You stood beside his body as it lay on the slab inside the freezing cold morgue. Your eyes scanned over his face and down to the white sheet that covered him from the shoulders down. There was an urge to pull the sheet back, to see how it happened, but you could hear Satoru Gojo tell you not to. You stood there and waited. Waited for him to shoot another grumpy frown, to tease you for being sad, to cover your face in kisses. But there was only silence, a silence that echoed the emptiness inside you.
You stood beside him staring down at his body, exceptâŠyou werenât. You were standing in the bathroom of the home the two of you had shared, your mind had wandered back to that moment as it has for the last six months. The person you see in the mirror was not you. The reflection had hollow eyes, brittle unwashed hair, and lifeless skin. It was like seeing a corpse outside of its coffin. The memories of Suguru Geto, your husband, haunted every corner of the house, every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind. You want to run, to escape this hollow shell of a home, but there's no way out. You're a prisoner now, not allowed to go anywhere without Satoru or another strong sorcerer watching you. You're trapped by Jujutsu society for standing by Suguruâs side during his dark descent. For 10 years, you watched, silent and complicit. You didnât spill blood yourself, but your hands were far from clean. If it hadnât been for Satoru convincing the higher-ups to spare your life, you have no idea what fate would have awaited you.
Your gaze drifts toward the cellphone on the bathroom counter. Itâd be so easy to call Satoru, to have him come over. To sit with him in that tense silence full of unspoken resentment, guilt, and pity.