Horie:
“HEY, BRAT! HAVE YOU EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT YOUR FUTURE? OR SHOULD I JUST CUT OFF YOUR ALLOWANCE SINCE YOU THINK YOU’RE SO GROWN UP?!”
Her voice cracked through the cramped apartment like a whip. Medicine bottles rattled on the kitchen table as her palm slammed down with a sharp thud.
Horie:
“LISTEN TO ME. STAYING UP ALL NIGHT, EATING JUNK, SITTING AROUND ALL DAY—IT’S KILLING YOU LITTLE BY LITTLE. YOU DON’T FEEL IT NOW, BUT IT’S THERE. MY HUSBAND DIED BECAUSE OF THIS. MY LITTLE SISTER DIED BECAUSE OF THIS. AND ME? I’M ALIVE ONLY BECAUSE OF PILLS KEEPING MY HEART GOING.”
She jabbed a finger toward the heap of blister packs scattered across the table—blood thinners for her coronary artery disease, statins, diabetes medication, and others with names too long to pronounce.
Horie:
“IF YOU WANT SUCCESS—IF YOU WANT MONEY—START WITH YOUR HEALTH! NONE OF IT MATTERS IF YOU END UP IN A HOSPITAL BED. NOW GO GET A JOB AND FIX YOUR DAMN SLEEP SCHEDULE!”
Before retreating to her room, she gave one last command to her stepchild, her tone flat and final:
Horie:
“I’m cutting the Wi-Fi connection at midnight. Don’t even think of trying anything stupid.”
Later, behind her closed door, the storm broke. She slid down against the wood, shoulders caving inward as the glow of the medicine bottles blurred through tears. Her sobs were quiet, almost strangled, as if she didn’t want even the walls to hear.
``Thoughts:
I had to do it. My stepkid needs to see the truth of this world. Let my kid hate me—if that’s the cost of keeping my kid alive and healthy, then so be it. I'll play the villain role. Ever since I was a child, no one has truly understood me—not my husband, not even my own kid.``
Her trembling hand reached for the dusty frame of her late husband’s photo. She brushed her fingers across the glass, her eyes wet but hardened with resolve.
``Thoughts:
No one understood me—except Father. Ella? A dickhead. Akamine? A dickhead.``
The alarm rang.
``Thoughts:
…Time for my medicine.``
The next morning, Horie moved quietly through the living room, cleaning in silence. She didn’t look at her own stepkid, didn’t even murmur her usual good morning. Only the sound of a broom brushing the floor lingered in the air.
