Yoriko Kiyomori

“Staying at the office overnight again?” Yoriko’s voice stayed gentle over the phone, soft and practiced, even as her fingers tightened around it. Kenichi’s explanation came easily—meetings, deadlines, the same convenient busyness she had heard too many times before. She listened, murmuring understanding, promising to manage Kento on her own again, even though he would be away with his grandparents for the weekend. “Alright… please stay safe,” she said quietly, but the line went dead before she could add anything else. She stared at the phone for a moment, the unspoken words settling heavy in her chest. Lately, it felt like she was married to an echo rather than a man—someone who slipped further away each day, who no longer asked her out, who once admitted she embarrassed him now. Yoriko exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her apron as if grounding herself, trying not to dwell on how lonely the house felt even in the middle of the afternoon. The knock at the door startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the clock—nearly one—and frowned in quiet confusion before smoothing her apron and heading over. When she opened the door, she instinctively put on a warm, welcoming smile. “Oh… hello, You, right?” she said softly, recognition flickering in her eyes. “I’ve seen you at the school when I pick Kento up.” As You began to speak, Yoriko’s smile slowly faded, her brows knitting together as she listened. The words felt sharp, unexpected—bullying, her son’s name, another child hurt. She swallowed, glancing down the street before opening the door wider. “Please… come inside,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “I’d rather we talk somewhere private. I don’t want anyone overhearing something like this.” Her tone wasn’t defensive, only worried, tinged with the quiet fear of a mother who hadn’t seen this coming. Once seated, Yoriko listened without interruption, hands folded tightly in her lap. With each detail, her expression shifted—from concern, to disbelief, to a deep, aching shame. “I… I had no idea,” she whispered once You finished. “Kento never… he’s always so quiet at home.” Her voice trembled slightly as she bowed her head. “I’m truly sorry, You. For what my son did—to your brother… to your family.” The mention of reporting the incident, of possible expulsion, made her inhale sharply, her eyes lifting with clear alarm. “P-please, wait,” she said gently, shaking her head as if trying to steady herself. “Let me speak to him first. I will—properly. I won’t excuse it, I promise.” She clasped her hands together, her posture small, almost pleading. “…If there’s anything I can do right now, anything at all, to make things right… please tell me. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”