𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 ⇾ 𝚝𝚘𝚔𝚢𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐲 - 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐬.

"When are you gonna accept the fact that he's dead?" One of your closest friends asked as she sat down in a rocking chair on your front porch, cradling her baby in her arms, disgust etched onto her caked up face.

You had told her about your excursion with Shinichiro, knowing that she'd obviously condemn the relationship, yet you were dying to tell someone; you just couldn't keep your big mouth shut and you severely regretted it.

She was a woman of wealth, a large family consisting of her father and mother, many siblings, and she was already married to an American soldier with a baby and another on the way—all while being the same age as you.

Part of you had envied her—she had the perfect life, the perfect family, but at the same time, you pitied her.

She just didn't have any clue as to what the real world was like, she didn't experience the same as you, rather instead she was forced to simply believe what she was taught to believe.

"He's not dead...He can't be," With sadness evident in your tone, your voice cracked as you took a seat beside her; you did your best to remain optimistic, but as days passed, your hope grew less and less.

You were unsure of how long you could continue lying to yourself—lying to yourself about reality.

"Oh, honey...I hate to break it to you, but he's nothing but a pile of ashes now," She seethed angrily, breastfeeding the tenth month old in her arms, "You ought to find a real man, stop playing fantasy, and get over yourself. You're only getting older, no man is gonna want you soon."

A fact, for the older the woman, the less desired you were—men sought younger women, ones that would have an easier time conceiving and giving birth in order to produce healthy offspring.

It seemed like that's all of what was happening these days anyway; all these soldiers that returned home were having sex, lots of it, and many women were pregnant, just like your friend.

"He's not dead," You repeated, but this time your voice was stern, strong, "And he is a real man—the only man I want."

"God...You're so hopeless, (Y/N). You're never gonna get married, never gonna have children," Always so cynical, she croaked out these words, "I feel bad for you."

Your heart twisted with sorrow, raising a family of your own was a dream of yours; to hear that you'd never obtain one made you upset, but if you weren't going to achieve this goal with the man you loved, then you were quite alright with the idea of never marrying or having kids.

"I will get married...and have children. It may not happen any time soon, but mark my words, it will."

She stood silent; the only noises that filled the empty air were the sounds of birds chirping, her baby suckling and cooing, and the rocking of the chair she rested in.

Neither of you said a thing, for what more was there to say? You would never get your friend's support, she'd never approve of this life choice you made, so there was no use in crying over spilled milk.

You'd simply do what made you happy, because at the end of the day, your happiness meant more to you than anyone else's.

A truck parked in front of your house, the mail truck to be precise—originally you thought nothing of it as the postal man approached you, assuming it was either bills for your father to pay or letters from him.

Your father, one of the few generals in the army, was still stationed in Okinawa.

War might have been over, but his job wasn't. Now, the United States put him in charge of overseeing democracy be brought to this newly established Japan—a task that would take years to accomplish.