Accidentally become a father Chapter 3: Who is Yuna’s mother?

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And unfolded it.

Neat handwriting. Not a child’s. Steady. Upright.

Tokyo.

District na.

Street na.

Building number.

Unit 203.

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My unit.

I slowly raised my head.

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She wasn’t smiling now.

She was watching .

Waiting.

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"Where did you get this address?"

"From..."

"From where?"

"The old house."

That answer explained nothing.

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I looked back down at the paper. The details were precise. Even the postal code was correct.

Not approximate.

Not close.

Exact.

If this was a coincidence, then coincidence was working far too hard today.

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"Have you been here before?"

"No."

"So this is your first ti here."

"Yes."

"And you still knocked without hesitation."

"Yes."

I studied her face.

"What made you so sure I’d open the door?"

She answered without pause.

"Because Papa isn’t a bad person."

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I let out a faint breath.

"That’s a rather quick judgnt."

She shook her head slowly.

"It wasn’t quick."

Her eyes didn’t move.

Didn’t waver.

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As if she had reached that conclusion long ago.

I folded the paper once. Then again.

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The air in the room felt heavier now.

Not because the room was small.

But because the situation was no longer simple.

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I glanced at the plastic folder on the table.

That na was still inside it.

Kanzaki Sayaka.

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I didn’t want to think about that yet.

"Anything besides this?" I asked.

She lowered her gaze briefly.

Then reached for her bag again.

This ti, her movents were slower.

More careful.

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She pulled out a small envelope. The corners were worn, softened from being handled many tis.

She opened it.

And took out a photograph.

She held it with both hands.

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"This," she said quietly.

She offered it to .

I took it.

A woman stood in the center of the fra.

Long hair. Stage dress. Professional smile. White fabric reflecting the glow of overhead lights.

Beside her—

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A little girl.

Shorter hair. Smaller fra.

Holding her hand tightly.

Smiling at the cara.

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I felt sothing tighten in my chest.

I looked up.

Then back down at the photo.

Then up again.

The girl sitting in front of .

The sa eyes.

The sa face.

The sa person.

I looked back at the woman in the photo.

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And this ti, I recognized her.

Not from television.

Not from a screen.

But from sowhere else.

Sowhere closer.

Sowhere real.

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Kanzaki Sayaka.

My fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the photograph.

Because I wasn’t just looking at a stranger anymore.

I was looking at soone I had t before.

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