I was forced to my knees in a reed bed on a rainy night by my parents who believed my little brother's lie and was left there to die!

02 Sep, 2026

A single word from my younger brother left me dead.

After I died, my family became the talk of the town. Neighbors, teachers, and even the elderly who helped out at the shrine office. They all asked my brother the same thing: what exactly had he said to me that day. But he just kept his head down and never answered.

On the day my body was found, he stood beside me and, at last, spoke those words once more.

1

Late March, and Suigō park on the outskirts of Tokyo already carried the air of spring. That day, the neighborhood association and a nearby kindergarten were jointly holding a children's nature observation event. Before we left the house, my mother put my four-year-old brother Yota in my care, warning me again and again never to let him out of my sight.

Yota is still little. Whenever he gets caught up in playing, he immediately takes off running. I'm already seventeen, and his older sister, which is why I have to keep a good hold of his hand. That's what Mom told me.

Honestly, I was worried. For the past few weeks, I'd suddenly started forgetting all sorts of things. Sometimes I couldn't remember where I'd put my textbook, and other times I'd lose track of a street I'd already walked past. At its worst, I couldn't even remember the name of the person standing right in front of me.

Today of all days, I absolutely could not afford to mess up. With that in mind, I took my medicine before heading out and even wrote myself a note on my phone: Don't forget Yota. Don't let go of his hand.

The moment I arrived at Suigō park, white static noise flashed through my mind. The voices, the laughter, the sound of children's footsteps running past - it all blurred, as if suddenly pulled far away. I stood frozen on the spot, unable to remember why I was even there, or whose hand I was supposed to have been holding just moments before.

When I came to my senses, I was riding home alone on a rental bike from in front of the station. My mother was standing at the front door. The moment she saw me come back alone, the color drained from her face.

"Where's Yota? Why isn't he with you?"

I stared blankly at my mother, my mind terrifyingly blank.

"A brother? Since when do I have a brother?"

My mother's body froze in shock.

That day, the family, half out of their minds with panic, rushed back to the Suigō park. Neighborhood association members, kindergarten teachers, even a police officer from the nearby station - everyone came running to help. They searched every corner of the park's artificial pond and searched through the woods along the river. But Yota was nowhere to be found.

My mother rushed over to me and gripped my shoulders tightly. Her eyes were bloodshot - it was terrifying.

"I told you to hold his hand the whole time, didn't I? Where's Yota? Answer me! The security camera only caught you leaving through the park entrance - alone!"

My mother shoved me, and I hit my forehead against a pillar in the rest area. Blood was spreading from the cut, but she didn't seem to notice at all. Her voice was high-pitched, on the verge of tearing apart.

"Why wasn't it you who got lost? Why did it have to be Yota? How are we supposed to go on living after this?!"

My father, his eyes red, held my mother as she seemed about to collapse. Watching the two of them, their faces twisted in pain, I felt my heart sinking little by little. At that moment, I began to hate myself as well.

Why couldn't it have been me who disappeared - the one who's always been nothing but a burden to my family?

2

After searching all through the night, the police found Yota in an abandoned reed bed at the far end of the park. He was covered in mud from head to toe, his jacket soaking wet. His small face was pale from the cold, and by the time the officer held him in his arms, he barely even had enough strength left to cry.

I stood at the back of the crowd, watching Yota. I knew that I should say something, but I couldn't get a single word out. In my mind, that white static was still flickering on and off. The truth was, I didn't even remember that I had a little brother, let alone why I'd taken him to the reed bed.

That mentally blank feeling was like a thick fog, separating me from everything in front of me.

My mother rushed over as if she'd lost her mind and pulled Yota into a tight embrace.

"Yota, Yota... that must have been so scary. Mama's here now. It's okay, you're safe now."

Yota buried his face in his mother's chest and, as if he'd finally found somewhere he could cry, sobbed with his whole body trembling. After a while, he raised his small hand and pointed at me.

"Big sis... Big sis was the one who said we should go see the pampas grass. But then she disappeared. I was all alone."

Every eye in the room turned toward me at once. My mother's body stiffened. As she slowly turned to face me, her eyes were colder than a March wind off the river.

I tried to explain myself, but my mother didn't even give me a chance to speak. A slap struck my cheek, snapping my face to the side. An unpleasant ringing throbbed deep in my ear.

My mother pointed at me, not even trying to hide her disappointment and disgust.

"Shion Shiraishi, honestly, what is wrong with you? You're seventeen years old and you can't even keep an eye on a four-year-old for five minutes? You left him there on purpose, didn't you, just because you couldn't stand Yota getting all the attention?"

I collapsed by the muddy water and desperately raised my head.

"That's not it, Mom. It's like a white static suddenly spread through my head... I really don't remember."

Mother's face grew even more tense.

"Still using that lie? You're using the doctor's 'let's wait and see' as an excuse to act being sick, to pretend you don't remember. You'll say anything to avoid responsibility, won't you?"

The other parents and teachers around me started whispering among themselves, their voices like thin needles piercing into my ears one by one. I tried to speak, but nothing that came out made any sense anymore.

I didn't even know anymore. Had I really done something irreversible? If everyone said it was my fault, then maybe it was.

3

Before I knew it, the sky had turned heavily overcast. The spring rain beats down on the earth along the riverbank, quickly forming a narrow stream. A damp, cold wind blew in from deep within the reed beds, sending a shiver through my body.

"Quick, get Yota to the hospital!"

My father picked Yota up and ran with my mother to the car parked a short distance away. I followed instinctively, trying to get in out of the rain, but the moment my hand touched the door, my mother forcefully pushed me.

"You stay here. Do you have any idea how cold Yota was, out there in the reed beds? Today, I’m going to make sure you learn your lesson. Otherwise, you’ll just lie and hurt people again."

My father sat in the driver's seat - his hands on the steering wheel, moving his lips. I think he was trying to say something. But in the end, he didn't say a word.

The car sped off, its tires splashing up muddy water all over my uniform. No one said a word on my behalf, and no one looked back.

The rain immediately soaks my thin uniform jacket. The cold air enters through my collar area, and spreads into my body. I stood there, arms wrapped around myself. It was so cold I was shivering, yet I still couldn't move.

Because this was my fault. If I hadn't forgotten about Yota, if I hadn't gone home alone, if I'd just held his hand properly like any normal older sister would - Mom wouldn't have cried. And Dad wouldn't have worn that look of utter despair, either.

I thought that if this would make them feel even a little bit better, that was good enough for me.

Actually, this wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten something. A few weeks ago, during gym class at school, I collapsed suddenly. When I woke up, a doctor called me into the examination room alone and stood in silence for a long time while looking at my brain scan.

He was an older doctor. His voice was so gentle, yet his eyes, as they looked at me, were utterly frightening.

"Ms. Shiraishi, this isn't a situation where we can be too optimistic. Based on the current test results, there may be issues with his memory, cognition, and sense of direction. Please come back as soon as possible, with a parent or guardian."

At that moment, I asked him:

"Will I get better?"

The doctor fell silent for a long moment before he slowly continued.

“We can't say for sure yet. Further testing is needed, and we can also try treatment. However, even if insurance covers the tests themselves, when you factor in hospital visits, long-term medication, transportation costs, and caregiving, it’s no small burden for the average family.”

I sat in the examination room, staring at the test results, my fingers clenched. We were an ordinary family. Dad worked in administration at a small company, and Mom had a part-time job at a supermarket. Yota was still little, and from here on, his schooling and everyday living expenses would cost a lot of money.

So after leaving the doctor's office, I lied to my parents. I told them the doctor said it was nothing serious - just that I'd been tired lately.

The sky gradually grew darker. The people who had been at Suigō park were long gone, and the neighborhood association's tent had already been taken down. All that remained was the sound of rain and wind, and the rustle of leaves deep within the reed bed.

I finally decided that I want to go home. But the moment that thought crossed my mind, that thick white static noise crowded together in my head again. It was the most intense one yet, and in an instant, the world before my eyes turned black and white.

I stood frozen, gazing blankly around me. I couldn't recall where home was, where the station was, or where Mom and Dad were - nothing at all. I could only vaguely think that once they realized I was gone, they'd surely come looking for me.

Just like earlier, when I was looking for Yota.

As my consciousness began to fade, my body suddenly grew hot. Even though the rain was still falling and the wind was blowing, it felt as if only the inner part of my chest was on fire. Unable to bear the suffocating heat, I began to take off my wet clothes one by one. I took off my jacket, then my sweater, and finally ripped off the shirt that was clinging to my body.

I felt as if my body had grown just a little lighter. I staggered deeper into the reed bed, feeling the mud at my feet gradually swallow up the soles of my shoes. With every gust of wind, the shadows of the reeds swayed before my eyes. It was like an unfamiliar sea - yet, strangely, a gentle one.

I closed my eyes slowly in the damp breeze.

4

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the house where I'd lived for seventeen years. The indoor heating was warming the living room, and the thin film of condensation formed on the window glass. My mother sat by the tatami mat, a cup of ginger tea in her hands, gently moving it to Yota's lips.

The color had returned to Yota’s face, and he was covered with a thick blanket. After finishing his ginger tea, he asked in a soft voice.

"Mom, isn't sis back yet?"

Mother's hand froze. The tenderness on her face vanished in an instant.

"That child - don't worry about it. Let her stay out there and reflect on her actions. When she comes back home, she'll just pretend to be sick again and cause trouble."

Sitting on the sofa, my father looked at the window. It was still raining, falling even harder than it had that evening. He frowned and spoke in a low voice.

"Look at the time already. Shouldn't we go pick her up? If something's actually happened to her..."

Mother slammed the teacup she was holding down onto the floor. Yota flinched at the sound of it shattering.

"Go pick her up? After everything she did, you're still worried about her? Have you forgotten that Yota nearly died? Nobody's going today. Unless she really learns her lesson, she'll never understand that Yota isn't someone she gets to just leave behind."

Father's lips moved slightly, but in the end, he fell silent again. Mother gave a cold smile, her expression already convinced that I was only being stubborn.

"After all, what you're best at is pretending you don't remember. Let's see how long you can keep that up."

I stood beside my mother, trying to apologize. Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for upsetting you again. I promise I'll never do this again. Wanting to say those words, I reached out to touch her shoulder.

But my hand passed right through my mother's body.

I was stunned. Slowly lowering my eyes, I saw that my own hands had become transparent. "Ah", I thought. I really am dead now. So this is what it feels like to die. It wasn’t cold, nor was it hot - just incredibly light.

The next morning, the rain finally stopped. My father sat on the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another. There were dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all that night.

"It's been a whole night and Shion still hasn't come home. I'm really starting to think something's happened to her."

My mother wiped hard at the floor with a mop, cleaning up where the ginger tea had spilled the night before, as if nothing had happened.

"She's probably just hiding out at a friend's place. Running away from home - can you believe it? She's gotten so full of herself. If we leave it as is, she'll come back on her own with an apology."

Yota's fever had gone down completely. He was sitting on the tatami mat, holding a wooden music box. It was something my grandmother had left me before she passed away - the only thing I didn't want anyone else to touch.

When I was little, every time I cried, my grandmother would gently wind it up to play a melody. Then she would always stroke my head and say, “Shion, please grow up safe and sound.” Yota didn't know how to wind it, and fiddled with it for a while - while he couldn’t get it to work, his face flushed bright red.

Seeing this, my mother walked over and snatched the music box away. As she frowned and stared, her expression was as if she was looking at some old junk in her way.

"What's so great about this old thing? I'll buy you a new one."

Saying that, my mother, barely glancing at it, slams the music box to the floor. I leap forward like a madwoman, desperate to catch it. But I was nothing more than a spirit. The music box that held my childhood days shattered into pieces right before my eyes.

Just like my short, miserable life.

Just then, the intercom rang. It was Mrs. Sato from the neighborhood association. Standing at the front door, she told my mother that the annual spring festival would be held starting at 10:00 a.m. today in the plaza in front of the nearby shrine She said that families who had taken part in yesterday's nature observation event were asked to attend as a group, if possible, so the children could receive a blessing for their safety.

Hearing that, my mother's eyes suddenly lit up.

"I'm coming, of course. Perfect timing, actually. I'm sure she's hiding out near the shrine. Today's the day I give her a proper scolding, right in front of the neighbors. I'll make her understand once and for all that playing the poor little victim isn't going to work."

On the way to the shrine, every time my mother ran into someone she knew, they'd ask about Yota, and each time, she'd repeat the same complaints about me. That I'd never been able to accept Yota, that I'd faked being sick to avoid responsibility, that I'd abandoned my four-year-old brother in the reed field, trying to let him die. She even said I was an ungrateful child who'd run away from home and felt no remorse for it.

I walked along behind her, tears spilling down my face. Please, Mom, stop. I promise I won't be a burden to you anymore. But my voice reached no one, and all I could do was stand there and watch as she said those words to each person, one after another.

They soon arrived at the open square in front of the shrine. The food stalls for the spring festival were already lined up, and nearly everyone in town had gathered. Children ran around the stone lanterns, pinwheels in hand. The Shinto priest stood before the main hall, preparing to begin the prayer for peace.

But I was nowhere to be seen. My mother scanned the crowd, rolling up her sleeves as if bracing for a fight. If I showed up, she was going to humiliate me right then and there in a way I’d never forget.

5

The spring prayer ceremony was about to begin. It was just then, as the priest urged each family to hold up their prayer slips, that my mother suddenly clutched her chest and turned pale. An unexplained pounding in her heart had thrown off her breathing.

She waved her hand at Mr. Sato in irritation.

"Please wait a moment. My child isn't here yet. It wouldn't make sense to start the prayer without the whole family together. I'll go find them first."

Before her words had even finished, Yota - who had been holding his father's hand - suddenly shook it off. Stumbling, he ran to the riverbank behind the shrine, pointed toward the reed beds, and shouted.

"Hey, sis! That person over there looks just like you!"

His father frowned and hurried over there.

“What are you talking about? There's no way Shion was in the reed bed all this time.”

When Yota's father looked in the direction his son was pointing, he saw something eerily familiar floating in the muddy puddle. Every time the wind rustled the reeds, it moved slightly in the murky water - almost as if it was silently signaling them.

My father walked closer and parted the reeds with a branch. There, soaking in the muddy water, lay a school uniform jacket, its original color no longer recognizable. It was identical to the one I had been wearing yesterday. It was the same one I had been wearing yesterday.

My mother came up behind me as well. The moment she saw the jacket, instead of showing any concern, she just snorted with laughter.

"You're really quite the actress, aren't you? You knew we were coming to the shrine today, so you left these clothes here on purpose to scare us. If you think you can win our sympathy with a stunt like that, you're gravely mistaken."

Mother stood with her arms crossed, making no effort to hide her contempt. But Yota crouched down beside the mud, digging something out with his small hands. Eventually, he picked up a cracked, black object.

"Dad, your watch."

It was a digital watch. The surface was cracked, with its hands frozen at 11:03 the night before. It was the one my father had bought me. The color drained from his face in an instant.

Last night, with the early-spring cold snap, the nighttime temperature had dropped to nearly freezing. What would happen if a high school girl, dressed in light clothing, spent the night outside in the midst of such a storm and freezing temperatures? - no one understood better than her father. The instant the thought struck him, his whole body froze, as if hit by something with tremendous force.

The people around them started to notice something was wrong and began murmuring among themselves. “If that girl has been out in the cold all night, it could be life-threatening,” “We should have gone to get her yesterday,” “We’d better call the authorities right away.” Such comments came one after another.

The murmurs had reached her mother's ears too. Without even realizing it, her hands had begun to tremble. Even so, her tone remained firm.

"Don't be ridiculous. She's probably just hiding under a bridge nearby, watching to see how we react."

But there was a tremor in her voice that she herself hadn't even noticed. My father no longer looked at my mother. He stepped into the muddy swamp and began to desperately dig through the mud with both hands.

"Shion! Shion, can you hear me! If you're in here, answer me!"

My father’s voice was trembling violently. As he finally pushed through a particularly dense patch of reeds, the muddy water shifted slowly, and my thin white shirt emerged from beneath it. Then my pale, bloodless profile came into view.

The surroundings fell silent in an instant. The next moment, someone screamed and immediately called the police and emergency services. As if all his strength had drained away, my father sank straight to his knees. He reached out with a trembling hand, but couldn't bring himself to touch my lifeless face.

A hoarse voice escaped from my father’s throat, quickly turning into heart-wrenching sobs.

"Shion... Shion..."

The crying was full of despair, echoing across the riverbank. My mother stood frozen, the sneer that had been on her face gradually fading away. As if unable to accept the reality in front of her, she took one step, then another, toward me.

"No way... Kenichi, what are you doing? Wake her up. Make her get up on her own!"

My mother rushed over to me and, as she always did, grabbed me by the ear and tried to pull me up out of the mud. But the moment her hand touched my cold, stiff skin, she jerked it back. It was the kind of temperature you find only in a corpse.

"This is a lie - it has to be. Shion, please, wake up. I won't scold you anymore. Mom's not angry anymore, so please... open your eyes."

My mother finally looked at my face. My face - which had turned blue-purple, gone stiff, and would never answer again - was exposed before everyone. My mother’s sobs stopped, and in the next instant, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed on the spot.

The paramedics and police arrived quickly. The paramedics confirmed that I wasn't breathing, while the police officers set up a barrier around the area. My father tried again and again to get closer, but he was held back outside by it.

The crowd around us broke into an uproar. Someone shouted that there was a dead body, another covered their mouth and trembled. The way people looked at my parents shifted from surprise to contempt. The very people who, until yesterday, had been blaming me suddenly seemed to wake up, and began condemning my parents for leaving their underage daughter on a rainy night.

My father knelt there outside the police line, silently accepting those words. He didn't argue. He just kept staring at me in the reeds, as if he were waiting for me to open my eyes one more time and call out to him.

The sound of sirens grew closer. The police completely cut off this hellish place from the lively spring festival taking place in front of the shrine.

I floated in the air, staring coldly at it all.

Mom, look at this.

This time, I'm not lying.

I actually died, you know.

6

I was covered with white cloth, and was put into a cold vehicle. My father, looking as though the life had been drained out of him, followed close behind. My mother, having regained consciousness, lost self-control, grabbing the police officer's arm and screaming things that made no sense.

"It wasn't me, I didn't do it! She just refused to come home on her own. She was being stubborn, that's all. She's the one who did those terrible things out of jealousy toward Yota. Go investigate her. She's not the sweet little girl everyone thinks she is!"

The older police officer frowned and said in a stern voice,

“Ms. Shiraishi, please calm down. Your daughter, who has just passed away, is the victim. What we need to investigate is why she died under those circumstances.”

She suddenly burst out laughing in a high-pitched voice.

"The truth? I already know the truth. She brought this on herself. She's the one who ruined everything!"

Father turned around. His eyes red, he glared at Mother.

"Shut up!"

That was the first time I'd ever heard my father raise his voice at my mother like that. My mother was taken aback for a moment, but quickly grew even more unsettled.

"Are you seriously yelling at me, Kenichi? Feeling sorry for her now, after everything? Have you forgotten? Yota almost died. He's only four years old. He's the one we need to protect right now, isn't he?!"

My father closed his eyes as if exhausted. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"So what happens to Shion, then? She's our kid too, isn't she?"

My mother's sobs gradually grew fainter. As if pierced by those words, she froze on the spot. But by then, this time, it was already too late for anything I say to matter.

The police brought his parents back home to question them. Never before had so many uniformed officers entered their small house. Yota, terrified, curled up in the corner of the room, unable to utter a sound.

A young policewoman crouched down in front of Yota and spoke to him gently.

“Yota, do you remember what happened after you went to reed beds with your older sister?”

Yota sniffled and said in a small voice.

"Sis said her head hurt. She said she could see a bunch of white things floating around inside her head. Then she just crouched down and stopped moving. I kept calling her, but she wouldn't answer, and I got scared, so I ran here by myself."

Everyone present held their breath. My mother's body trembled, her face turning white as paper. She had finally remembered - that yesterday, by the reeds, I had tried to explain the very same thing.

But that time, all my mother gave me was a slap in the face.

The police officers exchanged glances. One of them looked at the parents and said in a voice even lower than before.

“You left a minor out there in the rain. This can't simply be dismissed as a family argument. We need to confirm what her physical condition was before she died and look into how she was being cared for and supervised at home.”

My father nodded weakly. With my parents' consent, the police entered my room and searched the desk and its drawers. Before long, they found a locked diary in one of the drawers, along with a brain scan report that had been tucked away at the very bottom.

The report noted a suspected case of early-onset neurodegenerative disease, with possible memory impairment and cognitive decline. That section had been underlined over and over by my red pen. The police opened the small lock with police tools, sealing the diary and the report in clear evidence bags. The older officer flipped through a few pages, his expression growing heavy, before handing a copy to my parents.

It described everything - from the moment I realized I was sick until I hid it and gave up on treatment.

**March 5th, Sunny.**

I fainted again during PE class today. The teacher said I might have some rare disease. Apparently, I could start gradually losing my memory, forgetting how to get to places, even forgetting the people close to me. She said the tests and treatment would be tough. I didn't tell Mom and Dad. They're already dealing with enough because of Yota. I don't want to be a burden on top of that.

The teacher said that memories fade away little by little, just like they’re being erased with an eraser. If I could forget the things I don’t like, maybe that would make things easier.

**March 10th, Cloudy.**

Today, I couldn't help Yota get dressed right away again, and Mom got mad at me. She said I've gotten so slow lately, that I can't do anything right. I really wanted to tell her: “That’s not true, Mom. I’m just sick.” But I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.

After school, I couldn't remember the way home and ended up wandering around near the station for thirty minutes. I finally managed to figure out the way, but that white noise in my head feels like it's getting worse.

**March 15th, Rainy.**

Yota slightly broke Grandma's music box. I only said one word to him about it, but Mom hit me. She told me that since I'm the older sister, I shouldn't get angry at him as if we were equals.

But Mom doesn't know that the music box is the one and only thing that lets me clearly remember Grandma. It’s scary. I’m afraid that someday I’ll even forget what Grandma looks like.

**March 20th, Spring Nature Observation Walk.**

I took my medication before heading out. I packed a towel and some candy in Yota's bag. I also wrote in my phone's notes: don't forget Yota, don't let go of his hand.

I was truly terrified. I was afraid I’d have some kind of attack outside and lose Yota. And yet, just as I thought, I did forget about him. I feel so sorry for Dad, Mom, and Yota. I wish it had been me who went missing instead.

Dear Mom and Dad,

If you ever come to read this diary, please don't be sad. I’m just here with you in a different way. I think the name "Yota" is a beautiful name. If you would, please live a safe and happy life.

I'm sorry. And love you.

The last page of the diary was wet with tears and had blurred ink. Father held the copy of it in both hands, as if he were bearing the weight of a thousand-pound stone. My father, who rarely cried, was weeping like a child, his whole body trembling.

"She was only seventeen... How much was she carrying all by herself? I'm her father, and yet I didn't notice a thing. I'm the worst."

With that, my father began slapping his own cheek, again and again. Once, then again. Before long, blood seeped into the corner of his mouth. My mother remained seated on the floor, staring blankly at the copy of the test report. She kept running her finger over the name “Shion Shiraishi” written there, over and over again.

As if she had finally understood what she had lost.

"I killed Shion. I'm the one who killed her."

My mother suddenly jumped to her feet like she'd gone mad and ran to the kitchen. My father hurried after her, and clung to her waist.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Before I knew it, my mother had a knife in her hand.

"Let me die! I can't go on living anymore. I'm a murderer!"

My mother thrashed about, screaming and crying until her voice went hoarse, striking her own head again and again with the back of the knife. Her desperate cries echoed throughout the room. I floated near the ceiling, looking down at the pitiful sight. And yet, in my heart, there wasn't even a trace of the satisfaction I should have felt at seeing my revenge fulfilled.

Only an endless sadness remained.

What good would it do to learn the truth now? There's no going back for me. No matter how much my father and mother cry, no matter how deeply they regret it, they'll never again hear me call out "Dad" or "Mom."

7

My funeral was a simple affair. My mother’s mental state was nearing its breaking point, leaving my father to handle the preparations alone. My father’s back - which looked as if he had aged twenty years overnight - had become much more hunched than before, and his temples were showing more gray.

There weren’t many people in attendance. Just a few relatives, Mr. Sato and a few people from the neighborhood. In their eyes, as they looked at my parents, there was sympathy, there was pity. But more than that, there was a contempt and condemnation they couldn't hide.

“She was still so young,” someone said. “I always thought Minako’s sharp tongue would get her into serious trouble someday,” whispered someone else. “It wasn’t just her words - her heart was cold, too,” said another voice. “How could her own parents treat their daughter like that?”

My mother was sitting in front of my portrait, dressed in black mourning clothes, her face drained of color. She wasn’t crying or thrashing about - she was just staring at me in the photo. It was as if her very soul had gone with me. Yota was being held by a distant relative - he didn’t yet understand what death was and was looking at my photo with a puzzled expression.

"Mom, why is Sis sleeping? When will she wake up and play with me, Yota?"

Those words shattered the silence my mother had been holding together. She couldn't bear it any longer, and collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Shion, I'm sorry. It's Mom's fault. Please, come back to me. Just open your eyes one more time."

My mother wept, striking her chest again and again, as if she thought that doing so might somehow ease the ache inside her. My father came closer to help her, but she violently shoved his hand away.

"Don't touch me! Kenichi, you're just as guilty. You just stood there watching while I screamed at her, hit her, punished her. Why didn't you stop me? If you'd taken Shion's side even once, she wouldn't be dead!"

His body trembled violently, but he had no response.

The funeral ended with a heavy atmosphere. Once we got home, my father shut himself in his study, smoking one cigarette after another. My mother locked herself in my room, clutching my mud-soaked uniform jacket, calling my name over and over again.

From that house, the sounds of arguing had vanished ever since. But the now-silent house felt like a hell far colder than before. One late night, my father came out of his study. In his hand, he clutched the shards of the music box my mother had broken.

Father sat beneath the living room light and put on his reading glasses. With hands trembling from guilt, he clumsily tried to piece the fragments together, one by one. Glue stuck to his fingers, sharp splinters of wood pricked his skin. Yet, as if to ignore the pain, he simply continued this almost pointless task in silence.

But the music box was never fixed, in the end. And the crack that had formed between my father and mother never healed again, either.

The house had never exactly been a warm one, but after my funeral, it turned into a cage from which no one could escape.

8

After that, my parents began a cold war. They started sleeping in separate bedrooms and exchanged only a handful of words each day. The house fell deathly silent, and Yota was the only bridge connecting the two of them - yet at the same time, he became the spark that fueled their next fight.

One day, Yota came down with a high fever. His little face was bright red, and he kept calling out Mama over and over as he lay in bed. My father rushed into the room, urging my mother to hurry and get him to the hospital. But she just sat there on my bed, clutching my pillow, refusing to move.

“I wonder if Shion felt this kind of pain when she was sick, too. Going to the hospital all by herself, holding a report she couldn’t read - That child must have been scared.”

My father's eyes reddened, and his voice came out hoarse.

"Please, stop. Right now, we need to get Yota to a hospital."

Her mother suddenly burst out laughing. Even as she laughed, tears spilled down her face.

"That's right. We have to save our child. We have to save our Yota. But Shion was our child too, wasn't she? Tell me, Kenichi. On the day of the spring nature walk, when I left that child out there in the rain, where were you? When I was hitting that child and yelling at her - what were you doing?"

His face tightened with pain as he closed his eyes.

"I thought you were just angry. And I figured Shion was just being stubborn, too..."

My mother interrupted with a voice that sounded like a scream.

"Thought? No, that's not it. You were just a coward, thinking only of yourself. You were afraid I'd blame you. You couldn't stand the thought of this house falling apart. You just wanted to keep playing the good husband. You’re just like me - you killed that child, too."

My father responded weakly.

"No... Because, I loved Shion too."

His mother gave a cold smile.

"Love? You call it love to just stand by and let her die? If that's what your love means, I don't want it."

With that, my mother grabbed her coat, picked up the barely conscious Yota and rushed out of the house. My father collapsed, covered his face with both hands, and let out a stifled sob. I hovered in front of him, watching him suffer, yet my heart remained strangely calm.

My mother was right. No one was completely uninvolved in this tragedy. Her anger, my father’s silence, my little brother's remark, and the illness I could never bring myself to mention - all of it piled up together and drove me out into that rainy night.

After coming back from the hospital, my mother set the divorce papers down on the kitchen table. "I don't want to see you anymore. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of how we cornered Shion. I can't stay in this house any longer."

My father didn't try to stop her. He simply signed the papers without a word, asking for neither the house nor the savings. He never even brought up the subject of dividing our assets. He left everything - the house, the bank accounts -to my mother and Yota. The only things he took with him were the music box that never worked and my diary.

The day my father left home, it was raining - just like the day I died. He stood beneath the apartment building with his black umbrella, and looked up just once at the home he'd lived in for over twenty years. Then, shoulders hunched, he disappeared into the rain.

He never came back again.

I went along with my father. He rented a room in an old wooden apartment building behind the station. It was a tiny, four-and-a-half-mat room with no bath, and the toilet and washing machine were shared with the other tenants. The wallpaper had yellowed with damp and was peeling away in places, and every time a train passed at night, the window frame gave a faint rattle.

My father found work hauling materials at a construction site. Every day, he worked himself until he was nothing but an empty shell, drained of all life. At night, he'd sip the cheapest shochu he could find, reading my diary over and over, weeping quietly so no one would hear.

His life had become a kind of self-punishment, and he kept punishing himself that way, day after day.

Meanwhile, my mother who stayed behind in the house was by no means at ease. She had changed into a different person altogether. She stopped bothering with her appearance, stopped laughing, and stopped yelling at Yota. She poured all her love into him, but her eyes were always searching for the shadow of someone else standing just beyond him.

My mother bought Yota lots of clothes, and every time she did, she would stand motionless in front of my empty closet for a long time. Even when she set the table with a meal, there were times when she couldn’t bring herself to eat a single bite. At night, she would sometimes sneak into my room, lie down on my cold bed, and stay there motionless all night long.

Both of them were living in the past. Unable to escape the shadow of my death, they continued to atone for their sins every day in different ways. And my soul, which should have long since faded away, remained bound to this world by their regret and longing for me.

I became an eternal bystander who would follow them wherever they went in their daily lives.

9

Ten years had passed. Yota was now fourteen. Tall and slender like father, though his eyes were a bit like mine. He did well in school and was very well-behaved. He was what adults call a “model child from another family.”

And yet Yota didn't seem happy in the least. The house was far too quiet - so quiet you could almost hear the dust fall. It was in that silence that Yota grew up, slowly learning to read the expressions of the people around him.

My mother was no longer the kind of person who would scream at the top of her lungs like she used to. She spoke less, and her face always bore a lingering look of sadness. She was very kind to Yota - perhaps even too kind. But that kindness felt as though it were coming through a thick pane of glass - though it was warm, it left a certain distance that made it hard to get close to her.

Yota knew he'd once had an older sister - one who had disappeared forever when he was four. Not a single photo of her was shown anywhere in the house. Everything connected to her had been shut away in one room, and that room had become the forbidden place in their home.

Yota had seen his mother go into that room alone late at night many times. Every morning, she'd emerge with her eyes red and swollen. What was in that room, he wondered. And his sister - the one no one ever talked about - what kind of person had she really been? Yota had always wanted to know.

On his fourteenth birthday, while his mother was out shopping, Yota took the spare key from the kitchen drawer and opened the door that had been shut for so long. The curtains were drawn, and the air smelled of mothballs and dust. Inside, everything was frozen in time from the day I turned seventeen - the pale wallpaper, an old idol poster still hanging above the desk, the small vanity mirror.

Yota immediately noticed the locked drawer in the desk. After trying the spare key a few times, he finally heard a soft click. Inside the drawer, there were none of the sweets or toys he'd imagined. All that lay there was a diary with a yellowed cover and a folded brain scan report.

Yota picked up the diary and opened it to the first page. At the sight of that familiar handwriting, he caught his breath. It wasn't my handwriting.

It was my mother's handwriting.

**Shion. Mom wants to see you.**

Today is Yota's fourteenth birthday. He's starting to look more and more like you. It's been ten years now since you left.

Not a single day has gone by in these past ten years that I haven't regretted it. If I could turn back time, I would never yell at you again. I would never hit you again. No matter how much it cost, I would take you to see the very best doctors and get you cured. But there's no such thing as "if" anymore.

"Did you know? Dad's gone too, by the way. The year after you disappeared, he was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. But he never told anyone, and he refused treatment."

My father passed away quietly, alone, in an old apartment that didn't even have a bath. When the police found him, he was holding your diary in one hand and a broken music box in the other.

Shion, Mom was wrong. Mom is the one who tore this family apart. Now Mom has nothing left. Only Yota.

I'll raise Yota right, for both of you - for you, and for his father. I want him to live a full life, for the both of you. Will you watch over us from up there? And... will you ever forgive me?

Yota's tears fell onto the diary, one drop, then another. At last, he understood. Why his mother always seemed so sad. Why his father had vanished without a word of explanation. Why this quiet house had always felt as though an endless rain lay buried within it.

I had been living all along in the ruins left behind by my sister's death.

Yota closed the diary and wiped away his tears. Then he put everything back exactly where it had been. When he stepped out of the room, his mother had just come home, shopping bags in hand. The moment she saw him emerging from that room, the bags slipped from her grasp. Tomatoes and eggs rolled across the floor as her lips trembled and the color drained from her face.

"You..."

Yota didn't say anything. He simply walked over, crouched down, and picked up what had fallen to the floor. Then he stood in front of his mother, spread his arms wide, and held her tight.

"Mom, I'll be by your side from now on."

My mother couldn't hold back anymore. She threw her arms around Yota and burst into tears. Ten years of guilt, longing, and pain had built up inside her, and in that moment, they finally found a way out.

I hovered beside the two of them, feeling as though real light had finally found its way into this house for the first time.

10

I floated beside them, watching my mother and Yota hold each other and cry. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on them -and on me, too. My body was growing fainter, more transparent by the moment, as if the chains that had bound me for ten long years were finally, slowly, coming undone.

I always thought I'd hate my parents forever. But in the end, what remained was exhaustion rather than resentment. I simply didn't want to stay trapped in that rainy night any longer.

You don't have to be afraid of forgetting anymore. You don't have to keep proving, over and over, that you're not lying.

For a moment, I thought I saw my grandmother. She stood there in a warm glow, reaching out her hand to me - just as I remembered her: her hair streaked with gray, and the fine lines that creased the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

My grandmother called out to me gently.

"Shion, come here."

I stared at my grandmother in a daze. Beyond her stood my father as well - no longer the stooped, worn-out middle-aged man I knew, but the young father from my memories, the one who used to lift me high into the air.

In his hands, my father held the music box, now repaired. He gently turned the key, and a familiar melody drifted out into the light.

I laughed and flew off toward that warm light.

Goodbye, Mom, Yota.

Please live on safely, for my sake too.