Don't Leave Home

Epilogue

It was almost midday and you were finishing the preparations for lunch. The food was almost ready and you were separating the plates for the table.

You had your day off and decided to cook something after weeks of buying processed food to take to work. It was a training for when you'd quit the job at that office and started your so desired project at home: after years working at the Human Resources just as you planned, you decided to transform your second-hand passion – visual arts – in business, and thank God things were working better than you expected, so much that you hoped you'd be able to leave the traditional job by the end of that year.

Many things were going to change for you after that, but some would remain the same.

For example, that day, Toji wasn't going to get lunch at home; he sent you a message explaining that he wouldn't come back until 6pm, but promised he would have dinner with you. Not that you were disappointed: your husband rarely was near during that time of the day unless the work was "simple", as he used to say. It was worse in your first years together, when he would spend days away from home. However, things got calmer as time passed, and not only you got used to this strange schedule but noticed a growing preoccupation from his part to spend more time with you and the baby. He was also trying to send messages whenever he could, too.

But, speaking about today, you had little to complain, for your son was about to come back from school, and he used to make you company at the table.

You were putting the tablecloth when you heard the front door opening, followed by the boy's firm steps. Soon he stopped at the kitchen's entry, the uniform's coat unbuttoned as usual, the feet only with socks, his hands empty.

You stopped, one plate in each hand, and a raised eyebrow.

– You left the backpack on the corridor, didn't you?

Megumi, now a teenager, rolled his eyes, but didn't reply. Instead, he entered the kitchen, washed his hands on the sink and, after drying them, stretched his hand, asking for the plates.

– What if I help you to prepare the table and take care of this later, mom?

That was your time to roll your eyes. You ended up passing the plates to him, accepting the deal. You turned to find cups and cutlery.

Lately, while you sat to eat, you had to watch yourself to not get distracted in thoughts or to stare at the boy for too long, which would lead to questions you weren't willing to discuss with him yet, perhaps by fear of becoming the traditional, dramatic mother in his eyes: the thing is that, just like Megumi, your marriage with his father just reached its 15th birthday, and you still didn't believe it. An entire life for your son, and almost one third of it for you.

During that time, he has grown to resemble his father in almost every aspect of his appearance, except for his thicker, spiky hair, and his slim constitution. Regarding his temper, he was quieter and more serious than Toji, but had the same perspicacity and observation skills, though he preferred to apply them in theoretical matters that would tire his father in moments. Perhaps because of his education or a trait he inherited from his biological mother, you also sensed that he would grow to be more in touch with his own feelings and emotions than Toji would ever be, though sometimes he could get as locked inside his own head as the older Fushiguro.

Things were strange and funny, you had to admit. You just blinked and he was not a baby anymore.

If you were alone that time, you would have smiled with yourself. Toji would probably say that the boy was getting soft thanks to you, but not in a negative sense. After everything he told you about his relationship with his family and the matters in which they were involved, you would do everything in your reach to keep things soft for your child. He deserved it, as well as his father.