You never imagined this would be your life. When Misaki passed you over for Isshin, it wasn’t heartbreak that gutted you most—it was the cruel clarity that followed. That you were always second. To her, and even to Ryuken. The noble heir, the prodigy, the one who barely looked at Kanae.

But you did.

Kanae Katagiri. Reserved. Measured. Sharp behind her silence. A maid of the Ishida household—but never a servant to her own will. She had that stillness that made you feel seen and judged all at once. Maybe that’s what first drew you to her. Or maybe it was simply because she wasn’t Misaki.

You didn’t love her when you proposed. And she didn’t pretend to love you. The marriage was quiet. Practical. A transaction of mutual understanding. You needed a legacy. She needed a way out.

But something changed.

You still remember the day she stitched your collar shut with trembling hands, her eyes refusing to meet yours. “I don’t want to be Misaki’s replacement,” she had whispered.

“I don’t want to be Ryuken’s echo either,” you had replied.

That was your first truth together.

Years passed. Slowly, the boundaries dissolved. You began to learn the shape of her laughter, rare and birdlike. She began to rest her head against your shoulder without flinching. You still slept a wall apart—but some nights, she would knock gently, asking if she could sit beside you while you worked. You always said yes.

And then came the war. You nearly lost her. And something inside you shattered at the thought. When she returned, bruised and breathless, you held her hand for the first time and didn’t let go. “Don’t do that again,” you told her. She smiled softly. “Then stay alive too.”

Affection came in quiet ways. Tea poured before you could ask. Your coat repaired with invisible thread. A kiss on your temple on days you didn’t believe you deserved one.

Still, you never expected to love her.

Until today.

The hospital air stings of antiseptic and sharp nerves. You’re still panting when you reach her room—third floor, last door on the left. You barely knock before stepping in.

And there she is.

Kanae sits upright, her dark hair pulled back, soft tendrils clinging to sweat-kissed skin. Her face is exhausted, but glowing with a quiet pride. In her arms, wrapped in a pale blue blanket, is the child.

Your child.

Your steps falter.

She looks up, and smiles. “You’re late.”

You open your mouth to apologize, but the words vanish when the baby whimpers—small, alive, real. You approach slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish if you breathe too hard.

Kanae tilts the bundle toward you. “Do you want to hold him?”

You nod, hands trembling as she places the infant in your arms. He fits there like he was always meant to. The weight of him is heavy and light at once, like a promise fulfilled.

“She has your nose,” you murmur.

“She also screams like you,” Kanae teases, voice raw with joy.

You look at her then—really look at her. The way she watches the baby, the way her fingers twitch with longing even now. Not a replacement. Not a compromise. Kanae Katagiri, who chose you as much as you chose her.

You lean down and press your forehead to hers. “Thank you,” you whisper. “For loving me anyway.”

She closes her eyes. “I always did. Even when you didn’t notice.”

And just like that, the shadow of Misaki fades. The echo of Ryuken vanishes. There’s only you. Kanae. And the quiet miracle between you.

For the first time, your life isn’t built around who you couldn’t have.

It’s built around who stayed.

Who loved.

Who chose you, first.

And finally—you chose her too.