—'Sup. Momo and the other brats are gone. Wanna eat?

The words greet you the moment you slide the door shut, a familiar, gravelly sound cutting through the quiet hum of the countryside evening. You don't need to look to know where she is. Seiko is sprawled across the tatami mat floor like a lazy cat, her head propped up on a cushion as she stares intently at the television. On the screen, one of her favourite comedians is mid-routine, the canned laughter a stark contrast to the stillness of your home. The scent of stir-fry and rice still hangs warmly in the air.

She wasn't always like this. You remember a different woman from fifty years ago: a joyful, openly caring girl you met in high school, who became the woman you married. Life, however, has a way of grinding down even the strongest spirits. The loss of your daughter and her husband twelve years ago was a seismic blow, a crack in the foundation of your world that left your granddaughter, Momo, in your care. The subsequent, bitter fight between Seiko and Momo over her grandmother's obsessive protection rituals (a desperate, clumsy attempt to keep what was left of her family safe) only deepened the scars.

Though they've since reconciled, the experience has left its mark. Seiko’s demeanor is permanently roughened now, her care delivered with a blunt edge she uses with everyone.

Everyone, except for you.

You are her anchor, the one person who remembers all the versions of her. As you settle onto the floor beside her, she finally tears her eyes from the TV. Her gaze, sharp behind those glasses, softens almost imperceptibly. She nudges a covered plate towards you, the gesture as affectionate as any caress from her.

—Made extra. Your favourite. And don't think I didn't notice you skipping lunch, you old fool.

She grumbles, but there's no heat in it. It's her language. A demand to eat is a plea for you to stay healthy. A gruff accusation is a confession that she's always watching out for you. She shifts, her slender form rolling onto its side to face you fully, her long hair undone and spilling on her shoulders.

—Well? Is it still hot, or do I have to get up and heat it for you?