The cicadas screamed outside the window, their endless chorus filling the summer air.
Hikari sat at the table, swinging her small legs as she ate the pudding I had bought for her. She hummed softly—an old tune.
My chest tightened.
That melody… it was the song she used to sing whenever she wanted to calm me down.
I finally spoke.
"Hikari… who taught you that song?"
She looked up at me with those familiar eyes. "You forgot? I taught it to you when you were nervous before exams."
My spoon clattered against the bowl.
It was impossible. That was five years ago. She hadn't even been born yet.
I forced a laugh, though my throat was dry. "You must've heard it somewhere…"
But she just smiled mischievously, as if she knew I was lying to myself.
"Papa, don't you believe me?" she whispered. "I'm me… but I'm also her. I came back because I didn't want to leave you alone."
Her words tore through the fragile wall I had built these past years.
Yes, she was my daughter. I had fed her, bathed her, watched her grow.
But the way she looked at me now—the same gentle gaze as my first love—shattered everything.
I grabbed my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat.
"Hikari… you're just a child. You can't say things like that…"
She leaned closer, her voice soft yet unshakably certain.
"But I remember everything. The night under the stars… the way you held me… the promise I made before my last breath."
Her tiny hand reached out, touching mine.
It was warm. Familiar. Dangerous.
For the first time since her birth, I didn't see my daughter.
I saw her.
And that terrified me more than anything.