Sayoko returned just before dusk, her hands full of shopping bags, her expression as calm and composed as always.
Hikari sat at the table, waiting.
She didn't speak when Sayoko entered. Didn't greet her. Just stared at the empty place settings and the long wooden table that once held a family.
"Is everything alright?" Sayoko asked, slowly setting down the groceries.
"I watched it," Hikari said.
Sayoko froze.
"I saw the tape."
There was a long silence—so heavy it made the floor creak beneath it.
Then, softly, Sayoko whispered, "I see."
She didn't ask what Hikari saw. She already knew.
Dinner was quiet.
They sat across from one another.
Sayoko had still cooked. Miso soup. Rice. Braised meat in thick sauce.
Hikari stared at the bowl. Her reflection wavered in the broth.
"I remember now," she said. "That night. My seventh birthday. There was a blackout. I smelled smoke. I saw you dragging something down the hallway."
Sayoko didn't respond.
"I asked you where Mama went the next morning. You said she was working."
Sayoko's hands were folded neatly on her lap.
"They were going to sell me," Hikari said bitterly. "And you stopped them."
Her voice cracked.
"You stopped them… by turning them into dinner."
Sayoko's voice was steady. "I did what I had to do."
Hikari stared at her. "You made me eat them."
Sayoko's eyes welled, but her lips did not tremble. "You were too young to understand. You were too young to live with that kind of memory."
"So you fed them to me?"
Sayoko looked down. "So they'd disappear completely. So you'd grow up not as a victim, but as someone who was loved. Safe. Whole."
Hikari stood up from the table. Her hands were shaking.
"I trusted you."
Sayoko finally looked her in the eyes.
"You're alive because of me."
"And they're dead because of you."
"No," Sayoko whispered. "They're dead because of what they were going to do to you."
Hikari turned to the drawer where the knife was kept. The same knife Sayoko used all those years ago.
She picked it up.
Sayoko didn't move.
"I don't know who I am anymore," Hikari whispered, tears finally falling. "All my memories… are made of blood."
Sayoko slowly stood.
"If you need to hate me… do it."
Hikari raised the knife.
Sayoko stepped closer.
"If this is what you need to be free…"
The blade trembled in Hikari's hands.
"You fed me their love…" she choked out, "and I mistook it for kindness."
Then—
She plunged the knife into Sayoko's chest.
Sayoko didn't scream.
She only gasped softly, tears spilling as she collapsed forward, arms loosely wrapping around Hikari as she fell.
"Thank you… for living," she whispered.
And then she was still.
The house was silent.
The rain began again, light and hollow.
Hikari stood there for hours, the knife still in her hand.
The food on the table grew cold.
She didn't cry.
She didn't move.
A week passed.
Then a month.
The house stayed quiet.
Hikari cleaned the blood. Locked the doors. Burned the tape.
She didn't leave.
Didn't speak.
Didn't eat meat again.
Only rice. Pickles. Tea.
She sat alone at the table every night.
In the seat where Sayoko used to sit.
Across from the empty bowls.
In the house that once held laughter.
In the home that smelled like miso, flowers, and memory