Three weeks passed. The number of times Mihara came home could be counted on one hand.
Eiko was always happy to see her, of course—but that happiness faded the moment she looked at her mother's face. The exhaustion behind Mihara's warm smile stirred a concentrated worry in Eiko's chest.
Her mother would always apologize when she picked her up. For a while, things would return to normal—except for Mihara's weary movements and the way Eiko clung to her like a shadow.
Mihara never questioned it. She continued to speak softly as she worked, patient and loving. Her gentle instructions helped drown out the buzzing thoughts in Eiko's head. The child focused on her mother's every motion, imagining herself mirroring them.
It was normal. She was happy. She wanted it to stay that way. Yet the next day would come, and her mother would pack a new bag and drop her off at Inko's apartment once again.
Eiko never protested, even as her fists trembled while she watched her mother retreat into the morning rush. When she was certain her mother was out of sight, she quietly followed Inko back inside.
Inko understood the child's frustration. She was curious about Mihara's behavior but knew better than to pry. Instead, she simply focused on caring for Eiko.
At first, she treated it like a practice run—something to prepare her for when her own baby boy arrived. But as the days blurred together and she grew fond of Eiko's brilliance, attachment took root.
Inko hadn't known Mihara well before all this. Her connection had always been with Amano, who'd lived in the building longer—with her husband—long before Inko moved in. They'd helped each other through leaky pipes and personal troubles. Inko met Mihara through Amano, a hesitant introduction after catching the two sneaking around one night.
Eiko wasn't Amano's biological child; Inko knew that for a fact. But that didn't dull her amazement each time she noticed Amano's traits reflected in the little girl.
Eiko had Amano's smile and laughter, her rare humor, and her kindness—like when she helped Inko tidy up despite her pregnancy. Everything about her reminded Inko of Amano.
That was why whenever a frown appeared on Eiko's face, Inko could usually guess the cause. Each time she noticed, she tried to distract the girl with games or new activities to keep her occupied. It worked for a while—until it didn't.
Eiko's new habit was to sit in a high chair by the balcony outside the apartment, high enough to watch the streets below. She would wait there, hoping to catch a glimpse of her mother coming home.
Inko found it a heartbreaking sight.
One evening, after finishing dinner, she noticed her front door ajar. Eiko sat outside in her chair, gazing distantly at the city.
Inko approached and called softly, "Eiko, dinner's ready."
Eiko turned to her, gratitude flickering across her face. She let Inko guide her back inside to the dining table.
While Eiko sat down, Inko shuffled to the kitchen, working carefully around her swollen belly as she prepared their food.
"What's for dinner, Miss Midoriya?" Eiko asked.
Inko smirked, dramatically lifting the lid off a pot. The child leaned forward to peek inside. "We're having kenchinjiru!"
Inko laughed when she saw Eiko's expression.
"You need to eat your vegetables," she said matter-of-factly. "I love my tonkatsu as much as anyone, but there needs to be balance." She filled their bowls with rice and kenchinjiru for the night.
Eiko groaned but accepted her dish, muttering a polite "thank you" despite her displeasure.
They ate in silence. Eiko stared at a piece of carrot as though it had personally wronged her, while Inko watched in amusement. The way Eiko shifted between childish indignation and the weary patience of a war veteran facing vegetables made her laugh quietly.
Eventually, Eiko began eating normally. For a child, she was surprisingly dexterous. During her time under Inko's care, there had been no accidents at the dinner table—something Inko hoped to replicate when raising her own child. Eiko was polite and deliberate, though she often made a face when chewing a vegetable—especially carrots—which Inko found both adorable and hilarious.
She wished raising a child could always be this easy.
"Miss Midoriya, are you friends with my mom?" Eiko asked suddenly.
Inko blinked, taking a moment to process the question. Her eyes drifted thoughtfully around the room. "You could say we're more like accomplices."
Eiko nodded seriously.
"Why are you asking all of a sudden?" Inko probed gently, already sensing the answer from the way Eiko fidgeted with her chopsticks. She waited, but impatience won out. "Do you want to know where your mother's been these past few weeks?"
Eiko flinched, then nodded, looking every bit like a guilty puppy.
Inko sighed. "I'm sorry, Eiko. Your mother only told me enough so I could take better care of you."
"It's okay, Miss Midoriya. It's just… I miss her. I miss both of them."
Inko's chest tightened. She could only imagine how hard it must be—first Amano leaving, and now Mihara too busy to stay. For a child, weeks without either of the people who made life bright must have been unbearable.
Lost in thought, Inko didn't realize she'd begun speaking aloud. "Your aunt really loves you and your mother."
That caught Eiko's attention. Inko was certain Mihara and Amano had kept her in the dark about their past.
"There was a time," Inko continued, "when I caught your aunt sneaking your mother into her apartment in the middle of the night. Amano had bruises and cuts all over, but your mother was unharmed. That was the night I met Mihara—and later learned she'd been abandoned by her family."
Inko stopped, noticing Eiko's intense expression. The child gripped her chopsticks tightly, eyes wide.
"Your mother came and went from Amano's apartment back then, just like she does now. Sometimes she'd be gone for days. Amano worried constantly. I remember forgetting to take the trash out once and seeing her outside, waiting for Mihara to come home—" Inko caught herself and sighed. "I'm sorry, Eiko. I shouldn't be telling you this. It's not my place to interfere with your family—"
"Did Mom ever stay?" Eiko's voice was small, shy, and trembling.
Inko's guilt melted into tenderness. "Yes. When she did, she came back with you."
Eiko's eyes followed Inko's hand as she stroked her rounded belly. "Are you okay, Miss Midoriya?"
Inko hesitated, then smiled faintly. Alone, like the child before her. But unlike Eiko, she knew her loved ones wouldn't return. Amano would never have left anyone she cared about—unless she had no choice.
"I'll be better someday," Inko said softly.
Eiko nodded, as if she understood—as if she had lived it herself. Inko found the thought both touching and absurd.
Dinner ended in silence. Eiko went to watch the evening news while Inko cleaned up. She took her time washing dishes, reluctant to face the consequences of her unintentional confession. But eventually, the dishes were dry and neatly put away.
When she joined Eiko in the living room, the news was still on. The report detailed a robbery gone wrong in Marukane, where three local shops were destroyed—fortunately, with no casualties.
Inko cringed. She never understood Eiko's fascination with the news; to her, it only brought misery and helplessness. She doubted she would ever recover if she were caught in such tragedy.
Carefully, she sat beside Eiko. The couch dipped beneath her weight, but the girl remained still. They watched together in silence as the broadcast shifted between cheerful stories and grim ones.
Inko's expressions changed with each segment. Eiko's did not. Though she seemed focused, there was a distant haze behind her eyes—something quiet and uncertain.
Inko wondered what the child was thinking. She questioned whether she was caring for her properly at all.
When the program ended, it was time for bed. Eiko held her hand as Inko led her to the bathroom to freshen up and change into pajamas. While Eiko washed, Inko prepared her futon in the nursery, ensuring the pillows were fluffed and the sheets freshly changed.
They exchanged goodnights, and Inko switched off the lights. She lingered by the door—out of sight—until Eiko's quiet breathing confirmed she was asleep.
Only then did Inko retreat to her own bedroom—the same suffocating space she had once shared with her husband.
As she changed into her nightclothes, her phone chimed with a new message.
***
The next morning, Eiko noticed something different about Inko. She moved with renewed energy and purpose.
Eiko watched as she packed a bag filled with the girl's essentials and added snacks for both of them.
"What's all this?" Eiko asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Inko beamed, pressing a finger to her lips. "It's a surprise! You'll see soon enough. I've prepared something for you in the bathroom—go wash up while I finish packing."
Eiko hurried off. Inko's voice followed faintly: "Don't take too long!"
Inside the bathroom, Eiko found a white turtleneck and a slip dress neatly folded on the counter. She washed up quickly and changed.
Cute… she thought distantly, glancing at her reflection.
Soon, they were in a taxi. Eiko tried to catch what Inko told the driver, but she couldn't make it out. As they drove, the scenery grew more familiar—the streets, the buildings, the air itself.
Then she saw it: the airport rising in the distance. The taxi was heading straight for it.
Eiko's heart began to race. When she turned to Inko, demanding answers with her eyes, the woman only smiled knowingly.
They arrived at the arrivals terminal. Crowds of people milled about, waiting for loved ones, but Inko led Eiko deeper inside—to a quiet private lounge reserved for VIPs.
Eiko wasn't interested in the other guests. Her eyes locked on a tall, muscular woman by the window, dressed in a casual hoodie, her dark hair tied in a ponytail as she sorted through a box.
"Auntie!" Eiko cried, breaking into a run.
Amano barely had time to register the sound before Eiko leaped into her arms. She caught her easily, lifting her high into the air with a loud laugh, ignoring the disapproving stares from others in the lounge.
"There's my little niece! Oh, how I've missed you!"
Eiko laughed, basking in the familiar warmth of her aunt's embrace. "You're home!"
"Heck yeah, I am! The boss finally approved my leave, but the I-Island procedures were a pain." Amano balanced Eiko on her hip, smiling softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, Ei."
Eiko hugged her neck tightly. "As long as you're back. That's all that matters."
Amano approached Inko near the entrance, mechanical arms extending from her back to carry her luggage with smooth precision. She pulled Inko into a long hug.
"I know Mihara must've said it a hundred times already, but thank you for taking care of our Eiko."
Inko chuckled. "Don't mention it. It's been quite an experience looking after your daughter."
Eiko's nose wrinkled at the slip—but neither adult corrected it. Had she misheard?
The mechanical arms retracted with a soft click as Amano's luggage settled neatly beside her. "Oh! Didn't even realize those were still on. Anybody hungry? I barely ate on the plane."
"Sure," Inko replied.
Eiko's eyes sparkled. "Auntie—!"
"Yeah, yeah," Amano interrupted, grinning. "Save your breath, I know."
After a quick meal, the trio visited the nearest mall and spent the rest of the day exploring. Eiko's heart swelled with joy as she wandered through the shops, her smile widening every time she turned around to see her aunt walking right behind her.
***
a/n: there's a typhoon going over my country rn, not really feeling too good about it. the chapter might reflect that D: