-3 October 2008-
After that moment of clarity, I decided to step up. I needed to be responsible for Keiko and the baby. The weight of my choices bore down on me, but I was determined. I began putting in more effort to get closer to Keiko. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, she kept me at arm's length. Her wall was high, and breaking it felt impossible.
My father's resentment toward me didn't ease either. He couldn't hide his disappointment—his only son, throwing away the life he had worked so hard to provide. Every time he looked at me, it felt like a dagger through my chest. His anger was justified; I'd dragged his name and pride through the mud. Yet, despite his bitterness, he agreed to cover the costs of the baby's birth.
But his support came with a condition: once the baby was born, I was to move out and take responsibility on my own. He wanted me to be a man, not the careless boy I had been. "You need to grow up, Ryusei. This is your mess, and you'll clean it up," he said, his voice cold. His words haunted me, but they were the truth.
Keiko's parents were no kinder. The disdain in their eyes burned every time I visited their home. Their disappointment was written all over their faces. They had every right to hate me. I had ruined their daughter's life—or so they believed. They pressured us to get married, demanding that we create a stable home for the baby. But how could we? We were not ready. We were just foolish kids facing the consequences of our recklessness.
---
My days turned into an exhausting routine. School in the morning, visiting Keiko after class, and working part-time into the late hours of the night. The monotony of it all wore me down. My friends noticed my absence, especially Junpei, who confronted me one day.
"Oi, Ryusei. What's with you these days? You're always busy. You don't hang out anymore," he said, his tone laced with concern.
"I'm just… figuring things out," I replied vaguely, avoiding his eyes.
He frowned. "Figuring things out? That's not like you. Come on, tell me what's going on."
But I couldn't. How could I admit that my carefree life was over? That I was tied down by responsibilities I didn't know how to handle? I smiled weakly and walked away. Slowly, I drifted apart from my friends, isolating myself completely.
Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I blamed Keiko. I resented her for stealing my youth, for chaining me to a life I wasn't ready for. But deep down, I knew the truth. It wasn't just her fault—it was mine too. We had made this mistake together, and we both had to live with the consequences.
---
By December, the baby's due date loomed closer. The doctor said Keiko would give birth in February, and the reality of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't have enough money to support us. Panic set in. I went to my father and told him I planned to drop out of school to take on a second job.
He didn't even look at me. He just sat there, silent and unmoving. His dismissal stung more than any harsh words could have. It was as if I didn't exist to him anymore.
But I had no choice. Dropping out was the only way I could earn enough to support my child.
---
My days at work were filled with endless struggles. It wasn't just the grueling hours or the low pay that wore me down, but also the people around me. One day, after weeks of pouring my soul into every shift, my boss announced a small bonus for my hard work. It wasn't much, but to me, it was a glimmer of hope—a reminder that my sacrifices weren't entirely in vain.
However, not everyone saw it that way. One of my senior coworkers, a man much older and more experienced than I was, glared at me with disdain when he heard the news. His envy boiled over that same night.
In the dimly lit break room, he cornered me. "You think you're special, kid? Think you deserve that bonus more than me?" His voice was laced with venom, and before I could explain, his fist connected with my jaw.
He didn't stop there. A few more blows landed on my ribs and arms before he finally walked away, muttering curses under his breath. I was left alone, bruised and aching, clutching my side. I wanted to fight back, to stand up for myself, but I couldn't afford to lose this job.
I never told Keiko about what happened. What good would it do? She had enough to worry about without adding my troubles to her plate. Instead, I cleaned myself up and forced myself to keep moving. But that night, as I lay in my tiny room, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the loneliness that gnawed at my chest.
I grabbed my phone and hesitated for a moment. Calling her felt selfish, but I needed to hear her voice—just for a moment. Gathering my courage, I pressed the call button.
"Ryusei?" Keiko's voice came through, soft but surprised. "It's late. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," I lied, my voice rough with exhaustion. "I just… wanted to hear your voice."
There was a pause on the other end. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.
I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. "I'm fine," I said quietly. "Just… tired."
Keiko sighed softly. "You're working too hard, aren't you?"
Her question made my chest tighten. How could she see right through me when I tried so hard to keep it all hidden? "I have to," I murmured. "For you. For the baby."
For a moment, there was silence, and I worried I had said too much. But then her voice returned, gentle and reassuring. "Ryusei, thank you. You're doing more than enough."
Her words, simple as they were, broke something inside me. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay. "Thank you," I managed to whisper, my voice cracking.
"Ryusei…" Keiko's voice softened even further. "I'm here, okay?"
Hearing her say those words made my chest ache. For the first time in months, I felt like someone truly cared, like I wasn't completely adrift. I swallowed hard, fighting back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
We stayed on the phone for a while longer, her calm voice soothing me in ways I hadn't expected. And for the first time, I let myself lean on her, even if only through the faint connection of a phone line.
That night, something shifted between us. It wasn't immediate, but over the days that followed, Keiko began to show her affection more openly. She would ask about my day, offer small words of encouragement, and even tease me gently to lighten the mood.
Her kindness became my anchor, my solace in a world that often felt too harsh to endure. And slowly, I began to realize that she wasn't just someone I had to take care of—she was the person who gave me the strength to keep going.