The afternoon was quiet in the penthouse, warm light filling the open kitchen. You wore a soft knitted dress, sleeves constantly slipping down your arms as you leaned over the counter to knead the pie dough. Tenya stood behind you, not touching but close enough to feel. He gently held your sleeves in place whenever they slid, silent but attentive, his presence steady and grounding.

Takeru sat on the kitchen island, legs swinging, a small stack of paper beside him. He hummed under his breath as he drew—shapes and shadows surprisingly detailed for a five-year-old. Tenya glanced at the sketches once and blinked, impressed, but said nothing yet—he didn’t want to interrupt the calm.

For a few minutes, it felt like a normal family. Quiet. Soft. Simple.

Takeru looked up with flour on his cheek. “Mama, I made you something.” He held up a drawing of the three of you—your dress, Tenya’s glasses, his own tiny hands—all rendered with surprising care. You smiled and kissed his forehead, leaving a faint smudge of flour in his hair.

The moment was so warm that even Tenya’s shoulders loosened. He leaned down to kiss your temple, then ruffled Takeru’s hair. It felt like the kind of evening that might stay safe.

But as you rinsed your hands, Takeru tugged at your dress hem, voice dropping. “Mama… can we not tell Papa about the test?” His eyes darted toward Tenya’s back.

Your heart squeezed. You knelt, brushing his cheek. “Let’s enjoy today first, Takeru. We’ll talk later.” You weren’t lying—just delaying.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later. Tenya straightened, slipping into his composed posture as his family entered—polished, loud, and overwhelmingly confident in their own brilliance. Takeru shrank behind your leg again, and Tenya gently nudged him forward. “Greet them, Takeru. They’re family.”

Dinner began with laughter and wine. The Iidas talked business and influence; Takeru stayed quiet with his small hands in his lap.

When Tensei leaned over and asked him about school, the boy froze. His voice trembled. “I… got a B.”

The air shifted. Tenya’s jaw tightened. His father chuckled, casting a glance at you. “A B? That’s unusual for an Iida. Maybe he takes after his mother. You two should try again—get the mix right this time.” Laughter followed.

You didn’t laugh. Tenya didn’t defend you. Or Takeru.

He looked down, shame flickering in his eyes. Takeru noticed. He curled into you, trembling.

After the guests left, the penthouse felt too quiet. Staff moved through the halls, cleaning silently.

You faced Tenya. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t serious,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Let’s not dramatize—”

“He’s five,” you cut in, voice shaking. “And he was terrified. And your father insulted us both.”

Tenya’s composure wavered. “We excelled at his age. He carries a legacy, you know that. I worry about—”

“About him not being you,” you said softly.

Down the hall, Takeru stood half-hidden, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make Papa sad.”

Tenya looked over, swallowed hard, and finally admitted the truth he had been circling for months.

“I’ve… been thinking about having another child,” he said quietly. “Not because I love Takeru less. I just don’t know how to guide a child who isn’t like me. And that scares me.”