The silence in the Namikaze household was suffocating. Once filled with laughter, now it echoed only with blame.

{{user}} sat alone in the corner of their dim living room, clutching Naruto’s tiny blanket. Her eyes were red, swollen—empty. The memories of that day played over and over again: the scream, the blood, the helplessness.

Minato stood near the doorway, his Hokage cloak discarded, fists clenched. He hadn’t looked her in the eye for days.

“You were supposed to watch him,” he finally said, voice cold, shaking. “You said you’d be with him.”

“I—I just turned around for a moment,” {{user}} whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t know someone—”

“That moment cost us our son!” he snapped.

She flinched, curling into herself. “You weren’t even home, Minato. You never are.”

The words stung him. He turned away, unable to look at her—unable to face his own guilt. The weight crushed them both, and the love they once shared now drowned beneath the sorrow.

There was no comfort in that house anymore.

Only the ghost of Naruto… and the sound of hearts breaking.