Chapter Text
Jolyne sobbed quietly, her arms wrapped around a stuffed unicorn. Her cheeks were damp, her face blotchy from crying. From the front seat, Jotaro watched her through the rearview mirror, a tightness growing in his chest.
He eased the car into Spot 17. It stopped with a soft hiss.
He pulled the handbrake and switched off the engine, pausing for a breath before taking the key from the ignition. The hospital had already walked him through everything over the phone the day before. His first day on the new job was fully prepped — except for the most important part: his daughter’s heart.
His brow creased as he turned toward the back seat.
Jolyne still clung to her plush toy. She wasn’t crying as hard as she had when they left the house thirty minutes ago, but her hiccups lingered. Her wide, watery eyes shimmered with quiet sorrow.
“Daddy’s coming to get you now, okay?” Jotaro said gently as he stepped out of the car.
Two was a tough age, even under normal circumstances. But with all the changes lately, even the smallest things had become difficult. He knew that. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever forgive him.
She was too young to understand. But every decision — every sacrifice — had been for her.
The hospital move had come after a delicate but necessary agreement: Jolyne’s mother had taken a temporary job abroad. It was a rare opportunity, but one that came with constant travel and no stability. Not the kind of life a toddler needed.
For the first time since the divorce, he and Marina had agreed on something: stability came first. Jotaro would take full custody for the year. Marina would call every day, present from afar.
He’d accepted the new position almost overnight: smaller city, respected hospital, better hours, good parks, excellent schools. A place where Jolyne could grow up with peace and consistency.
That was the priority now.
Her new daycare was inside the hospital — reserved for employees’ children. If anything happened, he could be with her in minutes. It gave both him and Marina some peace of mind.
He opened the back door. Jolyne turned away, still sulking. He sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt. He lifted her into his arms, then reached for the backpacks — his, and hers shaped like a butterfly. He felt her latch onto him immediately, arms around his neck.
“I know you're sad, Jo. But things are going to get better,” he murmured, holding her close.
She rubbed one eye with a fist and let out a long sigh.
“Pwomise?” Her voice trembled. Her teal eyes — just like his — were still glossy with tears. The look on her face broke him, but he stayed steady.
“I promise,” Jotaro said, serious and sincere. “And your new daycare? It has all kinds of fun things to do.”
She glanced up at him, skeptical.
“There’s a playground… with swings, and a slide shaped like an elephant,” he added, closing the car door with a click. He started walking toward the elevator, daughter and backpacks in tow.
“E’phant?” That got her attention. Her favorite animal. Her pout began to soften.
Jotaro smiled. There was an opening now.
“Uh-huh. And finger painting. And the teacher reads a story every day…”
The elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Jotaro tilted his chin toward the button for the ground floor, and Jolyne pressed it proudly, beaming at her achievement.
He returned her smile. For the first time that morning, it felt like the day could really begin.
***
The Morioh General Hospital complex was far larger than Jotaro had imagined. The main reception hall dominated the ground floor: beyond the turnstiles, clusters of cushioned sofas and low tables held waiting patients. Everything was spacious, pristine, quiet — and just impersonal enough.
“Good morning.” Jotaro adjusted Jolyne on his hip, his voice steady. “Dr. Kujo. HR said my badge would be ready here.”
The young woman at the front desk looked up and offered a polite smile, though her gaze swept over him with faint curiosity. She paused at his left hand, clearly searching for a wedding ring. Jotaro caught the silent conclusion instantly. Single dad. Available. It annoyed him more than it should have. He wasn’t here for that. He just wanted to start his workday in peace.
“Boo mornin’, Doctow Jowyne.” The girl on his hip parroted her father’s tone, snapping the receptionist out of her daze.
Jotaro’s smile came without thinking.
“Good morning!” the woman laughed, recovering quickly. She opened a drawer and retrieved a manila envelope. From it, she pulled two plastic badges — one for him, and one with Jolyne’s photo and child ID.
“Here you go, doctors,” she teased, handing them over with a wink. “Dr. Kujo, here’s a hospital map, internal policies, and a welcome packet. Your department head, Dr. Yamaguchi, is waiting for you on the eighth floor, room eleven.”
Jolyne studied her badge seriously, tracing the glossy surface with a curious fingertip.
“The daycare’s on the second floor. Elevators are just to your left,” the woman added with a friendly gesture.
“Welcome and have a great day!”
Jotaro gave a curt nod. Jolyne waved with bright enthusiasm.
Another elevator ride brought them to the second floor. The space was wide and well-lit despite the overcast sky outside. Most of the children had already arrived. From the hallway, Jotaro saw small groups busy with play-dough. The air carried a light scent of paint and crayons.
Through the tall windows, the outdoor courtyard came into view. A blue elephant-shaped slide stood proudly among other colorful playground equipment. But with heavy rain pouring down, the teachers would have to keep the kids entertained indoors for the day.
Until then, Jolyne had been quietly observing. Suddenly, she shrank into his chest, burying her face in his neck and clinging tightly to his shirt.
Jotaro held her close, feeling her small body go stiff in his arms. He didn’t speak — just stayed present, warm, solid.
After a brief exchange with the lead teacher, he crouched slowly, setting down the backpacks. Then he lowered his daughter gently to the floor, squatting to meet her at eye level.
“Jo... remember what Daddy told you? While I’m working, you’ll be here learning.”
She nodded, slowly. But her chin began to tremble, and her eyes welled up with tears.
“Why I can’t stay wif you…?”
Jotaro brushed her cheek with his thumb.
“Because I’ll be looking after some very little babies who aren’t feeling well, and I need to pay close attention. I want to make sure you get all the love and care you deserve, even if I can’t be right there with you.”
The explanation didn’t satisfy her. Her gaze grew firmer.
“Jowyne be vee-ry qui-et…”
He chuckled softly and pulled her into a tighter hug.
“I know, sweetheart. It’s not about being quiet. Here, you’ll learn all kinds of fun things, make friends, and have adventures, just like at your old daycare, remember?”
She nodded again, this time with a little more confidence.
“It’ll be fun here too. And look,” he pointed discreetly to the courtyard window. “The elephant slide.”
Jolyne hesitated a moment longer. Then the teacher approached gently, crouching down beside them.
“Hi, Jolyne. I love your butterfly backpack — and your unicorn! What’s his name?”
“Bubu.”
“That’s such a great name! It suits him perfectly. Want to come show Bubu all the toys we have in your classroom?”
Jolyne glanced up at her father. He gave an encouraging nod, calm and steady.
Still unsure, but determined, she reached out her small hand to the teacher.
And just like that, with short and tentative steps, her first day of school began.
***
Jotaro sat down in the chair of his new office inside the neonatal ICU, letting out a quiet sigh.
New hospital. New team. The same surgical precision he was known for.
Taking over from the previous neonatal surgeon, now retired, was no small responsibility. He was well aware of that. But his reputation preceded him: Jotaro Kujo was nationally recognized as one of the most meticulous neonatal surgeons. Stoic, steady hands, and an unwavering gaze even in the most critical moments.
The first day passed in a whirlwind of procedures, assessments, and protocols. Wearing his white coat, badge pinned to his chest, clipboard always in hand, he moved through corridors and rooms with absolute focus. No one dared to question him. Yet whispers quickly spread through the halls:
“He came from Tokyo.”
“He’s divorced.”
“He has a daughter. They say she’s adorable.”
“He barely speaks unless it’s about surgery.”
“Did you see that handsome guy?”
Jotaro had no idea why he stirred such gossip. Honestly, he never quite understood the concept of gossip, though it seemed he was constantly caught in it, despite his efforts to keep personal life and work separate.
He glanced over the day’s task list and scanned the names of his team. Only one person remained to meet: the obstetrician specialized in maternal-fetal medicine — the field dealing with high-risk pregnancies and fetal interventions. A key partner in the ICU, as their specialties complemented each other.
Apparently, the doctor was still occupied with patients. Maybe he’d meet him the next day.
Taking advantage of the calm moment, Jotaro pulled a few items from his backpack. He placed a framed photo of Jolyne playing on the beach on the desk and arranged some technical books on the shelf. Gradually, the impersonal space began to feel more like his.
Then came three light knocks on the door.
“Come in,” Jotaro said, still standing as he straightened a row of books on the shelf.
A young man entered. Red, wavy hair cropped short, wearing pink surgical scrubs and thin silver-rimmed glasses. Clutched against his chest were several clipboards. Embroidered on his shirt pocket in cursive read: Noriaki Kakyoin MD.
Jotaro recognized him immediately.
He’d seen the name and face before. Kakyoin was the author of a recent, influential article on minimally invasive fetal surgery. The paper detailed interdisciplinary protocols that had significantly reduced complications and NICU stays, improving long-term outcomes for newborns.
“Dr. Kujo!” Noriaki smiled warmly, extending his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” Jotaro replied, accepting the firm handshake. Despite his average height, Kakyoin had broad shoulders, strong arms, and a confident posture.
“I read your latest paper. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Really? What an honor!” Kakyoin seemed briefly caught off guard but quickly recovered. “I have a few cases I’d like to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” Jotaro gestured toward the chair opposite his desk with a slight nod.
Kakyoin sat down, resting the clipboards in his lap. As he organized the papers, Jotaro noticed the careful way he handled each sheet — methodical, precise. A good sign.
“Here,” said the obstetrician, handing over the first file. “We have a case of diaphragmatic hernia diagnosed in the second trimester. The mother was transferred here the day before yesterday. The baby is stable but already showing significant lung compression. We’re closely monitoring the amniotic fluid. I want to discuss the possibility of fetoscopic intrauterine repair.”
Jotaro took the file, examining the data. He read silently for several seconds, his sharp eyes scanning notes, tests, and ultrasounds. This case would require delicate surgical attention and joint decision-making.
“I agree with your approach. But if lung growth remains below expectations, we can’t wait too long. What’s the gestational age?”
“Twenty-five weeks. The patient is stable but anxious. Her partner couldn’t come with her, so I’m trying to keep everything as clear as possible. I’ve explained the risks, but she hasn’t fully absorbed it yet.”
Jotaro nodded slightly.
“I’ll speak with her tomorrow morning after the NICU rounds. It’s better if she hears this from the surgeon, if we decide to proceed.”
Kakyoin smiled, relieved.
“Excellent. That will help a lot. She’s young, first pregnancy… She needs reassurance.”
A comfortable silence fell for a few moments. Kakyoin moved on to the second case, then the third. All complex situations, but they revealed a pattern: Jotaro realized his colleague was thorough, organized, and deeply considerate — not just of clinical data but of the human side too. It was rare to find obstetricians who integrated neonatal prognosis so holistically.
“You really read my article?” Kakyoin asked suddenly, half in disbelief but with a playful sparkle in his eyes.
Jotaro raised an eyebrow.
“I did. I replaced two protocols on my last team in Tokyo because of it.”
Kakyoin blinked, surprised, then laughed. The two stood almost simultaneously.
“Well… I’m genuinely glad. Our fields don’t work well separately. And honestly… I’m relieved you’re not as narrow-minded as our former neonatal surgeon.”
“I’m happy to be working with you too. Seems like we’ll make a good team.”
Jotaro extended his hand again, firm grip, eyes locked with Kakyoin’s — a silent promise of mutual respect.
Kakyoin left the room, and Jotaro sat back down. There was much ahead, but for the first time in a long while, he felt he might not be carrying the weight alone.
***
The night followed its usual routine. Father and daughter returned home together. Jolyne had fallen asleep in the backseat during the drive, her head gently tilted to the side. But now she was awake, eyes bright and alert as she chatted with Marina on the phone. From across the kitchen, Jotaro quietly prepared dinner, listening distantly to their conversation.
The apartment still carried the scent and mess of a life just unpacked. Stacked cardboard boxes, clothes spilling from open suitcases, shoes scattered about. Everything felt temporary, as if they were still just passing through. Jotaro didn’t know when he’d find time to put the place in order. He tried not to let the disarray bother him, doing only what he could in the moment.
Outside, the night was damp and cold, with a fine rain tapping against the windowpane. Jotaro felt the need for something warm and comforting, so he decided to make a heartier miso soup. Alongside the usual tofu and scallions, he chopped enoki mushrooms, carrot, and napa cabbage. He boiled an egg and added udon noodles. The delicate aroma soon filled the apartment, blending softly with Jolyne’s childlike voice.
“Bye-bye, Mommy! Nigh-nigh!” Jolyne said, waving excitedly at the screen of Jotaro’s phone. On the other end, the morning sun was shining. Marina was in the United States, and after the call, her day would begin.
“See you tomorrow, Jo. Good night. I love you,” Marina’s voice came, full of tenderness for her daughter.
Jolyne hung up and dropped the phone onto the sofa, drawn to the steaming bowls Jotaro had just placed on the low table where they usually ate. She eagerly grabbed her child-sized chopsticks and immediately tried to scoop up a big mouthful of noodles.
“Careful, it’s still very hot, sweetheart,” Jotaro said, gently holding her little hand before she could burn herself.
He sat down across from her and started a conversation, hoping to distract her enough to let the soup cool a bit.
“So, tell me — how did you like the new daycare?” he asked, even though he’d already heard the story earlier when Jolyne told Marina on the phone.
“Teecher nice. I make Bubu wif pay-dough!”
“Really? Did Bubu like being a work of art?” Jotaro blew lightly on the soup, watching the steam drift away.
“Uh-huh,” Jolyne replied, casting a knowing glance at the stuffed toy left on the couch, as if Bubu could agree.
“All right, now you can eat... but take it slow.”
She didn’t need any more encouragement. She brought a bite to her mouth, eyes closing slowly as she chewed, savoring her father’s cooking with genuine delight.
Jotaro didn’t see himself as a great cook. But in that moment, watching his daughter enjoy the miso he’d made, something inside him warmed. Pride, maybe. Or simply love — quiet and whole.
After dinner, he washed the dishes, gave Jolyne a bath, brushed her teeth, and tucked her into her crib. She fell asleep clutching her unicorn plush, her small body nestled beneath the blankets. He covered her carefully, as if the slightest movement might wake her. Leaving only the nightlight shaped like an octopus on, he closed the door softly behind him.
He was exhausted. His body felt heavy, but there were still small tasks to complete. A bit of tidying, a little planning for the next day. A continuous, silent fresh start — day after day.
When he finally lay down after a hot shower, he let his body sink into the mattress with a long sigh. On the bedside table, a stack of medical journals waited. He flipped through some pages mechanically until he found Kakyoin’s article.
He didn’t remember putting it there.
His eyes stopped on the small black-and-white photo at the top of the page. Kakyoin was wearing a lab coat. His smile was broad and calm. His kind eyes — which Jotaro now knew were violet — seemed almost alive on the paper.
He read the first lines of the article, trying to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the photo. Kakyoin. There was something there. Something he still didn’t understand.
Unconsciously, Jotaro closed his eyes. The journal slipped slowly from his hands as he relaxed and sank into the mattress. That night, without knowing why, he slept a little more peacefully.