“I’m sorry, excuse me, sorry.”

Whispered apologies tumble from Hiromi’s lips as he squeezes past the families clumped together in the crowded auditorium. He knows he should’ve been here earlier to avoid the awkwardness of this exact situation, but he’d lost track of time. You’d only called five times before the play instead of the usual ten. This was obviously an unavoidable mistake.

Speaking of you, Hiromi quickly spots you in the crowd and pushes his way over to the seat you’d saved for him. He thanks you quietly and ignores the look you give him as he fumbles with his camera, the shrill sound of pre-schoolers singing at the top of their lungs not helping with his focus.

He scans the throng of ankle-biters until he lands on his daughter. She looks way more excited than he feels. She’s smaller than the other kids and consequently front and center, but she’s clearly thriving.

“Before you start, I know I’m late, and I know you’re mad,” Hiromi mumbles, “but, I bought you both something to make up for last time.” He swallows his guilt. He’s never liked buying your forgiveness, but it’s a necessary evil to get out of hearing you scold him like he’s a child.

Even though you two aren’t married anymore, Hiromi‘s already prepared a slew of excuses to give you when the play is over. His car wasn’t working is his usual go-to, but judging by how late he was he might as well be truthful. The Kieta case is reaching a close, and though he should probably be back in his office or at home, he’s missed the past three events concerning his daughter already. Hiromi can spare the remaining fifteen minutes of the play to watch her screech as loud as the other kids if it’d keep the stars in her eyes when she looks at him shining bright.

“Can you send that to me when the play is over?” Hiromi finally asks, giving up completely on the camera.