The van rolled to a gentle stop in front of the familiar countryside house — small, a little crooked on one side, with creeping ivy curling up the fence. It hadn't changed. But Ethan had.
As he stepped out of the van, the afternoon sun warmed his skin, and the breeze rustled his skirt against his legs. The gravel crunched softly beneath his shoes — a sound that felt both nostalgic and foreign. He stood still for a moment, staring at the wooden porch.
The last time I was here… I wasn't her.
Before he could take a full step, the sound of a screen door squeaking broke the silence.
"Lily…?"
It was old Mrs. Fukuda, their next-door neighbor — a sweet woman with bad knees and sharper eyes than she let on. She stood at her porch with a watering can in hand, staring like she was seeing a ghost.
Ethan managed a weak smile. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fukuda."
"You're—walking," she gasped. The watering can tipped in her hand, spilling water across her slippers. "Oh my heavens… you're standing!"
The door next to hers opened, and another neighbor — Mr. Yamano, who ran the local repair shop — leaned out. "What's going on?"
Mrs. Fukuda called out, voice rising. "It's Lily! She's walking again!"
Within minutes, other neighbors started appearing — faces Ethan had known for years. Some had dropped by after the funeral, others during long, quiet days when Lily was still bedbound. But now, their eyes were wide with disbelief.
"How is this possible?"
"Did you get surgery?"
"You were in that chair for years…"
"Miracle. It must be a miracle."
Ethan felt his body tense. The attention made his skin crawl. He wasn't Lily. He didn't deserve their praise, their awe.
Masaru gently placed a hand on his back. "Let's go inside. It's been a long day."
He nodded quickly and followed him through the front door, trying to ignore the excited murmurs still buzzing outside.
Inside the House
The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
Inside, it smelled the same — wood, old tatami mats, and faint incense from the tiny family altar that Masaru still kept in the corner. There were photos on the shelves. Family trinkets. Drawings from when Lily was little.
No trace of Ethan anywhere.
Ethan wandered down the hallway toward the bedroom — her bedroom — the room he now had to claim. His hand brushed the faded wallpaper. He passed the spot where his old futon used to lie. That, too, was gone.
He stepped into her room and dropped the duffel bag by the closet. The air was thick with memories — but not his.
The desk was neatly arranged. A stack of manga. A framed photo of Lily and their mom. A music box shaped like a moon that hadn't worked in years.
He turned to the mirror hanging on the closet door. For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he looked.
There she was. Pale. Beautiful. Frail and strong all at once. Her face—his face, now—stared back with eyes that didn't quite belong to either of them.
"I'm home," he whispered, voice trembling.
But no one was there to welcome him back.