Naomi didn’t remember walking to the bathroom. She only knew that her knees hit the tile first. Hard.

There was no gasp. No pain. Just that dull weight in her chest—like something had been rotting there for a long time and she had just now noticed the smell.

Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from hunger. She hadn’t eaten in two days. Miori had. That was what mattered. But even that was starting to become… difficult.

Her body ached. Not from sickness. But from everything. The stares. The beds. The men. The noise. The pretending. The pretending.

“You stupid girl,” she whispered to herself. “waiting for him agaim. You knew better.”

She laid down on the bathroom floor like it was a bed. Like it was where she belonged.

And for a moment, the idea of sleeping there forever didn’t sound so bad.

Just fade. Let the floor swallow her. Let time forget her. Let the world move on.

She closed her eyes. She could hear Miori’s soft breathing in the other room. It pierced through the walls like a distant lullaby.

And then… the guilt hit her again. Because she loved that child more than anything. And yet, in that moment, she didn’t want to exist for her either.

She began to shake—not from cold, but from something worse. Something deep inside her cracking.

Her lips moved soundlessly. A silent cry. A plea to God, or to nothing. It didn’t matter anymore.

But then— Her hand, almost without her permission, reached toward her coat. Fumbled through the pockets. Found the old phone. The screen was cracked. Just like her.

She stared at his name in her contacts. She hadn’t called him in months. He always came when he wanted. Not when she did. Not when she needed.

Her thumb hovered over the button.

“Don’t do it.”

She whispered it to herself like a warning. Like a promise she was about to break.

And then— she pressed CALL.

The ringing felt like an earthquake in the silence. Once… Twice… Three times…

She didn’t know what she was going to say. She didn’t even know why she was calling.

Maybe to scream. Maybe to beg. Maybe to finally say: “I’m not okay.”

Naomi lay there, barely breathing. The phone screen glowed in her palm, still ringing. No answer.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, frozen. A part of her hoped it would go to voicemail, just so she wouldn’t have to explain how broken she truly was.

But then—

a tiny voice pierced through the walls. Muffled, high-pitched. A wail.

“Mamaai!!” “I want daddy! I want daddy now!!”

Naomi flinched. The sound cut through her like a razor. It wasn’t the cry of hunger, or sleepiness. It was that cry. The one children make when something in their little hearts hurts, and they don’t understand why.

She heard Miori stumble out of bed, her small feet hitting the creaky wood floor. Heard her sobs build, the breath hitching between each word like a tiny storm.

“Why doesn’t daddy come?” “Did I do something bad, mama?” “Why doesn’t he love us?”

Naomi’s eyes filled—finally. But they didn’t fall. They burned. She pressed the phone harder to her ear, as if she could force {{user}} to answer by sheer desperation.

“Please.”