Chapter 26

What will you think, Mother, as you read this letter? What will you feel?

Sorrow? Anguish? Resentment? Or perhaps you won't feel anything at all. The truth is, I still don't really know you. No, the more time passes, the harder it is to know you. The Mother I remember from my childhood and the Mother you are now are so different that I've sometimes genuinely wondered if I had two stepmothers instead of one.

Did you hold different thoughts when I was young? Before Father died, during those happy years—were you different then because you were free of the burdens and worries you carry now?

I have no memories of my birth mother, but my heart is full of memories of you. I remember you calling me over when I was running around the park and opening my lunchbox for me. I remember you holding my hand and walking with me through the amusement park. I remember you sitting beside me on Christmas Eve, when I was too excited and too wired to fall asleep, quietly patting my chest.

On Children's Day, on my birthday, on the last day of the year and the first day of the new year. On every day my busy father couldn't be with me, you were always at my side. Because of that, I was able to grow up without loneliness.

But the year I turned nine, everything changed.

After Father passed, after you inherited his estate and gained control of the company; the way you treated me changed.

The mother who smiled at me was gone. The mother who held my hand and walked beside me—she no longer existed.

No. You vanished from before my eyes.

And I tried to understand.

You must have been frantically busy, just as Father had been, trying to manage everything you had inherited. With two parents now down to one, I told myself it couldn't be helped. You can't be in two places at once.

When you moved me from the home we shared to this place, I tried to understand that, too. Our old house had so many guests. And those guests wouldn't leave the young child I was alone. They were probably after the inheritance I stood to receive—adults who tried every way to sweet-talk me, who at the very least tried to get close to a little kid. So I did my best to believe that you had done it to protect me.

Yes, I did my best. Over and over, I kept trying... all while praying that just once, just once, you would come see me in this vast and hollow space.

At some point, I was forbidden to go outside. The servants said I was too young to wander around alone. The cold servants wouldn't hold my hand the way you used to. They wouldn't go outside with me. Whenever I wanted anything, all they ever said was, "You may not, miss," and turned me away.

I still told myself it was fine. It must have all been done according to your wishes, because you loved me. Isn't that right?

Because you loved me so much, you must have given the servants those strict orders to keep them from taking advantage of a child as young as I was. Wasn't that it?

But I'm sorry. I was too young then for thoughts that deep.

The unresolved anger inside me had no choice but to erupt. I bit the servants who tried to change my clothes. I scratched the maids. I grabbed things and threw them. I tore pillows and blankets apart. I ripped down curtains.

I acted the same way once I started school. To all the children I hurt, in ways big and small, I feel nothing but regret now. But even if I am sorry, I no longer have any chance to apologize. And even if I wanted to say it with all my heart, there isn't a single person left at my side.

Actually, there was one person who refused to leave my side during those years.

He was an older boy, one grade above me. While I was lashing out wildly at anyone who came near, he spoke to me with kindness.

He said, "Your heart must hurt."

He sat beside me and said something else, too.

"But if you act like that, no one will ever come close to you."

He told me his own mother ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had suffered from a sickness of the heart, like I did. He said that was why he could understand. Thinking about it now, I can't even imagine how much a ten-year-old child must have already endured to be able to say such things.

But it seems you misunderstood, Mother.

You found some way to separate that child from me. I still don't know what method you used. But I did hear the whispers the other kids traded behind my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back:

Because he stayed close to me, that boy's father's company went bankrupt.

If any of them got close to me, something just as bad would happen to them.

Maybe it was because it was an expensive private elementary school. The older boy who always used to talk with me so warmly—one day he just stopped coming to school. Did you transfer him?

And so, I was alone again.

And somewhere along the way, I gave up. No matter how hard I struggled, no matter how much I screamed during class and ran out into the hallway, the teachers reacted to none of it. Even if I went home in the middle of the day, even if I just didn't show up at school—they never marked me absent. When I graduated elementary school and received a perfect-attendance award, I was so dumbfounded I didn't know what to do. The award came by mail, of course. At the graduation ceremony itself, all I did was stand there by myself.

Over those years, I learned things I never wanted to learn.

I learned how to do nothing.

I learned how not to speak, and how to command people without words.

Don't worry. Not a single one of those things was taught to me by anyone. I figured them all out on my own, in the simple passage of time.

Quietly, obediently. As if I wasn't there at all.

By the time I graduated elementary school, that was the person I had become.

And then you came to see me.

A servant I had never met opened my door, walked in, and introduced herself. Said she would be the one to take care of me going forward. I felt nothing in particular. In the end, she was just another servant.

But when she said you were waiting downstairs, I was so surprised I couldn't think.

Mother—you will never, ever understand what I felt in that moment.

I was so happy. So happy that I felt like singing, just at the thought of finally seeing you.

But I had already forgotten how to be that happy.

I rose quietly and followed the maid down to the first floor. You were sitting in the guest room.

When you saw me, you held out both your hands and said:

"Come here, my daughter."

And I did.

Then, as if I hadn't aged a day, I threw myself into your arms. Ah, yes, I can't deny it. In that moment, I really was happy enough to remember things I had forgotten. Your arms were just as warm as I remembered from my childhood. So deeply comforting.

You and I must have talked about something.

But I can't remember it well. Because I was too busy staring at your face as you looked down at me. That moment was so happy that I dared to hope, just foolishly, that maybe you'd come to live with me from then on.

But the moment ended far too soon.

As I wept and clung to you, you gently pushed me away, then left the mansion as if you felt no lingering attachment at all.

And you didn't return for three months.

......I have tried to understand why you do such things to me.

You must do it out of genuine care for me, right? Because you love me so much,

so much you wanted to make me yours alone?

What was my sudden engagement about? Did you arrange it to give me my fiancé's company as a gift? Because you love me so much, did you mean to leave me with even more wealth than the fortune I'll inherit?

It's all because you love me, right? Because you love me that much, so much I'm the apple of your eye, is that not why you tried to make me yours and yours alone?

Is this, too, just the delusion of a girl left all by herself? These days, I spend my free time filling a notebook with my delusions. Fortunately, the servants respect my time alone. Or do they just not care at all?

Yes. I will believe that you love me.

I will believe you love me, and that is why I am leaving this letter.

Mother, I love you, too.

And I loathe you so much.

If you loved me, why did you use such methods? Did you really have to push everyone away from me, make it impossible for anyone to approach, and set things up so that only you could reach me? Did it have to be that way? Did you hate seeing your beloved daughter grow up happy so much? Did all my happiness have to come from you and only you?

Ah, yes. That's it. The more I think about you, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the more two feelings rise up at the same time until I feel like I'm losing my mind. The image of the mother who loved me since I was small and the image of the monster who torments me like this are so tangled together that I can no longer tell who is who.

If your goal was to break me, then you have succeeded perfectly.

And that is the reason I'm leaving this letter.

Because I loathe you. And because I have come to want to torment you, too.

But how can someone who possesses nothing torment you? Could I ever move your feelings the way you've moved mine?

I don't know. No, honestly, I can't think of a single way.

So I will beg you like this instead.

Please, let it be that you truly loved me.

That you really did want to make me yours alone.

At first, I even thought about completely breaking down, like I did as a child. Thought about just letting go of everything, hurting everyone beside me, getting hurt in return, and bleeding out to die like back in the days when I didn't know anything.

But I don't think that's right, after all.

Back when I was little, I hurt too many people. And now I'm too exhausted to do it again.

So I decided to try a slightly different way.

Mother, did you know? It seems Father had anticipated, at least a little, that you might act like this.

He arranged a few legal measures so that I could access my inheritance early. I suppose that's how I was able to purchase, through illegal channels, a sleeping pill containing barbital, something a minor can't buy, a drug no longer prescribed today.

I won't go into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠details of the method. This is a surprise event for you, after all. Go ahead and try to figure it out.

If you've read this far, I think you can guess why I chose to end my life.

Because among everything I've inherited, the thing you treasure most, I suspect, is 'me' itself.

And so, as the owner of that possession, I've decided to take it out of your hands.

By the time you read this letter, I'll have already gone somewhere far away. What will you feel as you read it? Sorrow? Anguish? No. Perhaps you really won't feel anything at all.

But even so, I have just one wish. Please, let it be that you love me. Love me as much as I loved you when I was a child.

And so, Mother. Please.

Please, stay healthy for a very, very long time.

And during that long time, absolutely never forget me.

Never. Forget me.

That is all I ask.

P.S.

Still, it does feel a little sad.

Even if it was just for a single week of my short life, I wanted to live an ordinary life like everyone else.

But I guess I won't be able to do that now.