Days flew by and somehow it was already the end of March. Everything had been going… too well, honestly. And you know what? That scared the hell out of me.
I mean, as someone who spent most of his life stumbling from one mess to another, this kind of peaceful stretch felt like sitting in the eye of a storm. Too quiet. Too calm. Like fate was holding its breath before dropping a grand piano on my head.
It was Sunday — not that it made a difference for us. Life in a family-run restaurant meant no such thing as a fixed holiday.
But hey, Rin was off school, and with the cherry blossoms in full bloom, we figured why not squeeze in a little hanami trip that evening.
So, the three of us — me, Keiko, and Rin — found ourselves back at the same old park we used to visit years ago.
I laid out the mat while Keiko and Rin unpacked the food. It was colder than we expected. Evening temperatures drop fast in spring, and most of the crowd had cleared out already.
A shame, really — the blossoms looked perfect tonight, the petals shimmering faintly under the park lamps.
“Sorry, Rin. Not exactly the prime time for this,” I mumbled.
Rin sighed, pulling her jacket closer. “Nothing we can do about it.”
Keiko sat down beside us with a gentle smile. The air was quiet — not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of stillness you don’t realize you’ve missed until it’s back.
“It’s been forever since we did this,” Keiko murmured.
“Yeah…” I stretched out, staring up at the branches overhead. “Last time was when Rin was what, two?”
Keiko’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That long? How the hell do you even remember that?”
While she spoke, Rin was barely paying attention — busy munching on karaage while scrolling her phone. Probably texting Chiyori or beating some poor player in a game. Some things never change.
I reached into my wallet, fishing out an old, worn photo. The colors faded a little but you could still see it — a younger me, Keiko, and baby Rin in front of a massive sakura tree.
“Look. Says 2011,” I said, showing it to Keiko.
She gasped. “What? Wait — you… you still have this?”
I shrugged. “Of course. It’s one of my treasures.”
Keiko stared at the photo like it held the weight of a lifetime. “I didn’t think you’d… keep it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I smiled awkwardly. “It’s the only family photo we’ve got.”
She fell quiet, her expression soft. Then she did something unexpected — she took out her phone and snapped a picture of the photo.
I grinned, teasing. “What’s that for? Don’t tell me you lost your copy.”
Keiko flushed a little. “I… I might’ve misplaced it.”
And just as I was about to poke fun at her, Rin — with all the bluntness of a wrecking ball — chimed in without looking up from her phone.
“Mom tore that photo up. Back when you cheated.”
Ouch.
“Rin!” Keiko scolded, clearly embarrassed.
But Rin didn’t let up. “It’s true. Why are you going too soft on Dad lately?”
Keiko sighed heavily, and for a moment, I felt like a rotten nail in the middle of an old wooden floor. “I’m sorry…” I muttered, guilt making my throat dry.
The conversation fizzled out after that, the silence thick but not unbearable. We continued eating, the rustle of petals and the distant hum of the city filling the gaps between us.
Determined not to let the moment crumble entirely, I forced a grin. “Hey… let’s take a photo together?”
Keiko lit up. “Yeah, let’s.”
Rin groaned. “It’s gonna look weird.”
“Just one, Rin,” Keiko coaxed.
Eventually, she relented, and we huddled together for a photo. Keiko smiled, I threw up a peace sign, and Rin half-smiled, half-scowled like the tsundere she was.
I looked at the photo after. And yeah — it was weird. Three girls under a sakura tree. Like a mom with her two daughters.
I sighed.
“Told ya,” Rin deadpanned. “Looks weird.”
It stung more than it should’ve. My chest tightened.
But then Keiko, unexpectedly, spoke up.
“So what? It’s still a family photo.”
That hit me harder than I expected. Since when did Keiko get this good at making me emotional? I blinked hard and managed a soft, “Thanks.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For… still letting me be your husband,” I said, then glanced at Rin, “and your dad.”
Keiko smiled, the kind that made the cold night feel a little warmer. Rin crossed her arms. “Still not forgiving you.”
“I know.”
And just like that, the awkwardness loosened its grip. We finished our food in silence, watching the blossoms dance in the chilly wind. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t like before. But maybe it didn’t need to be.
Even if it felt like a family hanging together by frayed threads… tonight, it was enough.
And for the first time in years, as pink petals drifted down around us, I allowed myself to believe that maybe — just maybe — we’d get through this.