Haru fastened Sakura's seatbelt before securing his own. She clung to him tightly, her arm still laced through his as if letting go would send her spiraling back into Kenji's grasp. Just the thought of it made her stomach churn. A wave of nausea surged through her, and before she could stop it, she pushed the door open and vomited onto the pavement.
Haru reacted instantly, holding her hair back while rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back.
"It's okay," he murmured. "Let it all out."
Sakura trembled, her breaths coming in sharp gasps as her body purged not just the bile but the fear still clawing at her chest. When she finally stopped, Umeko turned from the passenger seat, wiping her daughter's face gently with warm wet wipes. No one spoke. The air was heavy, filled with unspoken emotions.
Ren, who had been silent behind the wheel, cracked open the window slightly, hoping the fresh air would ease Sakura's nausea.
Sakura stared out the window blankly, the fresh air cooling her flushed skin. She barely registered anything around her. Haru, however, never took his eyes off her. His gaze followed every twitch of her fingers, every shudder of her shoulders, as though his presence alone could shield her from the darkness clawing at her.
In the front seat, Umeko stole worried glances at her daughter. Even Ren, though focused on the road, occasionally checked the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable.
They knew Sakura was fragile—more than fragile, shattered. And though both parents wanted to break down, to cry and curse the world for what had happened, they held themselves together. They had to be strong for her. Still, Umeko couldn't stop a few silent tears from slipping down her face, which she quickly wiped away.
With exhaustion overtaking her, Sakura's body eventually gave in. She slumped against Haru's shoulder, her breathing steadying as sleep claimed her.
When they arrived home, Haru wasted no time. Without hesitation, he carefully lifted Sakura into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
"Where's her room?" he asked, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Umeko hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Follow me."
She led him upstairs, her steps careful and quiet. Haru gently laid Sakura down, tucking the covers around her. He lingered for a moment, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Behind him, Ren watched. His arms were crossed, his expression hard, unreadable—but his narrowed eyes made one thing clear: he wasn't pleased.
"I appreciate your help, young man," Ren said, his tone firm. "But you can leave now. We'll take care of our daughter."
Haru turned, his jaw tightening. "Are you asking me to leave?"
Ren didn't waver. "Yes. Your presence is no longer required."
Haru exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as he fought to remain composed. His next words were careful, deliberate.
"Mr. Suzuki, I understand why you don't trust me. And I won't pretend this is how I wanted to meet you. But this isn't about me. It's about Sakura. She needs me right now, and I do not intend to leave her."
Ren's expression darkened. "You are standing in my house, and I am telling you to leave. That is not a request."
Before Haru could respond, Umeko stepped between them, placing a firm hand on her husband's arm.
"Ren," she whispered, her voice low but urgent. "Think of Sakura first."
Ren clenched his jaw, but she pressed on.
"I don't trust him either," she admitted. "But this isn't about our feelings. It's about our daughter. And she trusts him." She paused, searching her husband's face. "Do you really think forcing him out right now will do her any good?"
Ren was silent, his lips pressed into a tight line.
"This isn't the time for pride, or for worrying about who her boyfriend is," Umeko whispered . "This is about what she needs to heal."
The tension in the room hung thick. Finally, Ren exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders stiff. He glanced at Haru, then at his sleeping daughter.
"...Fine," he muttered. "For tonight."