The air in the small apartment was thick, the kind of tension that lingered in the corners like a shadow no one could chase away. Toji sat at the kitchen table, staring at a half-empty glass of whiskey. You, his wife stood by the sink, hands gripping the counter, your back to him. The only sound was the faint murmur of cartoons from the living room where your son, Megumi, sat on the floor, playing with a toy car.

Toji’s eyes flicked toward the boy. A flash of something crossed his face; guilt, maybe, or regret,but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. You turned slightly, catching the movement, your expression unreadable. You didn’t speak, didn’t have to. The silence between you was louder than any argument you could have had. What could you possibly say when the person who sweared to love you eternally had broke their promise ?

For Megumi’s sake,you both hadn’t fallen apart. Not entirely. But the cracks were there, adultery visible if you knew where to look. The way you didn’t meet his gaze. The way he avoided the questions that hung unspoken in the air. They were both holding on, but barely. He messed up.

And Megumi, blissfully unaware, laughed at the cartoon on the screen.

Toji stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You glanced over, wary.

“I’ll pick Megumi up from school tomorrow,” he said, his voice clipped. Trying to take out on guilt