The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the curtains of the living room, painting patterns of light on the polished wooden floor. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood. Young Catherine sat cross-legged on the tatami mat in her bedroom upstairs, engrossed in dressing her favorite plush rabbit in tiny handcrafted kimonos. The delicate fabric slipped between her fingers as she hummed a melody her mother often sang.
Downstairs, the gentle clinking of porcelain indicated that Hana was tidying up after their afternoon tea. The scent of freshly brewed green tea still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of jasmine from the garden. It was a familiar, comforting atmosphere that made Catherine feel safe and content.
A sudden, sharp knock at the front door disrupted the tranquility. Catherine paused, her small hands hovering over the next tiny garment. Voices drifted up the stairs—unfamiliar and gruff, contrasting with her mother's soft tones.
Catherine tilted her head, curiosity piqued. Visitors at this hour were unusual, especially when her father wasn't home. She gathered her plush rabbit and tiptoed to her bedroom door, peering down the hallway toward the staircase.
Catherine heard the subtle sound of the door opening slightly wider, followed by the scrape of shoes against the threshold. The voices became muffled, and a sense of unease settled in her chest. She hugged her rabbit tighter.
Without making a sound, she moved toward the top of the stairs, her small feet barely making the steps creak. From her vantage point, she could glimpse the edge of the front door and a sliver of the living room. Hana stood partially obscured, her posture tense but composed.
"Please, if you could just—" Hana began, but her words were abruptly cut off.
A loud thud reverberated through the house as the door was pushed forcefully open. The sudden noise made Catherine flinch. The muffled voices escalated into strained tones.
"Wait!" Hana's voice held a note of alarm that Catherine had never heard before.
Heart pounding, Catherine clutched her rabbit and pressed herself against the wall. She didn't understand what was happening, but her mother's distress was unmistakable. The sounds that followed were confusing—a scuffle, muffled shouts, furniture scraping against the floor.
"Mama...?" Catherine whispered, her voice barely audible.
A surge of panic welled up inside her. Part of her wanted to rush downstairs, but another part feared what she might find. She told herself that perhaps her father had come home early and was arguing with her mother, though deep down, she knew his voice was not among those she heard.
As she gathered the courage to descend the stairs, a sudden, sharp pain struck her temples. She winced, pressing a hand to her head. The hallway around her seemed to blur, the edges wavering like a reflection on disturbed water. A faint ringing filled her ears, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
When the discomfort subsided, Catherine blinked and found herself sitting on the top step, unsure of how much time had passed. The house had fallen eerily silent, the earlier commotion replaced by an oppressive stillness.
Eric was there. Catherine watched as he moved toward the living room. From her vantage point, she could see Hana sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. She was hugging her knees, her gaze fixed on a point far beyond the confines of the room. Her hair was disheveled, and there was a small bruise forming on her forearm.
Eric approached her cautiously. "Hana?"
As he reached out to touch her shoulder, Hana flinched and pulled away sharply. "Don't!" she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with palpable fear.
He withdrew his hand, pain flickering across his face. "Hana?"
Hana shook her head slightly, pulling further into herself. Catherine had never seen her mother like this—so distant, so unlike the warm presence she knew.
From the top of the stairs, a floorboard creaked under Catherine's weight. Eric's gaze snapped upwards, locking eyes with her. For a moment, no one moved.
"Catherine..." he began softly.
Overwhelmed by a swirl of emotions she couldn't name, Catherine turned and fled back to her room. She closed the door quietly behind her, pressing her back against it as she tried to steady her breathing. The familiar surroundings of her bedroom offered little comfort. Everything felt changed, the air heavy with an unspoken tension.
She closed her eyes tightly, wishing everything would return to normal. Clutching her plush rabbit to her chest, she curled up on her bed and pulled the blankets over her head, creating a small cocoon. The muffled sounds of murmured voices filtered through the walls, but she shut her ears to them, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat.
In the darkness under the covers, Catherine whispered to herself, "It's just a bad dream. When I wake up, Mama and Papa will be smiling again."
But deep down, she sensed that something important had shifted, like a thread unraveling from a cherished tapestry. Unbeknownst to her, this moment would become a hazy memory, tucked away in the corners of her mind—a muted echo that would linger, shaping the contours of her world in ways she could not yet comprehend.