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“It’s as if you don’t know me.”
He expects me to be scared of some punks. I’m not running and I’m certainly not hiding. Tomorrow, I have to leave Leticia to go to the funeral of Aoto’s wife, but apart from that I’m not leaving her side nor this hospital.
“It’s been a sad chain of events. I can’t believe that a business deal ended up like this, but when you’re powerful that’s what happens—people always want to bring you down.”
He doesn’t say a word, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“No. We don’t need you here. I managed to get that specialist you told me about to come here. I cut his holiday short for a heavy price, but if it means Leticia recovers, it’s worth every penny.”
Dr. Kiyoshi Takahashi is a renowned hematologist and expert in blood-related disorders, including blood poisoning. His reputation for groundbreaking research and successful treatments has earned him recognition not only in Japan but also on an international scale.
“With Dr. Takahashi there’s no denying that she’s in good hands. Better than if I were there.”
I chuckle at the idea of it. They say that Lucas is the emotional doctor, one of a rare breed. The type that cares about his patients, not about winning awards, which is why he hasn’tclimbed up the ladder the way some of his peers have done. I just think of him as my big brother.
“You sound tired, Diego. You should get some rest.”
I sit up and look at the reflection in the mirror in front of me, and realize he’s right. I would never be seen by anyone without a shave and the idea of not wearing a suit didn’t sit right with me neither, but for the last few days my vanity has been the last thing on my mind. I want to make sure Leticia is well, it’s the only thing that gives me some peace of mind.
“I’m not going to ask how things are going back home.”
“You don’t want to know. Just take care of Leticia and come back home soon, little brother.”
I need to get down on my knees and beg Leticia for forgiveness for being such a dick. Besides, there’s no rush. For now, my only concern is making sure the monsters who tried to kill my wife pay for their sins.
Istand in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of incense and the weight of collective grief. The funeral of Hana is about to begin, and the atmosphere a reflection of the loss we all feel. It's been only a few days since her passing, and the wound is still fresh.
The room is filled with tasteful floral arrangements, their colors muted. Soft, ambient light spills from elegant fixtures, casting a gentle glow on the mourners who have gathered to pay their respects. The attendees are dressed in traditional mourning attire. They move about quietly, with their footsteps hushed as if the very ground we walk on mourns with us.
I wear a dark, formal kimono, a symbol of themofukuattire designated for the immediate family. The fabric is smooth but heavy. Aoto is standing nearby, in a similar outfit, his face saddened with lines of sorrow. His two sons wear the same muted attire, their expressions a mirror to the heaviness in the room. Ryola was with us that night, but his other son, Ren, didn’t attend, because he was in China for some other meeting representing the family.
The Buddhist priest is in ceremonial robes, he nods to indicate that he is going to start the ritual. The service begins with soft prayers and then the incense is lit. I watch as others do, the smoke rising in the air.
Friends and family approach to offer condolences. The rituals progress, and the room is filled with a quiet tension. As the priest continues, rain taps against the windows, providing a melancholic backdrop.
Outside the room, a courtyard is filled with stone lanterns and a carefully tended gardens awaits. The procession moves silently, the only sounds are the sobs of those who mourn and the soft shuffle of feet against gravel.
The crematorium comes into view, and the attendees gather in a semicircle, the funeral taking its final steps towards the inevitable farewell. The cremation becomes a focal point. I feel a lump in my throat as the reality of the situation sets in.
As the flames consume what remains of her body, the room falls in silence. The only sound is the crackling of the fire.
Outside the crematorium, the attendees gather once more. The funeral, with its rituals and customs, has come to a close, but the journey toward healing has just begun.
The mourners disperse, leaving the courtyard, and the memories of a beloved wife and mother will live on in the hearts of those she touched.
Two days later, friends and family gather for a traditional Japanese "koden" ceremony. The venue is filled with photographs of the departed. The sons, dressed in subdued mourning attire, welcome guests with a deep bow, acknowledging the condolences offered. The air is a blend of sorrow and a quiet celebration of the life that once was.
As the attendees share memories and anecdotes, the room is filled with laughter and tears. Hana’s best friend, Emi, asks the room for silence as she delivers a speech about her best friend.
"Remember this moment," Emi says, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "She brought joy and warmth to everyone around her. Let those memories be a source of comfort."
The sons, surrounded by a sea of faces both familiar and new, listen to stories about their mother. Colleagues and friends express their commitment to supporting the family in the days and months ahead.
“I am grateful for the support during this difficult time," Aoto says, his voice steady but carrying the weight of loss. "Her memory will be our guiding light."
The gathering concludes with a meal, a blend of traditional dishes and comfort food. The same venue. The same place we last sat down with her to eat has now become a symbol of her last supper. I wish the night had turned out differently and we were here to celebrate her birthday instead of her death.
I must go back and see to my own wife, because I would hate to think of myself arranging her funeral. Unlike Aoto and Hana, Leticia and I don’t have the memories they share, only our time in Tokyo, and I don’t know if it’s a memory we want to cherishright now or pretend that we never came here and nothing ever happened between us.
