Chapter Text
Izana remembered the nights he and Emma spent alone in their small house, just the two of them. He was nine, but he’d learned to cook, clean, and handle almost everything a seven-year-old like Emma might need. Their mother was hardly around, so Izana had stepped up, filling in the gaps that she left. He braided Emma’s hair, helped her with her homework, and even made up stories to help her fall asleep. Emma was his whole world, and he’d do anything to keep her safe and happy.
But one evening, everything changed.
Their mother walked in, cigarette in hand, her face a blank mask. She barely glanced his way as she made her announcement. “I’m sending you away.”
Izana froze. “Sending me away?” he whispered, the shock clear in his voice. He searched her face for any sign of softness, any hint of warmth. But her eyes were dull, empty, and as she took another drag from her cigarette, she looked through him as if he were a stranger.
“You leave in a week—Thursday,” she said, her voice cold and detached. “So don’t cause any trouble until then.”
A sharp ache bloomed in Izana’s chest, and he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Yes, Mom,” he murmured, his words barely audible. She didn’t look up as he turned and hurried down the hall, his steps echoing hollowly against the walls.
In his room, Izana collapsed onto his bed, clutching his pillow tightly as silent sobs wracked his small frame. The idea of being torn away from Emma, of being sent somewhere unknown, felt like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. Eventually, the tears wore him out, and he drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with dread.
A few hours later, he woke to the sound of someone stumbling into the house. The clock read three in the morning, and his heart raced as he climbed out of bed. He tiptoed down the hallway, pausing outside Emma’s door to make sure she was safe. A small lump lay beneath the covers, her blond hair peeking out from the blanket’s edge. Izana smiled faintly, reassured, and gently closed the door.
As he crept downstairs, he could hear his mother’s voice, slurred and angry, echoing from the living room. She was on the phone, pacing unsteadily, her words sharp and filled with bitterness. Izana peered around the corner, and his heart sank. She looked disheveled, her makeup smeared, a half-empty glass of alcohol in her hand.
“I don’t know why I should keep him around,” she spat into the phone, her voice laced with venom. “He’s not my son, so why should I care?”
Izana felt a chill run down his spine as her words sank in. Not… her son? His breath caught, and he pressed himself against the wall, listening as she continued.
“If you want him so badly, come and take him yourself! I’ve been stuck taking care of this little burden for years, and it’s not fair. I didn’t give birth to him. He’s not mine, and soon, neither he nor Emma will be my problem anymore.”
Her words cut through him like a knife. He wanted to scream, to ask why she would say such horrible things, but he felt frozen, unable to move or even breathe.
Then she turned, spotting him in the doorway. Her face twisted in anger, and she threw the glass in her hand straight at him. He barely had time to react as it struck him, pain exploding in his forehead as the glass shattered. Warm blood trickled down his face, and he raised a trembling hand to his head, feeling the sticky wetness on his skin.
“How dare you spy on me, you little pest!” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury. She stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face, sending him sprawling against the wall.
The world spun as Izana clutched his throbbing head, tears blurring his vision. He could hear her returning to the phone, her voice calm as she told whoever was on the other end that she’d “handled it.” It was as if nothing had happened.
Izana struggled to his feet, his mind reeling. His mother’s words echoed in his head, tearing apart everything he’d believed about his family, about his place with Emma. He stumbled up the stairs, numb and dazed, and shut himself in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw the blood smearing his forehead, his swollen cheek, and the hollow, lost expression in his own eyes.
He couldn’t understand it. How could he and Emma not be related? She was his everything, his sister, his light. And yet… his mother’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind.
In a daze, he reached up, opening the cabinet above the sink. His gaze fell on a small razor. He picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. The confusion, the anger, and the unbearable pain swirled inside him, and without really thinking, he pressed the blade against his arm. It hurt, but somehow, that pain felt distant—small, compared to everything inside him. He let the razor fall, watching as blood began to trickle from the cuts.
After a while, he bandaged his arm, rinsed the razor, and hid it back in the cabinet. He cleaned his cuts as best as he could, making sure they wouldn’t get infected. When he finally looked away, his gaze drifted to his mother on the couch downstairs, slumped and asleep. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel a small, strange pull of loyalty. She had raised him, even if it had been in the worst ways.
Sighing, Izana went downstairs and draped a blanket over her, then picked up the glass shards scattered on the floor. His mind felt numb as he washed the empty glass and put it on the drying rack. He moved silently, clearing away the evidence of the hurt she had caused him, hiding the pain as he always did.
Once everything was cleaned up, he made his way to Emma’s room. He opened her door quietly, intending just to make sure she was asleep.
But she wasn’t asleep. Emma sat on her bed, her face streaked with tears. Izana’s heart twisted as he walked over and sat beside her, their silent pain filling the room.
She looked up at him, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re my brother, Izana. No matter what Mama says… you’re my brother.”
Her words broke the dam inside him, and he felt the tears spill over. Emma wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder, and he held her close, his heart swelling with a fierce, unbreakable love.
“Emma?” he whispered, voice shaky.
“Yes, Iza-nii?”
“Will you… be okay once I’m gone?” He tried to keep his voice steady, to hide the fear he felt.
She nodded, though tears continued to spill down her cheeks. “Of course. I’ll write letters to you, so you won’t forget me.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he felt the warmth of her words wrap around his heart. “You dummy,” he thought. “How could I ever forget you?”
But he didn’t say it aloud. Emma was already falling asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, her small breaths warm and soft. Gently, he pulled the blankets up around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“I love you, little sister,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness.
Izana left her room, closing the door softly behind him. He returned to his own room, staring at the bandaged cuts on his arm. With a sigh, he lay down, pulling the blankets up over himself. He drifted into a restless sleep, knowing that soon, he would be leaving this house—and the only person who truly mattered to him.
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