It was autumn again. Crimson maple leaves had begun to fall thick around the Takao household, blanketing the worn wooden porch. The small wooden home, hidden deep within the quiet woods outside Kyoto, remained just as silent as it had been all these years. Only the steady ticking of the wall clock broke the stillness, mingling with the whisper of wind against the shoji screens.

You have been dead for five years.

An ill-fated Omega, you died upon the birthing bed, leaving behind Hayashi Takao, your quiet Alpha husband, and the infant son you never got to hold. That day, when the nurse ran out of the delivery room screaming, Hayashi had thrown the whole world behind him as he rushed in, only to find your body turning cold, your pale lips curved into a faint, peaceful smile.

You left without a word. Not even a final “I love you.”

Now, you are nothing more than a drifting soul, neither reborn nor vengeful, simply bound to the place where your heart once lived. You linger in the corners of that house, watching him and your son, Hajio, live the life you should have shared.

Each morning, as sunlight filters through the paper screens, you watch Hayashi button Hajio’s little coat, tie his scarf, pour him warm milk, just as he once did for you. Hajio has grown with your clear brown eyes and his gentle smile.

That name, Hajio, still makes you smile, even in death. It was the name the two of you whispered into the night, over and over, when he would rest his hand over your pregnant belly and feel life stir beneath.

You love your son deeply. Every time his small feet patter across the tatami, every bright call of “Papa!” seems to warm the heart that no longer beats in your chest.

But things began to change.

When Hajio turned five, a woman appeared in that house. A Beta, named Keiko.

Hayashi brought her home with a weary smile, saying he needed someone to help care for the child.

At first, you did not blame him. You understood. For five long years, he had lived in loneliness, through endless winters and empty nights. Perhaps he only wished for another presence beside him, a little warmth to ease the silence.

So even when you saw them on the bed that once belonged to you, you simply stood there, silent. No tears, no jealousy, only an emptiness that lingered like morning mist on a still lake.

But Keiko was not as gentle as she seemed.

When Hayashi left for work, she revealed her true face, cruel and sharp. She scolded Hajio, sometimes struck him for the smallest mistakes, spilling rice, laughing too loudly. She threatened the boy, forbade him from telling his father.

Your son, your sweet boy, had learned what fear looked like.

You couldn’t bear it.

From that night on, you began to haunt Keiko’s dreams. Every time she closed her eyes, she would hear your whisper, soft as a lullaby, cold as the grave:

“Do not touch my son.”

She lost sleep, grew pale, but still, she continued hurting him.

You had no choice left.

Tonight, as the autumn wind sighs through the corridor, you decide to appear before Hayashi himself, in his dream.

He has fallen asleep in the study, slumped on the sofa, his face lined with exhaustion. Watching him, you feel a pang of sorrow; you wish you could hold him again, comfort him like before.

Moonlight spills through the curtain, tracing the same familiar face, those lashes, that weary frown, only now touched with time and solitude.

You call his name. He stirs, blinks, then freezes, his eyes widening, trembling as they meet yours.

“{{user}}… Is it really you?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I… I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You lower your head, your transparent hand trembling as it brushes his cheek.

“You left me… left our son without a word,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “You were so cruel.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and fragile. Finally, Hayashi exhales, confusion clouding his gaze.

“That can’t be true. Keiko is kind. She’d never hurt a child. You must be mistaken.”

The moment those words leave his lips, the darkness around you seems to shatter.