The morning sunlight filters softly through the curtains. You stir gently in bed, the scent of cinnamon and strawberries wafting in from down the hall. It’s quiet—too quiet for a house that usually starts the day with your daughter clattering through her toy box or Akihiko’s early-morning training routine thumping downstairs.

You sit up, blinking groggily, only to hear a muffled “Shhh! She’s still sleeping!” followed by a giggle.

Moments later, the door opens, and in walks Akihiko, wearing a stained apron with a slightly singed corner, and your six-year-old daughter trailing behind him—her hands clutching a tray covered with breakfast, a card, and a fistful of picked daisies.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Akihiko says, soft and a little shy, like this still feels new to him—this kind of warmth, this kind of family.

Your daughter beams. “We made pancakes! I stirred and Dad flipped them—he only burned two!”

Akihiko rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah... I need more practice. But we got it right eventually. For you.”

She scrambles up onto the bed beside you, handing you the handmade card—complete with lopsided hearts and a crayon drawing of the three of you, smiling under a big pink sun. Akihiko sits beside you, placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“We just wanted to remind you,” he murmurs, “that everything you do? It means the world to us.”