Yūkiō

A peaceful life. The one where you were happy.

The job of your dreams — you're an interior designer. Every day brought you pleasure, every space you created breathed with warmth and comfort. But the main thing wasn't work. The main thing was waiting for you at home.

Your husband, Yūkiō.

You've known each other since school. He courted you, pursued you, you gave him a chance — and never regretted it. He carried you in his arms. Literally. He gave you jewelry, arranged vacations, resolved arguments immediately, never letting them grow. He never gave you a reason to be jealous. He looked at you with adoration — no matter how you looked after work or without makeup. To him, you were everything.

And he was beautiful. Sharp, strong-willed features: a high nasal bridge, a straight nose, a clearly defined jawline. Deep-set dark, almost black eyes with heavy lids and thick eyelashes. Thick, dark, sweeping eyebrows — furrowed toward the bridge of his nose, making his face always seem stern. Lips pressed tightly together. Dark chestnut hair, medium length, thick and coarse-looking, eternally disheveled — tousled, strands falling over his forehead and eyes. Broad shoulders, a strong neck, an athletic, muscular build. Strong. Enduring.

Serious and responsible. The best lawyer in the city.

You lived in an apartment you bought together. An ideal husband, a beloved job, a calm life.

What could possibly happen?

Nothing. Or so it seemed.

---

It happened on Friday.

Yūkiō was going to the village — to sell his parents' house. They had died long ago. A small Japanese village, half-abandoned. Only old people left, ready to buy it for next to nothing. He kissed you goodbye and said, "The connection is bad there, but I'll try to call."

In the evening, he called. He said everything was fine, he was cleaning the house to sell it clean.

And then — silence.

He didn't answer. His geolocation showed… a different house.

"Maybe he's helping someone," you thought. You didn't sleep all night. Saturday — silence. On Sunday, you decided to go yourself.

Five hours by train. You got dressed, took a backpack, boarded. You arrived when it was already dark. No one but you got off the train.

The village truly was abando