Kaiser's P.O.V
I should have listened to Kiyo. He warned me, time and again, about getting involved with a married woman. His words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of my recklessness. "She's got too much baggage," he'd say, "You don't need that kind of drama in your life." But I ignored him, blinded by the allure of forbidden romance and the thrill of her company.
Our moments together felt like stolen treasures, brief yet intense, filled with passion and a sense of urgency. Every touch, every glance, was a silent promise of something more, something that could never be. I convinced myself that love could conquer all, that our connection was strong enough to break through the barriers of her marriage.
I met her at a dimly lit bar on a rainy evening. The scent of rain mixed with the smoky ambiance inside. She had an enigmatic smile that drew me in, and her laughter was like a melody that drowned out the noise of the crowd. We connected instantly, sharing stories and secrets like old friends. As the night progressed, our connection deepened, leading to a night of passion that seemed both impulsive and inevitable.
Death is inevitable, but this... this shouldn't have happened. I have every right to my revenge. Tao was nothing but a country bumpkin, a nobody. Kato married him out of pity, nothing more. And now, she's dead because of him. The thought of her lifeless body, taken from this world by his incompetence, fills me with a rage I can barely contain. If only I had met her sooner, if only I had the chance to show her what real love was. The bitterness of missed chances and the fury of an unjust loss consume me. Tao will pay for what he's done.
I can't believe it. It had to be a mistake. Then again, no wonder she didn't return any of my letters. The realization hit me like a freight train, leaving me feeling heartbroken. The nights spent writing, the hope each time I checked the mailbox, it all seemed so naive now.
But now, the truth was staring me in the face. Her silence was not a coy game or a test of my patience. . She was murdered, and it was all my fault.
Tao's P.O.V
The baby was never mine; she didn't resemble anyone in my family, and yet I chose to raise her out of pity. I hoped that maybe this good deed would earn me some favor on Judgment Day. Each day, I watched her grow, trying to convince myself that she was a blessing, a test of my patience and compassion. Her laughter filled the house, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had once dominated my life. Her tiny hands clung to me, seeking comfort and security.
One evening, the weight of it all became unbearable. I should have never taken her life; I should have gone somewhere to calm down or taken a walk. But my pride and anger got the better of me.
In a moment of blind rage, I acted. The regret was immediate and consuming. The realization of what I had done washed over me like a tidal wave, pulling me into a sea of despair.
I wandered the streets aimlessly that night, the cold air biting at my skin. Every step echoed with the ghost of my actions. I passed familiar places, now shrouded in a haze of guilt. The night sky offered no solace, its vastness mocking my insignificance.
"Where's Mommy?" the little girl would ask me with wide, innocent eyes. Each time, I felt a pang in my heart, but I would muster a gentle smile and say, "Mom went to the store," or "She went to visit her parents," or sometimes, "She's on vacation." I tried to keep my voice light and reassuring, hoping to shield her from the harsh reality for as long as possible.
As the days turned into weeks, her questions became less frequent. She would still look at me with those same wide eyes, but the curiosity and hope had dimmed. Eventually, she stopped asking altogether. She had come to understand, in the quiet and unspoken way children often do, that Mommy wasn't coming back.
Her resilience amazed me, but it also broke my heart. She started to cling more to her teddy bear, seeking comfort in its worn fur. I would often find her sitting by the window, staring out as if waiting for someone who would never return. It was in those moments that I wished I could do more, say more, to ease her pain. But how I can tell her that I killed her mother and her father is actually an army officer.