Rain fell steadily outside the villa, soft as breath against the glass. Haruka was asleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically in the warm safety of her nursery. In the hall, Hiro stood alone, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand.
He had made his choice.
Ayaka entered the room behind him, her presence quiet but undeniably there, like a dream that refused to fade.
"You look like a man mourning something," she said, her voice gentle.
"I think I am. My old self. The one who still believed in innocence."
She crossed the space and took the glass from his hand, setting it down on the piano.
"That boy loved me too. But he didn't know how to protect what we had. You do now."
He sat on the bench, and she knelt before him, resting her cheek against his knee like a loyal supplicant.
"I read the files. I know it all."
Her eyes didn't flinch. "And yet, you're still here."
"I had dreams… of a normal life. I buried them. For you. For her. For this."
Ayaka smiled softly. "Then let me give you something real."
From her pocket, she pulled out a small, tarnished key. "The final room. I've been preparing it for years."
She led him down a winding stairway beneath the villa. It smelled of cedar and lilies. The walls were lined with velvet and portraits—each one of Hiro, painted at different stages of his life. Childhood. Adolescence. Manhood.
At the end of the hall stood a heavy oak door.
The room inside was a replica of their childhood bedroom. The one they had played in before her family left for Europe. His side, her side. Toy chests. A red ribbon nailed to the wall.
"This is where our love began," she whispered. "And now it will never end."
He stepped inside, overcome with memories. "You did all this?"
"I built it for you. So even if you ever try to leave, your soul will always come back here."
She pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "We'll renew our vows in this room. On our anniversary. Every year."
Outside, thunder cracked. But the warmth in that room muffled all sound. It was the silence of commitment, of surrender, of devotion that bordered on divine.
Later that week, they were married again.
Privately.
In the chapel.
Ayaka wore crimson. Hiro, white.
Haruka threw petals from her tiny basket as Ayaka whispered vows etched in her journals since childhood.
"I promise to keep you, in madness and peace. In silence and screams. In cages, in gardens, and in the ruins of the world."
And Hiro, with trembling lips, replied: "And I promise to stay. Not because I must. But because you are my home."
Years passed in the velvet stillness of their estate. Hiro created brilliant software, remotely. The world praised his mind. No one questioned his distance.
Their second child, a boy, was born in spring.
And one rainy afternoon, as Ayaka dozed beside the crib, Hiro noticed the old violin case had been moved again.
He opened it.
The tools were still there.
But beside them lay a diary.
The first page read:
"He finally chose the cage. And in it, I gave him heaven."
He stared at the words, heart trembling.
He smiled.
Because it was true.
And he loved her.
Even more.