It's not Mom's fault, Satomi.
Just look at him now.
This… this version of Haruki—breathless, flushed, holding me like I'm the only thing that matters…
He didn't become like this overnight.
You just didn't see it.
I can tell you rarely let him touch you.
You probably thought he didn't mind… that he'd stay loyal without warmth, without closeness.
But men like Haruki…
They don't want much.
A warm meal. A soft body. A little care. Someone to hold them after a long day.
That's all.
Sex, respect, a quiet home—someone who greets them with a smile.
That's all most men ever ask for.
She ran her fingers along Haruki's arm as he held her closer, his body still pressed against hers.
And you couldn't even give him that.
She looked up at the ceiling, her voice silent but her thoughts clear.
Unlike your father…
Your father doesn't crave touch. Doesn't long for affection.
His arousal is only for power. For money. For wealth.
Not for a real woman.
Not like this.
