovering too close, but this was the first time he had touched her. And she tried her best to ignore him — she had been doing that ever since she met him.
"Can you let me work–" Ai tried to sound firm, but her voice came out smaller than she intended.
"I'm not doing anything," he said, his other hand finding her opposite shoulder. "Just appreciating how much you do around here."
"... I have to or mama will be angry." Her eyes remained fixed on her hands, which had started to tremble slightly.
"That's what I'm saying. Your mother should appreciate you more," his voice was soft, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
Ai froze, trapped between his hands and the counter. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. Her mind raced but her body remained still, caught between fight and flight.
Then, the sound of the door opening in the silence startled her. His hands vanished from her shoulders and they both turned to see Ai's mother in the doorway. She took two steps inside before stopping abruptly. "What are you doing?" there was a hint of anger in her voice.
"Nothing... just wanted to see if Ai here needed any help," he said, backing away.
Ai turned her head back to the sink, her hands moving mechanically as her mother's voice rose with anger.
"Akui! Get your ass here, right now!"
He shuffled over to her. "I wasn't doing anything," he protested.
Ai squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out their argument while forcing herself to keep washing dishes. She knew from experience that unfinished chores would only make things worse.
Their shouts quickly filled the room, sharp and merciless. Her mother kept accusing him of trying to cheat on her, he denied until he could, but she wouldn't back down even after repeatedly telling her otherwise. Then, he shifted the blame.
"...ask her! She is the one swaying her hips!" he shouted, jabbing a finger in Ai's direction.
The sharp crack of her mother's hand across his face echoed through the apartment. "Get out!" she screamed.
Ai peeked from the corner of her eye.
He retaliated immediately, striking her mother back. Before the situation could escalate further, her mother's voice cut through the room, "I'll call the cops for what you just did!"
His raised hand froze mid-air. A sneer twisted his face as he lowered it. "I don't want to live with you and your whore of a daughter anyway," he spat, storming out and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.
Ai stood motionless, dirty dish still in hand, as her mother gently touched her reddening cheek.
When her mother's gaze finally found her, there was no warning before she stormed over to her and the strike came across her face – hard enough to knock her off the stepping stool and onto the kitchen floor.
"You…" her mother seethed, "What the fuck were you trying to do?"
Ai pressed her palms against the cold kitchen floor, struggling to sit up. "I was cleaning the dishes!" she protested.
"You're such a woman now? Trying to seduce my boyfriend?" The accusations came with more slaps, each one harder than the last.
"No!" Ai tried to defend herself, but her mother wasn't listening. She curled into herself on the floor, arms raised to protect herself as the blows kept coming, accompanied by her mother's increasingly incoherent rants about her boyfriend.
"I didn't do anything…" Ai whimpered, lying on the floor covering herself with her arms, her body curled up.
Her mother stood, delivering a sharp kick to Ai's side. "If I see you anywhere near my man ever again, I will lock you up in your room! You hear me, you little bitch?"
"I won't..." Ai managed to groan, with a cough.
With a final huff, her mother turned away. "Get those dishes done quickly!" she ordered and collapsed down on the couch, digging through her purse for a cigarette.
Ai pulled herself up slowly, her cheeks burning and her side throbbing where she had fallen. A sharp pain shot through her right thigh where her mother's kick had landed, but she could still stand.
She had to get the dishes done, or something even worse awaited her, probably. Her mother was in a worse mood today than all the other times she had fought with him. This wasn't the first time and she knew he would eventually be back.
- x -
Ai wandered the streets aimlessly, her footsteps light against the pavement as she nudged a small pebble along her path. Just another day. School was in session, but she couldn't be bothered. The kids there didn't want her around, and her mother didn't care whether she went or not. But still, she wasn't about to let her find out she was skipping school.
Hours went by as she just wandered along the city streets, restless and indifferent. She let her feet guide her, drifting between familiar streets and quiet alleyways, watching the world move around her. The scent of freshly-baked bread from a corner shop mixed with the distant tang of car exhaust. A cat lazed on a windowsill, its tail flicking in the sunlight.
By the time her wandering lost its charm, her feet had already turned her homeward. And, for once, she didn't dread the walk home.
Her mother had been spending more and more time outside ever since that fight with her boyfriend. Surprisingly, he hadn't come back. Before, he always did — usually within a day or two, dragging his lazy butt and cigarette smoke back through the door. But this time, it was like he was gone for good.
And Ai had the whole apartment to herself.
She climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, and reached for the doorknob.
It didn't turn. Locked — a good sign.
Her mother wasn't home and wouldn't be back until late at night.
The key was where it always was — tucked under the doormat. She scooped it up, slid it into the lock, and stepped inside.
For the first time in ages, the air smelled relatively clean. No cigarette stench clinging to the walls, no sharp, stale reek hanging in the corners. The apartment felt… lighter.
Her stomach grumbled, a quiet protest after a day of aimless wandering. She kicked off her shoes, tossed her backpack aside, and made her way to the kitchen. She wasn't expecting much, but the empty shelves still managed to disappoint. No vegetables. No tofu. No eggs. Not even miso — she'd used the last of it yesterday and her mother hadn't restocked anything in a while.
With a sigh, she grabbed the stepping stool and dragged it to the cupboard above the sink. She stretched onto her toes, fingers grazing the edge of a half-forgotten stash of instant noodles. There was cup ramen too.
Perfect.
She pulled out a cup with a flavor she didn't recognize. The packaging looked interesting.
She pushed the stepping stool over to the kitchen counter and set a pan of water on the stove, and flicked on the burner. As the water heated, she darted into the living room and switched on the TV. It wasn't time for Power Rangers yet, but reruns of the old episodes were still playing.
Even better.
She'd missed a lot — this was her chance to catch up.
Ai hurried back to the kitchen, turned off the stove, and carefully poured just enough water into the cup. She pressed the lid down and pinned it shut with her chopsticks and stepped back in the living room.
The TV screen flickered with bright colors and dramatic music. The rangers posed, the explosions behind them blooming in perfect synchronization. No matter how many times she saw it, it never got old.
She plopped onto the couch, cup in hand, and peeled back the lid. Steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of spice and umami. Her mouth watered instantly. She separated her chopsticks, gave the noodles a quick stir, and lifted the first bite.
She blew gently, then slurped. The heat, the salt, the familiar comfort — it was just right.
Another explosion lit up the screen. Ai grinned, twirling her chopsticks between bites.
Today was a good day.
Ai slurped the last of her noodles, savoring the warm broth as it spread through her belly. The empty cup balanced on her knees as she watched the Power Rangers on TV strike their final victory pose. The villain collapsed in an explosion of sparks and smoke, accompanied by dramatic music. The familiar end credits started rolling, their cheerful tune filling the small living room.
She let herself sink deeper into the couch. The cushions were hard and a bit lumpy, with a spring that sometimes poked through, but she had found the perfect spot where it didn't bother her.
The apartment was quiet now, save for the hum of commercials on TV. No arguing, no slamming doors, no heavy footsteps pacing the floor, no tension hanging in the air like invisible smoke.
Just silence.
Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall – 4:50 PM. Still early. She still had hours before her mother would barge in the house and start yelling. These were the moments she treasured most, when the apartment felt like it belonged to her alone.
She stood up and stretched, her joints popping slightly. The empty noodle cup went into the garbage bin. The kitchen sink was empty today, no towers of unwashed dishes waiting for her small hands. The counters were clean, the floor swept. No chores hanging over her head, no race against time before her mother returned home.
Outside, from the balcony door the clear sky called to her. She slid the glass door open, welcoming the rush of fresh air. Her hands found their familiar spots on the cool metal railing as she looked down at the street below.
The world moved on without her – people chattering as they walked past, the cheerful ring of bicycle bells, a light blue kei truck puttering along delivering packages. A group of kids her age passed by, wearing the same school uniform as her, their bags swinging carelessly as they laughed about something she couldn't hear.
Time slipped by as she watched, the sky painting itself in new colors. Blue faded to orange. The sun disappeared behind the buildings, leaving long shadows that stretched across the street like reaching fingers.
Maybe she'd go out later, she thought. Walk around the block, check if the convenience store had discounted bentos for the evening. The nice clerk sometimes gave her an extra discount if she came late enough.
Or maybe she'd just stay here, in this peaceful moment where nothing hurt and nothing was expected of her.
Though, her peace was soon disturbed by the knock on the front door.
Her heart jumped into her throat — her mother usually stayed out until late night these days. Was she home early today? Has something happened?
Another knock, harder this time, made her flinch.
Her feet carried her to the door slowly, each step careful and silent from years of practice. Her hand hesitated on the knob before turning it. And to her surprise, it wasn't her mother.
Instead, two police officers stood in the doorway, their uniforms neat and official, their expressions carefully neutral.
"Are you Ai Hoshino?" one asked, his voice gentler than she expected.
She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Mama's not home..."
The officers exchanged a look that made her stomach tighten. "Your mother was arrested earlier today for shoplifting," the first officer explained. "She'll be spending some time in jail. Do you have any other family members? Father? Any relatives?"
Ai shook her head. There had never been anyone else.
"No one? Any family friends we can contact?" the second officer asked.
She shook her head again.
"I guess that woman wasn't lying," he muttered to his partner with sympathy in his voice.
"But she's a repeat offender, we can't just let her off with a warning this time," his partner replied.
"What do we do now?"
"Let me make a call..." The first officer pulled out his phone, stepping slightly away.
Ai stood in the doorway, fingers idly playing with the door's edge. This wasn't the first time her mother had been arrested, but something felt different about today. She caught fragments of the phone conversation—
"Sir… Yes, she wasn't lying… Just a child here and she claims they have no relatives… About 8, maybe 9… Right. Yes… 6 months? Okay… Understood."
The officer ended his call and turned to his partner. "Sir told us to get her to a foster care home. They can take care of her until her mother is released."
His partner nodded and addressed Ai with what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. "Okay little girl, we'll take you to a new home. Go grab all the stuff you want, okay?"
"But... mama?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, more out of fear than concern.
"Mama's got herself in a little trouble and she will be back in six months. You understand that, right?"
Ai nodded. She understood more than they probably thought she did.
She walked back to her bedroom to pack her bag just as the cops asked. Clothes went into her school bag at random, her hands moving automatically while her mind spun in circles.
Six months without her mother's anger, without walking on eggshells, without her boyfriend in the apartment. Six months somewhere else – which was both scary and, in a way she didn't want to examine too closely, a relief.
She paused in her frantic packing, looking around her tiny room. For the first time, the familiar chaos of her space felt foreign — she wasn't sure what stuff she would need, and where everything was. Soon, her bag was almost full with a few pairs of clothes and school notebooks.
Her eyes caught on a stack of manga in the corner. She shuffled through them until she found an old volume of Doraemon – she never did finish it. The book slid into her bag alongside her clothes. Another moment of looking around when she was sure she wouldn't need anything else, she put on her bag.
The officers were waiting by the front door when she returned, their patience starting to wear thin.
"Ready?" one asked.
Ai nodded, though she didn't feel ready.
She turned back for one last look at the apartment. The empty kitchen where she had spent so many hours doing dishes. The couch still held the impression of where she had been sitting, watching TV just minutes ago.
The quiet she'd been enjoying earlier now felt different – not heavy exactly, just... final. This place had been her home, not because of her mother, but because she'd learned how to exist here, how to find moments of peace in between the chaos.
And then she stepped outside, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Ai sat in the back seat of the cop car, watching the city blur past, her hands curled around the straps of her bag. The buildings grew smaller, the streets quieter. Before she knew it, they had arrived. The ride to the orphanage felt quicker with her mind wandering.
The cops led her through the entrance, their grip on her hand light but firm. The air inside was different from home — cleaner, fresher, almost unfamiliar. It didn't smell like cigarette smoke or stale takeout. Instead, there was something else — detergent, maybe, and a faint scent of miso soup.
A young woman approached them. She looked tired, her ponytail slightly messy. But she still moved with energy.
The cop spoke first, gesturing at Ai, "This little girl will be staying for a while. Her mother was arrested for shoplifting and she'll come pick her up in six months."
The woman nodded. "I'm a volunteer here, I can show her around while you can talk to the people incharge. They're in the office — down the hall, to the left," she pointed.
The cops gave Ai a gentle push before leaving her with the woman. She crouched down to her level and greeted, "Hello, I'm Hana, it's nice to meet you, what's your name?" she smiled.
"Ai…" she whispered back.
"You have a lovely name, Ai." The woman offered her a hand, "So you'll be staying here for a while, huh? Let's get you settled then."
Ai hesitated and stood there, clutching the straps to her bag. After a long pause when she didn't take her hand, slowly and awkwardly Hana pulled her hand back. "Okay…" she said, keeping the lightness in her tone, "follow me then."
Ai nodded and walked after her.
The orphanage was bigger than she thought it would be. Fourteen rooms between two floors, and four kids per room. Hana gave her an impromptu tour as they walked — pointing out the dining hall, the common area, the bathrooms. Laughter echoed from another hallway, but Ai didn't see where it came from. The place felt lived-in, but not in the same way as home. It was cleaner, warmer.
They reached one of the shared bedrooms on the ground floor, which had an unoccupied bed.
"That bed in the corner is all yours," Hana said, pointing to the bed with white sheets and an empty nightstand beside it.
The other beds had colorful blankets, stuffed animals, and comic books stacked on desks. The room was clean, but the idea of sharing it with three other kids — she wasn't sure how to feel about that.
She quietly walked over and tossed her bag onto the bed before hopping up. The mattress bounced slightly beneath her, firm but soft.
"If you need anything, just let me know, okay?" Hana said.
Ai was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, "Water," she said.
Hana blinked. "Huh — oh! Yeah, of course, one sec." She turned and left, returning quickly with a bottle.
Ai took it without hesitation and drank. More than she probably should have in one go. The coolness soothed her dry throat, but her stomach clenched, as if bracing for something.
She set the half-empty bottle on the nightstand and lay down, shutting her eyes.
Hana lingered for a moment, watching her, then seemed to decide against saying anything else. Instead, she gave a small nod to herself and quietly stepped away, leaving Ai to rest.
- x -
It had been a few days since Ai arrived at the orphanage. The absence of yelling, slamming doors, or the suffocating smell of cigarette smoke felt strange, almost unsettling. There was no one to scold her for unfinished chores, no one who'd take out their anger on her. It should have been a relief, but instead, it left her feeling untethered, like a boat adrift in an unfamiliar sea.
Her bed was as messy as her futon back home, the sheets tangled and her clothes were the only color against the white bed. The nightstand, however, looked oddly organized — not because she had put effort into arranging things, but because there was so little to arrange.
Her clothes were stuffed in the drawer without any care, the old volume of Doaremon sat atop of the nightstand and her bag slumped by the foot of the bed. She hadn't brought much else. Even forgot her toothbrush in the rush to leave.
The caretakers had noticed and brought her a new one. Their kindness felt odd but she accepted it.
The other kids seemed friendly enough, their laughter echoing through the halls. But Ai knew better. Friendliness always came with a price, and she wasn't willing to pay it. She kept her distance, retreating to her bed whenever someone got too close. Their attempts to talk to her were met with tiny hums or silence, and most of them had given up after a day or two.
In a way, she was grateful. They respected her distance, leaving her alone in her corner of the world.
Ai hadn't seen Hana since her arrival, but today, the woman walked through the doors of the orphanage, greeted by a chorus of enthusiastic greetings from the kids.
Hana quickly tied on her apron and got to work, helping with chores and preparing dinner. Hours later, she found Ai curled up on her bed, still in her school uniform, looking the same as the day she first met her.
"You're not playing with the others?" Hana asked, her voice soft but persistent.
Ai turned her head slightly, her eyes flickering toward Hana before dropping back to the floor.
Hana sat down beside her on the bed, "I know how you feel," she said gently. "New places can be overwhelming. But everyone here is kind. They all want to get to know you."
Ai stayed silent, twisting the hem of her skirt between her fingers.
Hana studied her for a moment, her brow furrowing. Her face looked dry, her hair a tangled, slightly matted mess, as if she hadn't moved from the bed since Hana had last seen her.
"When was the last time you had a proper bath?" she asked, her tone tinged with concern.
She hadn't bothered — what was the point? She shrugged, but the woman wasn't having it. Before Ai could protest, she was being gently guided to the bathroom, with fresh towels and clean clothes in hand.
Meanwhile, Hana folded Ai's crumpled clothes, neatly organizing them in the drawers. She tidied the bed, replacing the sheets and covers.
Ai returned looking fresh with a trail of sweet shampoo scent following her.
The woman put her hands on her hips with a satisfied smile, "Doesn't that feel better?"
Ai nodded slightly. She had to admit — the clean clothes felt nice against her freshly scrubbed skin.
Throughout the rest of the day, Hana gently nudged her towards other children, creating small opportunities for interaction without forcing them.
The evening arrived, and the dining hall buzzed with the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation. The staff served dinner — steaming bowls of rice, miso soup, and a simple side of vegetables. It wasn't fancy, but the warm, comforting smell filled the room, making Ai's stomach growl softly.
Hana took a seat beside Ai, her presence a quiet reassurance. The other kids chattered excitedly, sharing stories from their week. One boy proudly displayed the scar on his elbow from a fall, while another boasted about mastering a new karate move. A girl talked about her progress in drawing, her eyes lighting up as she described her latest sketch.
Ai listened quietly, eating her dinner. Their stories felt foreign, like glimpses into a world she had never been part of. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about the way they shared their lives so openly.
Hana turned to her, her voice gentle. "And what about you, Ai? What did you do all week?"
She stared at her bowl, her fingers tightening around her chopsticks. "Nothing…" she murmured. It wasn't entirely false. Her days had been a blur of quiet solitude, spent mostly in her bed or staring out the window.
Hana nodded, she knew that adjusting to a new place took time, especially after such a drastic change.
The conversation continued, the other kids laughing and talking as they ate. Ai picked at her food, her mind drifting. When dinner ended and the clock struck 9 PM, Hana stood to leave. The kids waved goodbye, and Ai stood among them.
As Hana disappeared through the main gate, one of the kids turned to Ai. "Hey! We're going to watch TV. You wanna join us?"
Ai hesitated for a moment then nodded, following the kids back inside.
The living room was cozy, with a worn couch and a small carpet in front of the TV. One of the kids grabbed the remote, flipping through channels until the opening theme of their favorite show filled the room. Some kids sprawled on the couch, while others sat cross-legged on the carpet. Ai settled into a corner, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.
The show began, following a girl about her age as she went about her day. She laughed with friends, worried about homework, and stopped at a convenience store to buy ice cream. When she returned home, her mother greeted her with a warm smile, ruffling her hair and asking about her day. The scene shifted to the kitchen, where the mother cooked dinner, her laughter mingling with the sizzle of food on the stove. Later, she rewarded her daughter with a slice of cake for helping with chores.
Ai watched in silence, her chest tightening with each passing moment. The mother's kindness, the daughter's joy — it all felt so unreal.
Mothers like that didn't exist.
Of course they didn't. It was just TV, after all.
But something about watching that mother daughter bond, made her heart ache, with a longing she couldn't quite understand. She craved that warmth, desire to feel that love, even as she told herself it was nothing more than fiction.
The other kids laughed at the daughter's antics on TV, their voices blending with the cheerful soundtrack of the show. Ai stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the screen, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn't put into words.
She allowed herself to wonder — do mothers like that really exist? And why had hers never been anything like that?
- x -
Another week had passed, and Ai had warmed up to the other kids — just a little.
She still kept to herself, but before every attempt of the other kids to talk to her would be met with silence or nods, now she managed to speak a little. She would spend less time in her bed and would often explore the building, or just tag along silently with the group of children.
She wasn't allowed to leave the premises without permission and while it felt restrictive, she didn't really mind.
It was Saturday again, and she found herself in the living room with the other children for their weekly ritual. They were clustered around the TV, blankets and pillows scattered across the floor, watching their favorite show about a picture-perfect family. Ai sat at the edge of the group, hugging her knees.
In today's episode, the daughter had fought with her best friend over something trivial – who got to use the swing first at recess. The girl came home in tears, and her mother was there waiting, and welcomed her with gentle words and open arms. She helped her daughter understand her feelings, guided her through an apology, and showed her how to make things right.
When the daughter returned home after making up with her friend, her mother was there again, ready to listen to every detail with a patient smile and a warm hug.
"Wouldn't it be amazing to have a mother like that?" sighed one of the younger girls, hugging a pillow to her chest.
The other kids chimed in, their voices full of longing as they imagined having parents who loved them that way.
"That's not real," Ai found herself saying, the words sharp and sudden in the cozy atmosphere. "Mothers aren't really like that."
The other children turned to her, confused. "Of course they are!" one insisted. "That's what mothers are supposed to be like!"
"No, they're not..." Ai's voice dropped to a whisper. "Mine isn't."
The room fell silent, heavy with surprise, until one child broke it with a gasped question. "You have a mother?!"
"What are you doing here then?" another demanded.
The other kids scooted closer, their eyes wide and eager for an answer.
"... she… was arrested for shoplifting and she'll come get me in six months…" Ai said.
That was the moment they all learned she wasn't an orphan like them, just staying there until her mother came to pick her up.
"You're so lucky!" one boy exclaimed. "You actually have a mother coming back for you!"
"But she doesn't love me," Ai insisted, hugging her knees closer to her chest.
"Of course she does!" a girl protested, "She named you Ai — that means love. I heard that parents choose names very carefully. Your mother must have loved you so much to name you Ai."
On screen, the mother was lovingly brushing her daughter's hair. Something twisted in her chest – longing mixed with disbelief. Could mothers really be like that? Could her mother have once wanted that kind of relationship when she named her?
"Maybe she just doesn't know how to show it," another child suggested. "Like in one of the episodes, when the girl couldn't tell her friends she liked them, so she was mean instead?"
"Yeah!" others chimed in. "Maybe your mom just needs you to help her remember how to show love!"
Ai felt something shift inside her as she watched the scene on TV. The mother and daughter were sitting together, the daughter swinging her legs as they both laughed over something she didn't hear.
Her mother had never been like that. But then again, Ai realized with a start, she had never been like that daughter either. Maybe... maybe if she tried harder to be good, to be more like the girl in the show... maybe her mother would learn to be different too. Maybe the love that had inspired her name was still there somewhere, just waiting to be found.
She made a silent promise to herself right then – she would try to be better.
In six months, when her mother came to get her, she would find a different daughter — one who did all her chores on time, attended school properly, got good grades, kept the house clean, and never talked back.
She would become the kind of daughter that could make any mother proud, the kind that would be impossible not to love.
- x -
Ai had a goal — to be the perfect daughter, just like the girl from the show everyone loved — Moriyama Family .
She studied the show like a textbook, noting every smile, every "yes, mother," every perfectly completed chore. This was her blueprint for love, her guidebook to earning the affection she desperately craved.
Each morning, she made her bed, smoothing every wrinkle until the surface was as pristine as the one on TV. Her clothes were always neatly folded, her schoolwork completed early, her side of the room spotless. She even learned to iron her own uniform, standing on tiptoes to reach the board, determined to look presentable when her mother finally came.
Soon, six months had passed and Ai kept her small bag packed with most of her belongings. For the first time, she was not dreading being back with her mother but rather felt hopeful that she could turn their relationship around, for good.
The other children watched her transformation with mixed curiosity and excitement. They all wanted to meet Ai's mother as well and had practiced their goodbyes, with promises to be friends even after she would no longer be with them in the orphanage.
Then six months became six months and one day.
Which was okay, she was not told the exact day, all she knew was any day in six months.
The week went by, and she didn't show up. Ai didn't even unpack her bag. Any day now her mother could come and she wouldn't want to keep her waiting — that's not what a good daughter would do.
One week turned to next.
And then another.
Whenever she would begin to lose hope, she would tell herself that she was still her mother — and she would come take her home.
But every passing day became more anxious than the last, and this Saturday marked seven months.
Her mother never came.
Was she mistaken? No, she clearly remembered the policeman saying six months , they wouldn't lie, would they?... They were police officers.
Ai laid on her perfectly made bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dimly lit, and it was past 9 PM. Her stomach growled lightly, she hadn't joined the others for dinner tonight, didn't feel like it despite her stomach's protests.
"Ai?" A soft voice cut through her thoughts. One of the girls stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. "We were going to watch Moriyama Family. You want to join us?"
Ai curled onto her side, facing the wall, her arms wrapping tightly around her middle. "My stomach hurts…" she managed, the words barely a whisper.
"Oh... okay..." The hesitation in the girl's voice was painful to hear.
As footsteps retreated down the hallway, fragments of conversation drifted back to her.
"She's still here? Wasn't her mother supposed to come get her?"
"Do you think she lied?"
"I don't know."
Their voices faded, but their words remained, echoing in the growing darkness of her room. A tear slipped down Ai's cheek, then another, and another, each one carrying away a piece of her carefully constructed dream.
A strange pain arose in her chest, and she pressed her palm to it, as if trying to grip her own heart. She didn't make any sound as tears rolled down her cheeks. The passing days had only confirmed what she already knew deep down.
"I knew mothers like that don't exist…"
- x -
Authors Notes : Updates will be a bit slow for the next few chapters until I organise the whole thing.
Up Next - Chapter 24 : A Loving Mother