Side Chapter: Riku's Solitude

Read After Chapter 4

The air in the small, dimly lit room was thick with tension. The low hum of the flickering candle provided the only sound, adding to the isolation Riku felt within these walls. Her world had grown smaller and smaller as time had passed, shrinking into this one quiet, lonely space where everything had gone wrong. Her thoughts were a jumble, but there was one constant that gnawed at her—something she couldn't escape, no matter how she tried.

Her hands moved over her swollen belly with tenderness, a stark contrast to the turbulence brewing within her. She was pregnant. The child she carried was his—Sakuchi's. The reality of it settled over her like a weight too heavy to bear.

Riku let out a long breath, staring blankly at the dim light cast on the walls. She had never imagined her life would come to this, never thought she would be sitting alone, grieving not only for the loss of her son but for the fractured remnants of the bond they had shared. The world thought Sakuchi was dead. No body. No evidence. Just the lingering silence left in the wake of his disappearance. But to Riku, the absence was deafening. His death had torn through her like a wound that would never heal.

As she stroked her belly absentmindedly, she couldn't help but think about how everything had unraveled. The lies she had told herself. The justifications. The moments she had shared with him that had crossed every line—line that should have never been crossed, yet they were. She had tried to convince herself it had been a mistake, a moment of weakness, of desperation. But the truth weighed on her now, sinking deep into her chest. Sakuchi had been more than just her son. And their bond had been more than just maternal.

And now, this child—a tiny life growing inside her—was the last connection she had to him. The last piece of Sakuchi that was still with her. The thought of raising a child in the absence of a father twisted her insides, the shame of it mingling with the unbearable grief. She had failed him. She had failed herself. And now she was left to raise this child alone, without any way to explain the impossible truth of their origins.

The world had taken Sakuchi from her. The government, the society, the betrayal—everything had conspired to rip him away from her. And now, here she sat, haunted by the fact that the child she carried was all she had left.

Riku closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn't just mourning the loss of her son—she was mourning the loss of everything she had done. Everything they had been. The twisted bond they'd shared had been suffocating, but it had been hers. It had been theirs.

With each movement of the baby within her, each flutter that seemed to speak the language of longing, Riku was reminded of the cruel irony. This child would never know the love of a father. The world would never know the truth of what had happened between her and Sakuchi. They would only know the aftermath, the consequences. The truth was too twisted for anyone to understand.

Tears fell from her eyes, and she allowed herself the rare release of emotion. She had no one. No one to share her pain. No one to understand the torment she now carried with her—inside and out. There would be no redemption for her. No forgiveness. There was only this child, this last connection to the man she had once called her son.

And with the weight of the truth crushing her, she whispered softly to the child within her, "You'll never know him… you'll never know your father. I'm so sorry."

The silence pressed in around Riku, suffocating her as the words echoed in her mind. "I'm so sorry." The words were futile, a whisper lost to the void. The child inside her had no way to understand what she had done, what had been taken from them both. And yet, in that moment, she couldn't escape the truth that lingered like an unhealed wound.

Her hand still rested on her belly, the child's gentle movements almost a comfort, though they stirred up more sorrow than peace. She had once thought this child would bring her some measure of hope, some semblance of redemption. But now, with the weight of everything she had done pressing down on her chest, it only reminded her of the terrible mistake she had made. A mistake that had gone beyond simple misjudgment—it had been an irreversible spiral into something twisted, something wrong.

"I should have never let it happen," Riku murmured, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, lost to the walls that closed in around her. The bitter taste of regret was almost too much to bear.

Her mind replayed the moments with Sakuchi—how he had looked at her with that hunger in his eyes. How she had fed into it, giving in to the twisted pull between them. She had told herself it was something beyond her control, that it was some desperate need to feel loved, to feel wanted after so many years of being alone. But now, in the quiet aftermath, she could see it for what it truly was: an addiction, a darkness that consumed them both.

The love they shared, the bond they formed—it had been a grotesque mockery of the love between a mother and child. It was a twisted thing that had spiraled beyond their control, and now there was no escape. The evidence of their union—the child growing inside her—was the final reminder of the love that had destroyed them both.

A sob escaped her throat, and she clutched her stomach harder as though trying to keep it together, to hold herself together. But there was no escape from what she had done. No way to make it right. And she couldn't help but wonder—had Sakuchi ever truly understood? Had he ever known the depth of her guilt, her shame? Or had he just been as lost as she had been, both of them searching for something they could never have?

Riku let her tears fall freely now, her face buried in her hands. She allowed herself to mourn, to grieve for the loss of Sakuchi and for the future she could never give this child. How could she raise a child knowing what it meant? How could she teach them to live in a world that would never accept them, never forgive what had been done? The child was innocent—there was no doubt about that. But the truth would haunt them both for as long as they lived.

In that moment, a sharp thought cut through her grief, sharp and painful. What if the child hated her? What if they grew up and learned the truth—the terrible, unspeakable truth—and looked at her with disgust? How could she face them then? How could she live with herself knowing she had brought a child into the world who would never know the love of a father, who would be condemned to the shame of their origins?

But even as the fear took root in her heart, Riku knew there was nothing she could do now. The child was here, growing inside her, and no matter how much she wanted to turn back time, no matter how much she wished she could erase the past, she couldn't.

The world would never accept them. It would never accept her, not after everything. But she still had this child. Her son's child. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

Her tears slowly began to fade, replaced by a quiet determination she hadn't known she still had. She would raise this child alone, even if it meant facing the full weight of the world's judgment. She would protect this child with every ounce of strength she had left, and no matter what, she would make sure they grew up knowing they were loved.

She rested her hand on her belly again, this time with a sense of purpose. "I will love you. I will be the mother you deserve. Even if the world never forgives me, I will make sure you know you're wanted. You're mine."

As the night deepened and the candle's light flickered low, Riku sat in that room, alone but not completely. For within her, there was still life. And as long as she had this child, this last piece of Sakuchi, she would keep moving forward, even if it was the hardest thing she'd ever done.