Chapter Text
The first time Toji Fushiguro held his son, he couldn't breathe.
It wasn't from joy, though there was that, somewhere beneath the terror, but from the crushing weight of her presence. The nurse had placed this tiny, screaming bundle in his arms with practiced efficiency, murmuring something about skin-to-skin contact and bonding, and all Toji could think was: She should be holding him. Not me. Her.
The baby, Megumi—she'd wanted to name him Megumi—had stopped crying the moment Toji's hands were settled under his small body. Six pounds, four ounces, twenty inches long. The numbers meant nothing. What meant everything was the way his baby's eyes had cracked open just slightly, unfocused and dark, and Toji had seen her looking back at him.
"Fushiguro-san?" The nurse's voice seemed to come from very far away, almost as if he was under water. "Are you alright?" He wasn't alright. He would never be alright. But he nodded, because that's what you did, and he looked down at his son—their son—and tried to reconcile the impossible reality that she was gone and this child was here, and somehow those two facts were connected in a way that made his chest feel like it was caving in.
Megumi had her nose; the same delicate slope, the same small definition at the bridge. It was too early to tell much else (newborns all looked like confused old men, the books said) but Toji could see it already. The echo of her in this brand new person, and the promise that he would never, ever be able to forget.
"He's beautiful," the nurse said, softer now. Pitying. They all looked at him like that now, ever since—
"Yeah," Toji managed. His voice sounded like gravel. "He is."
She would have loved him, he thought, and the though was like a knife between his ribs. She would have held him and cried and laughed and said something about how perfect he is, how he has my chin, how we made him together, how lucky we are—
But there was no we anymore. There was just Toji, and this baby who had cost him everything, and the suffocating knowledge that he was supposed to know what to do next.
He didn't know what to do next.
The nurse was saying something about feeding schedules and diaper changes and follow-up appointments, but the words slid off Toji like rain. He couldn't focus on anything except the weight in his arms and the emptiness where his wife should be.
"Mr.Fushiguro, did you hear me?"
"Yeah," Toji lied.
"The lactation consultant wanted to talk to you about formula feeding, since—" The nurse's voice caught slightly. "Since your wife won't be able to nurse. They've prepared bottles and instructions. Someone will be in shortly to go over everything."
Formula. Right. Babies needed to eat. That was basic biology. Toji knew how to kill a man in seventeen different ways, could take apart and reassemble most firearms blindfolded, had survived things that should have killed him a dozen times over. He had no idea how to feed a baby.
"Okay," he said, because what else could he say?
Megumi made a small sound, and it wasn't quite a cry, just a soft exhale, and his tiny hand found its way out of the blanket, fingers spreading and closing on air. Without thinking, Toji offered his finger, and Megumi's hand wrapped around it with surprising strength. The baby's grip was firm and alive. Real in a way that nothing else felt real right now.
"He knows you," the nurse said, and there was a smile in her voice. "Babies know their parents' voices. He's been hearing you for months." He's been hearing both of us, Toji thought, and the grief sank down even deeper into his chest. He'll never hear her again. Never know her voice. Never know the woman who wanted him so badly she died bringing him into the world.
"Would you like some time alone with him?" the nurse asked. "Before we take him to the nursery?" Alone. The word echoed in Toji's head. He was lone. Completely, and devastatingly alone. Him and this baby who looked at him with unfocused eyes had no idea that his mere existence had shattered everything in his life that gave Toji a reason to live.
"Yeah," Toji said. "Time alone. That'd be good."
The nurse nodded, showed him how to support Megumi's head properly—"Always support the head, Fushiguro-san, their necks are strong enough yet"—and then left, closing the door softly behind her. The silence that followed was deafening. Toji stood in the middle of the hospital room, holding his newborn son, and listened to the sound of his own breathing. In and out. In and out.
"So," he said finally, his voice rough. "It's just us now." Megumi's eyes were closed again, his small face peaceful in sleep. He was innocent, unaware. "Your mama—" Toji's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Your mama was so excited to meet you. She had everything planned. She bought books about baby care and practiced swaddling on this doll she got. She talked to you every night before bed." He moved to the chair by the window and sat down carefully, cradling Megumi against his chest. The baby was so small. How was something this small supposed to survive in a world as brutal as this one?
"She picked your name," Toji continued, because the silence was worse that forcing himself to talk. "Megumi. It means blessing. She said—" He had to stop, had to breathe through the tightness in his throat. "She said you were our blessing. That we were lucky to have you. That you were going to be so loved."
The past tense felt wrong. Were going to be loved. Were lucky. As if that future had died along with her.
"I don't know how to do this," Toji whispered. "I don't know how to be your father without her. She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to teach me. Guide me. Tell me I was doing it wrong and then show me the right way with that patient smile she always had." Megumi shifted slightly in his arms, a small movement that somehow felt monumental.
"You look like her," Toji said, and his eyes were burning now. "You have her nose. Her delicate features. You're going to grow up looking just like her, and I—" He couldn't finish that though. Couldn't articulate the terror and grief of knowing that he'd see her ghost in his son's face every single day for the rest of his life.
"I promised her," Toji said finally. "Before you were born. She was scared, and she made me promise that if something happened to her, I'd take care of you. Really take care of you. Love you. Be there for you." He looked down at Megumi's sleeping face. "I promised. So I'm going to try." The words felt hollow even as he said them. It was a promise made when promises still seemed possible. When he'd still believed that she'd be fine, that they'd both be fine that their small family would grow together in that cramped apartment with her terrible cooking and his worse jokes and all the messy, beautiful ordinariness of life.
But that life was gone now.
And in its place was this: a grieving man and a newborn baby and a future that stretch out like a wasteland, empty of the only person who'd ever made Toji believe he could be something other than a weapon.
"I'm going to try," Toji repeated, softer now. A vow to his son. To his wife's memory. To himself. "I don't know if I'll be good at it. I don't know if I'll be what you need. But I'm going to try."
Megumi slept on, peaceful and trusting, while his father held him and tried not to drown in the fast ocean of grief that seemed to be calling him toward the bottom.
☾
Six months earlier.
"Toji! Toji, come here!"
Her voice carried from the bedroom, excited and breathless, and Toji dropped the dish he'd been washing—nearly broke it—and was moving before his brain caught up. That tone meant something important. Something urgent. He burst through the bedroom door ready for a threat, for danger, for something—
She was sitting on the bed, still in her work clothes, holding a small white stick in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide, stunned, and when she looked up at him, her face was a mixture of shock and joy and terror.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered.
Toji froze. "You're—what?"
"Pregnant." She held up the test, and there they were, two pink lines stark against the white background. "I'm pregnant. We're—we're going to have a baby."
The world tilted sideways.
Toji had faced down cursed spirits that would have given grown sorcerers nightmares, had taken bullets and walked away, had survived his childhood in the Zen'in clan when everyone expected him to fail, to break, to become nothing.
Yet none of that had prepared him for this moment.
"Are you sure?" The words came out strangled.
"I took three tests." She gestured to the bathroom, and sure enough, there were two more positive tests on the counter. "All positive. Toji, we're—we're going to be parents."
"Say something," she said, and now there was worry creeping into her voice. "Please say something."
"I—" He couldn't find words. Couldn't process this. "How?"
"The usual way, I imagine." A nervous laugh. "We haven't exactly been careful." They hadn't. Toji had never thought about it that much. He'd assumed, in some vague way, that his body—broken and lacking cursed energy and wrong—probably wouldn't work for this, that she'd eventually want kids and he wouldn't be able to give them to her, and that would be just another way he'd fail her.
But here she was. Pregnant. With his child.
"Toji?" Her voice was smaller now, uncertain. "Are you—is this okay? I know we never really talked about it, and we're not exactly financially stable, and this apartment is barely big enough for us let alone a baby, but—" He crossed the room in two strides, pulling her into his arms.
"It's okay," he said into her hair. "It's more than okay. It's—" He pulled back to look at her face, to see the hope dawning there. "We're going to have a baby?"
"We're going to have a baby," she confirmed, and then she was crying and laughing at the same time, and Toji was kissing her, and for a moment everything else fell away.
They were going to be parents. They were going to have a family.
"I'm scared," she admitted later, when they were lying in bed, her head on his chest and his hand already gravitating to her still-flat stomach. "I don't know anything about babies. What if I'm terrible at this?"
"You won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I do." Toji kissed the top of her head. "You're going to be amazing. You're patient and kind and you actually like people, which is more than I can say."
"What about you?" She tilted her head to look up at him. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified," Toji admitted. "I don't know the first thing about being a father. My own father was—" He didn't finish that sentence. He didn't need to. She knew enough about the Zen'in clan to understand.
"You'll be better than him," she said with absolute certainty. "You're already better than him."
"That's a low bar."
"Then you'll be better than that too." She pressed her hand over his, both of them resting on her stomach. "We'll figure it out together. That's what we do, right? We figure things out."
Toji thought about their relationship. How it had started with a chance meeting in a bar and how she'd laughed at his cynicsm instead of being put off by it. How she'd slowly, patiently, inexplicably fallen in love with him despite everything he was and wasn't. How she'd taken his brokenness and somehow made it feel like it didn't define him.
"Yeah," he said. "We figure things out."
"So we'll figure this out too." She yawned, snuggling closer. "We'll probably screw up a lot, but we'll do it together." Toji held his wife—his pregnant wife, carrying his child—and let himself believe it, and imagine a future that included the three of them. A family. Something he'd never thought he'd have or even deserve to have.
"Hey," he said softly. "I love you."
"I love you too." She was already half-asleep. "Both of you."
Toji lay awake long after she'd drifted off, his hand still resting on her stomach, feeling for movement that wouldn't come for months yet. He tried to imagine what their child would look like, what they'd be like. Whether they'd have his dark hair or her smile or some combination of both.
He tried not to think about all the ways he could fail at this, all the ways his own childhood had scarred him. All the violence and darkness that lived inside him and might somehow taint this innocent life they'd created. Instead, he focused on her breathing, the steady rise and dall of her chest, the warmth of her body against his. The impossible miracle growing inside her.
And for the first time in his life, Toji Fushiguro felt something akin to hope.
☾
Four months before.
The first ultrasound appointment felt surreal.
Toji sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, surrounded by other expectant parents who all seemed to know what they were doing. They had folders and questions and wore maternity clothes that actually fit. They looked prepared. Meanwhile, Toji was wearing his least blood-stained shirt and trying not to look like the kind of person who didn't belong in a place this clean and bright and safe.
"Stop fidgeting," his wife murmured, squeezing his hand. "You look like you're about to bolt."
"I'm fine."
"You're turning my hand purple."
Toji immediately loosened his grip. "Sorry."
"It's cute that you're nervous." She smiled at him, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Big scary Toji-san, afraid of a doctor's appointment."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified."
"…Maybe a little." The truth was, Toji hated hospitals; the smell of the antiseptic and the fluorescent lights and the way nurses looked at him like they were trying to figure out what gang he belonged to. He hated the memories they dredged up of other hospital visits—his own injuries, mostly, but his mother's death when he was younger as well. Hospitals meant bad things. But his wife was here, and the baby was here, and he needed to see that everything was okay.
"Fushiguro-san?" A nurse called from the doorway. His wife stood, tugging Toji up with her. "Come on. Let's go meet our baby."
The exam room was small and cold. The technician was friendly in that professional healthcare worker way, chatting about the weather while she set up the ultrasound equipment. His wife lay back on the paper-covered table, and Toji stood beside her, holding her hand again.
"This is going to be cold," the technician warned, squeezing gel onto her stomach. She gasped at the temperature, but smiled through it. "Okay. I'm ready." The technician placed the ultrasound want on her belly and started moving it around. The screen showed nothing but gray static to Toji's untrained eyes. He couldn't make sense of any of it.
"There we go," the technician said, adjusting something. "There's your baby." Toji stared at the screen. Slowly, a shape began to emerge from the static. Something small and curled up, like a kidney bean. Except kidney beans didn't have rapidly fluttering areas that the technician identified as a heartbeat.
"Oh my god," his wife breathed. "Is that—that's our baby?"
"That's your baby," the technician confirmed, smiling. "Let me get some measurements… Everything looks good. Nice strong heartbeat. About 160 beats per minute. Very healthy."
Toji couldn't look away from the screen. That tiny fluttering shape was his child. His and hers. Living and growing inside her.
"Do you want to hear the heartbeat?"
"Yes," his wife said immediately.
The technician pressed a button, and suddenly, the room filled with sound. A rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sounded, impossibly fast, impossibly real.
His wife started crying.
Toji felt his own eyes burning but refused to let the tears fall. He just gripped her hand tighter and stared at the screen, at the proof that this was real. They were really going to be parents.
"It's so fast," his wife said through her tears. "Is that normal?"
"Perfectly normal," the technician assured her. "Baby's heart rate is supposed to be much faster than ours. Nice and strong. Your baby is doing great."
"Can you tell what it is?" Toji asked. His voice came out rougher than intended. "Boy or girl?"
"Too early for that. Give it another month or two and we'll be able to tell." The technician moved the wand around, taking more measurements. "For now, everything looks perfect. Due date looks like… late September. Sound about right?" His wife nodded, still staring at the screen like she could memorize every pixel.
The technician printed out several pictures—grainy black and white images that looked like Rorschach tests to anyone who didn't know what they were looking at. But Toji took them carefully, like they were made of glass, and studied the tiny bean-shaped form that was his child.
"That's our baby," his wife kept saying on the drive him. She was holding the ultrasound pictures in her lap, smiling down at them. "That's really our baby."
"Yeah," Toji said. "That's our baby."
That night, she taped one of the ultrasound pictures to the refrigerator, right next to the grocery list and a postcard from her friend's vacation. "So we can look at them every day," she explained. "So we can remember that this blessing is real."
Toji stood in front of the refrigerator for a long time after she'd gone to bed, staring at the grainy image; the proof that in a few months, their life would change completely and irreversibly. He tried to imagine holding that bean-shaped blob when it was baby-shaped instead. Tried to imagine sleepless nights and dirty diapers and all the mundane, terrifying responsibilities of parenthood.
Tried to imagine being the kind of father a child deserved.
The image wouldn't come. He had no template for it, no blueprint, just the vague, desperate determination to be better than his own father had been. To give this child everything he'd never had. Love. Safety. A parent who actually wanted them.
"I'm going to try," Toji whispered to the ultrasound picture, to the tiny, rapidly-beating heart inside his wife. "I'm going to try so hard to be good at this." The picture, of course, didn't answer. But somewhere deep in his chest, underneath all the fear and doubt, Toji felt that fragile, dangerous thing called hope beginning to take root.
☾
Three months before
"Feel this."
It was three in the morning, and Toji was being shaken awake by his wife's insistent hands. He came awake fast—old habits from years of dangerous work—already assessing for threats before his brain caught up.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach. "Just wait. Stay still." Toji stayed still, confused and still half-asleep, his hand warm on her skin under he oversized sleep shirt. They'd been in bed for—what, four hours? He'd finally gotten her comfortable with half a dozen pillows arranged just right.
"What am I waiting for—"
Then he felt it. A small bump against his palm. Then another. Like something pressing from the inside.
"The baby!" She was grinning in the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlight coming through their curtains. "The baby's moving! Like, really moving. I've felt little flutters before, but this is—this is different. This is real kicks." Another bump, stronger this time. Toji spread his fingers wider, trying to feel more.
"Holy shit."
"Right?" She laughed quietly. "I think the baby's awake. Very awake."
They lay there in the darkness, Toji's hand on her growing belly, feeling their child move. Each kick, each roll, each small movement was a reminder that this was real. That, in a few months, this person would be outside, breathing air, looking at them.
Depending on them for everything.
"Does it hurt?" Toji asked. "When they kick?"
"Not really. It's more—weird than anything. Like there's really someone in there." Another kick. "Although sometimes it feels like the baby's doing gymnastics on my bladder.
"Sorry."
"You should be. This is at least fifty percent your fault." But she was smiling. She'd been smiling a lot lately, even though pregnancy had also brough exhaustion and morning sickness and complaints about her changing body.
"What do you think they'll be like?" Toji asked. The darkness made it easier to voice the thoughts that scared him. "Our kid."
"Happy, I hope. Healthy." She covered his hand with hers. "Loved. Definitely loved."
"What if I screw it up?"
"Then we'll screw it up together." She turned her head to look at him. "You're going to be a good father, Toji."
"You don't know that."
"I do. You're protective and loyal and you care so much, even when you pretend you don't. You're going to love this baby so fiercely." Another kick, as if the baby agreed. "Feel that? They already know you. They hear your voice. They know you're here."
Toji kept his hand on her belly, feeling their child move, and tried to believe her. Tried to imagine a future where he was good at this. Where he didn't pass on all the trauma and violence that had shaped him. Where he broke the cycle instead of perpetuating it.
"Megumi," his wife said suddenly. "If it's a boy, I really like Megumi."
"We talked about this. What if it's a girl?"
"Megumi works for girls too." She yawned. "It means blessing. And that's what this is. What you both are. My blessings."
"You're the blessing," Toji murmured. "I'm just lucky you tricked yourself into loving me."
"No tricks. Just good taste." She was falling asleep again, her breathing evening out. "Love you."
"Love you too." Toji kept his hand on her stomach, feeling occasional kicks and rolls. "Both of you."
He stayed awake long after she'd fallen back asleep, his hand warm on her skin, feeling his child move. Building a catalog of sensations to remember. Trying to memorize this moment—this peace, this happiness, this small family they were building together.
He had no way of knowing it would be one of the last truly peaceful moments they'd have. No way of knowing that in three months, everything would shatter. No way of knowing that these kicks he was feeling now—these signs of life, of vitality, of a healthy baby growing strong—would be the same movements that would eventually take her from him.
He just held his wife and felt their child move and let himself be happy. For a long as it lasted.
☾
Two months before
The baby shower was her friend's idea—someone from her old job who'd stayed in touch. Toji had tried to bow out of attending, but his wife had given him that look that meant it wasn't actually optional.
"It's our baby," she'd said. "You're going to be there."
So he went, uncomfortable in khakis and a button-down shirt she'd bought specifically for this occasion, to her friend's apartment that was significantly nicer than theirs. There were decorations in shades of yellow and green—"gender neutral," someone explained—and games that involved guessing the baby's weight and measuring his wife's belly with toilet paper.
Toji stood in the corner holding a paper plate of cake and tried not to look as out of place as he felt.
"You must be Toji!" He turned to find an older woman approaching, someone's mother, probably… maybe. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. "Yeah."
"Your wife talks about you constantly. She's so excited for you both." The woman glanced across the room to where his wife was laughing with a group of friends, one hand resting on her belly in that unconscious gesture she'd developed. "How are you feeling about becoming a father?"
"Terrified," Toji answered honestly.
The woman laughed. "That's a good sign. The ones who aren't scared usually should be." She patted his arm. "You'll be fine. Just love them. That's the most important thing.
Just love them. Like it was that simple.
"Toji!" His wife called across the room. "Come here! They're doing the betting pool for the due date!" He excused himself, crossing the room to stand by her side. She immediately grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, including him in the conversation even though he had nothing to contribute to the debate about whether babies born early or late were more common.
"What do you think?" she asked him. "Early or late?"
"On time," Toji said. "Because you're stubborn enough to make the baby cooperate." Everyone laughed, and his wife elbowed him gently, but she was smiling. "He's probably right. This baby is going to be so stubborn."
"Wonder where they'll get that from," her friend teased.
They played games and opened presents—so many tiny clothes, blankets, diapers, things that Toji would never have thought to buy. His wife oohed and aahed over each gift, holding up little onesies and soft blankets, her face glowing with joy.
Toji watched her, trying to capture this moment in his memory. Her happiness and excitement and the way she looked surrounded by friends and family, celebrating this new life they'd created. She was so beautiful like this. So alive and so completely, perfectly herself.
"Thank you all for coming," she said when most of the gifts had been opened. "This all means so much. To both of us." She squeezed Toji's hand. "We can't wait to meet this little one, and we're so grateful to have all of you supporting us."
There were hugs and well-wishes and promises to come visit after the baby was born. Toji helped carry the mountain of gifts to their car—they'd need two trips to get everything to the apartment—and listened to his wife chatter excitedly about how thoughtful everyone had been.
"That was nice," she said on the drive home, one hand on her belly where the baby was kicking. "I'm glad we did that, even if you looked miserable the whole time."
"I wasn't miserable."
"You stood in the corner like you were at a funeral."
"I was observing."
"You were hiding." But she was smiling. "It's okay. I know parties aren't your thing. Thank you for coming anyway."
"Of course I came."
"I know. You always show up, even when it's hard for you." She reached over to squeeze his hand. "That's going to matter, you know. When the baby comes. Showing up. Being there even when it's hard."
"I'll be there," Toji promised. "Always."
It was a promise he meant with everything in him, yet it was also a promise he'd never get the chance to keep.
☾
One month before
The nursery was barely big enough to be called a room. It was more like a walk-in closet, really, but they'd cleared out their storage and spent a weekend painting it a soft gray that she'd picked out after staring at paint samples for an hour.
"It's neutral," she'd explained. "Works for any gender. And it's calming."
Now, Toji was attempting to assemble a crib while she sat on the floor organizing tiny clothes into drawers. She was eight months along now, moving slower, her belly enormous and seemingly in the way of everything she tried to do.
"How's it going over there?" she asked without looking up from the impossibly small socks she was pairing. "Great," Toji lied, staring at the instruction manual that might as well have been written in another language. "Almost done."
"You've been saying that for an hour."
"It's a complicated crib."
"It's from IKEA. It has pictures."
"The pictures are confusing." She laughed, that warm sound that never failed to make Toji's chest feel lighter. "Need help?"
"From someone who can't reach her own feet? No thanks." He finally got two pieces to connect properly. "Ha. Progress."
"My hero." She held up a onesie that said 'I'm New Here' on it. "This one's cute. My mom sent this, I think." She folded the onesie carefully. "She's really excited. She called yesterday asking if we needed anything. I think she's already planning to spoil this baby rotten."
"Good. Every kid should have a grandparent who spoils them."
"Did you—" She stopped, then continued more carefully. "Did you ever think about reaching out to your family? Letting them know about the baby?"
"No." The word came out harder than he had intended. He forced himself to soften his tone. "They're not going to be apart of this. Of our life."
"Okay." She didn't push, which was one of the many things he loved about her. She understood that some doors were better left closed. "Just us then. And my mom. And whoever this little one decides to be."
"That's more than enough."
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. Toji eventually got the crib assembled—it only wobbled a little—and his wide directed him on where to position it. Then came the changing table, the rocking chair, and the small bookshelf already filling with board books and picture books for a child who wouldn't be able to read them for years.
"Look at this," she said, holding up a well-worn book. "Goodnight Moon. My mom read this to me every night when I was little. Now we'll read it to our baby."
"You'll read it," Toji corrected. "I'm not good at the voices."
"You'll learn." She struggled to her feet, and Toji immediately moved to help her. "Thank you. God, I can't wait to be able to stand up without assistance. Only a few more weeks."
"How are you feeling?"
"Huge. Tired. Like there's a person doing an intermediate kickboxing class inside me." She rubbed her belly. "But good. Ready. I want to meet them already."
"Soon," Toji said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands settling on her belly. The baby kicked against his palm, as if saying hello.
"Soon," she agreed. She leaned back against his chest. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"Me too." She covered his hands with hers. "But we're going to be okay. All three of us. I know it." Toji rested his chin on top of her head and looked around the small nursery they'd created. The gray walls. The assembled crib with its soft sheets decorated with tiny stars. The changing table stocked with diapers and wipes. The rocking chair where they'd take turns soothing their child to sleep.
It looked like a place where a family lived. Where a baby would be safe and wanted.
"Yeah," Toji said, letting himself believe it. "We're going to be okay."
In the moment, in that small gray room with his wife warm in his arms and their child moving between them, it felt true. He had no idea how wrong he was though.
☾
Two weeks before
The doctor's appointment was supposed to be routine, just a checkup, making sure everything was progressing normally. In and out. But his wife had been quiet on the way there, more subdued than usual. When Toji asked if she was okay, she'd just said she was tired and that the baby was sitting weird. That it was probably nothing.
Probably nothing.
The doctor—a kind-faced woman in her fifties—did all the normal checks. Blood pressure. Heartbeat. Measurements.
Then her expression changed.
It was subtle, just a small tightening around her eyes, but Toji caught it immediately. Years of reading people for threats had made him good at noticing when something was wrong.
"Is there a problem?" he asked before the doctor could speak.
"Your blood pressure is elevated," the doctor said to his wife, not quite meeting her eyes. "Higher than I'd like to see. Have you been experiencing any headaches? Visual changes? Swelling in your hands or feet?"
His wife hesitated. "Some swelling. I thought that was normal."
"It can be." The doctors checked her chart. "But combined with the elevated blood pressure… I want to run some tests. Just to be safe. There's a condition called preeclampsia that can develop in late pregnancy. It's serious if left untreated, but very manageable if we catch it early."
"Preeclampsia," Toji repeated. The word felt dangerous in his mouth.
"It's probably nothing to worry about," the doctor said, but Toji heard the careful professional hedging in her voice. "Let's get these tests done and then we'll know more."
The tests took hours. Blood work. Urine samples. More blood pressure checks. Through it all, his wife stayed calm, cracking jokes with the nurses, squeezing Toji's hand when she thought he wasn't looking. But Toji could see the fear underneath. The way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. The way she kept one hand protectively over her belly, as if she could shield their child from whatever might be wrong.
When the doctor finally called them back into her office, Toji knew before she spoke that it wasn't good news.
"It's preeclampsia," the doctor confirmed. "Not severe yet, but we need to monitor you very closely. I want to see you twice a week from now until delivery. If your blood pressure continues to rise or if we see any signs of organ stress, we may need to induce labor early."
"How early?" his wife asked quietly.
"Hopefully not at all. You're at 37 weeks now, which is technically full term. Baby should be fine if we need to deliver soon, but let's hope it doesn't come to that." The doctor folded her hands on the desk. "I need you to take this seriously. Bed rest as much as possible. No stress. Watch for warning signs—severe headaches, changes in vision, upper abdominal pain. If you experience any of those, you go straight to the hospital. Understood?"
His wife nodded.
"Understood?" the doctor repeated, looking at Toji this time.
"Yeah," Toji said. "We understand."
The drive home was silent. Toji's hands were tight on the steering wheel, his mind racing through scenarios. Preeclampsia. Early delivery. Complications. The doctor had said it was manageable, but she'd also said it was serious. Life-threatening, if it got bad enough.
"It's going to be okay," his wife said finally. She was looking out the window, one hand on her belly. "The doctor said it's manageable."
"Yeah."
"Women have babies with preeclampsia all the time and they're fine."
"Yeah."
"Toji." She waited until he glanced at her. "It's going to be okay."
He wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust in her certainty the way he always had, but something cold had settled in his gut, something that felt like premonition.
"Promise me," he said.
"Promise you what?"
"That if something goes wrong—If you have to choose between you and the baby—you choose yourself."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Toji…"
"Promise me."
"I can't promise that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not going to have to choose," she said firmly. "Because everything is going to be fine. Because in a few weeks, we're both going to be home with out baby, exhausted and happy and together."
"But if—"
"No ifs." She reached over and took his hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Toji. You're stuck with me."
He held her hand and tried to believe her. Tried to ignore the fear that had wrapped around his heart and wouldn't let go. He tried to tell himself that, of course, everything would be fine. That complications like this happened all the time, and that worrying wouldn't change anything.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was coming, and that the small, happy life they'd build was about to be destroyed. And no matter how tightly he held her hand, he couldn't stop it.
☾
One week before
She was on bed rest.
The doctor had called it "modified bed rest," which apparently meant she could get up to use the bathroom and shower, but otherwise should be resting. Lying down. Keeping her blood pressure as low as possible.
Toji had taken a week off work—something he never did—to stay home with her and make sure she actually rested instead of trying to clean or cook or do all the things she normally did.
"I'm fine," she kept insisting. "This is overkill."
"Doctor's orders," Toji replied, bringing her water and the pregnany pillow she needed to get comfortable.
"I'm not dying. It's just high blood pressure."
"Which can lead to seizures and organ failure if we're not careful."
"Way to catastrophize."
"Way to not take this seriously."
She sighed, settling back against the pillows. The baby was moving, a visible roll across her belly. "I know you're worried, but worrying isn't helping."
"It's helping me."
"How?"
"Gives me something to do besides feel hopeless."
She looked at him for a long moment, then patted the bed beside her. "Come here." Toji sat carefully, not wanting to jostle her. "I'm scared too," she admitted. "I've been pretending I'm not, because if I acknowledge how scared I am, it becomes real. But I'm terrified. What if something goes wrong? What if the baby comes too early? What if—"
"Hey." Toji took her hand. "The doctor said you're both okay right now and that we just need to be careful."
"I know. But there's so much that could go wrong, and I keep thinking about—" She stopped, swallowed hard. "What if I don't get to meet them? What if something happens and I don't even get to hold my baby?"
"That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that you're the strongest person I've ever met. That you've already made it to 38 weeks. That out baby is healthy and waiting to meet us. That the doctors know what they're doing."
"And if that's not enough?" Toji didn't have an answer to that. Didn't know how to promise her something he couldn't control.
"Then I'll be here," he said finally. "No matter what happens. I'll be right here with you. With both of you."
She nodded, blinking back tears. "I'm trying so hard to stay calm. For the baby. But I'm so scared, Toji."
"I know." He shifted to lie beside her, carefully arranging himself so he wasn't putting pressure on her belly. "But we're going to get through this. All three of us. Together."
She curled against his as much as her pregnancy would allow. "Promise?" He wanted to promise. Wanted to say the words that would make her feel better, make her feel safe. But he'd already made her one promise—that he'd take care of their child—and the circumstances under which that promise would need to be kept were too terrible to contemplate.
"I promise I'll do everything I can," he said instead.
It was the best he could offer. The most honest thing he could say.
And as he head his wife and felt their child moving between them, he prayed to whatever gods might be listening that it would be enough to save his family.
☾
The day before
"Toji, wake up."
He came awake instantly, assessment already happening: her voice was tight with pain, her breathing was off, something was wrong—
"What is it?" He was sitting up, reaching for her. "What's wrong?"
"I don't feel right." Her hand was pressed to her side, just below her ribs. "There's this pain. Sharp. And my head is pounding." Warning signs. The doctor had listed warning signs. Severe headaches. Upper abdominal pain.
"We're going to the hospital," Toji said, already moving.
"Maybe it's nothing—"
"We're not taking that chance. Get dressed. I'll grab your bag."
They'd had the hospital bag packed for weeks—her doing, her preparation, her belief in being ready for anything. Toji grabbed it from the closet, helped her into clothes, got her to the car in less that five minutes.
The drive to the hospital was the longest twenty minutes of his life.
She was quiet in the passenger seat, both hands pressed to her side, breathing carefully. Toji kept glancing over at her, checking that shd was okay, that she was still conscious, that she was still there.
"It's probably nothing," she said, but her voice was strained. "Probably just Braxton Hicks. Or the baby sitting on a nerve."
"Probably," Toji agreed, even though everything in him was screaming that this was not nothing.
The emergency room took her back immediately. That, more than anything, confirmed that this was serious. They didn't rush people back for nothing. Toji tried to follow, but a nurse stopped him. "We need to get her examined first. You can come back in a few minutes."
"I'm not leaving her."
"Sir, you'll be able to see her very soon. But right now we need to—"
"That's my wife. I'm not leaving her," Toji repeated, and something in his voice must have communicated that he would fight them if necessary, because the nurse's expression softened.
"Okay. Come with me. But you need to stay out of the way and let us work." Toji followed her through the double doors. They had his wife on a bed, already hooking up monitors. A doctor was firing questions at her: When did the pain start? How severe? Any visual changes? Had she noticed decreased fetal movement?
"The baby's been moving normal," she said. "But the pain started about an hour ago. And the headache—it's really bad. Worse than anything I've had before."
"Blood pressure is 180 over 110," a nurse called out. The doctor's expression tightened. "Get her on magnesium sulfate. Call OB. We're looking at severe preeclampsia, possibly HELLP syndrome."
HELLP syndrome. Toji didn't know what that was, but the urgency in everyone's voices told him it was bad.
"Ma'am, we're going to need to deliver your baby," the doctor said. "Your blood pressure is dangerously high and we're seeing signs of organ stress. The safest thing for both of you is to get the baby out now."
"Now?" She looked terrified. "Like, right now?"
"We're prepping an operating room. It's going to be a C-section—we don't have time for labor." The doctor looked at Toji. "Dad, you'll need to scrub in if you want to be present."
Present. For the birth of his child. While his wife was in danger.
"I'll be there," Toji said.
Everything happened fast after that. They were wheeling her toward the OR, and someone was pushing scrubs at Toji and telling him to change quickly, that he had five minutes. He changed in record time, scrubbed his hands until they were raw, followed the nurse who led him into the operating room where his wife was already on the table, belly exposed, looking small and scared under the bright lights.
"Toji," she said when she saw him, and the relief in her voice almost broke him.
"I'm here." He took his place by her head, taking her hand. "I'm right here."
"I'm scared."
"I know. But you're so strong. You've got this."
"What if—"
"No what ifs. Remember? Everything's going to be fine."
The doctors and nurses were moving with practiced efficiency around them. Someone was putting up a drape so they couldn't see the surgery. Someone else was explaining what they were doing, but Toji couldn't process the words. He could only see his wife.
"You're doing great," he kept saying. "Almost there. Almost done." And he wasn't sure if that mantra was more for him than it was for her. To convince himself that everything would be okay, that she would be fine, that the baby would be healthy.
And then—a sound that cut through everything else. A cry. High-pitched and indignant and so beautifully, impossibly alive.
"It's a boy," someone announced. "Nice healthy cry."
A boy. They had a son.
"Is he okay?" his wife asked desperately. "Is he okay?"
"He's perfect," the nurse said, moving into view with a small, squirming bundle. "Want to meet your baby?"
She was crying as they lowered the baby to her face—Toji could see him now, red and wrinkled and screaming—and she kissed his small forehead. "Hi, Megumi," she whispered. "Hi, baby. I'm your mama."
It was the only time she'd ever get to say those words.
"We need to finish up here," the doctor said, and then they were taking Megumi away to be cleaned and checked, and Toji was torn between following his son and staying with his wife.
He stayed with his wife.
"He's beautiful," she said, still crying. "Did you see him? He's so beautiful."
"I saw him."
"That's our baby."
"That's our baby," Toji agreed.
And then everything went wrong.
Alarms started beeping. The doctors' voices became urgent. Someone was calling for blood. Someone else was saying something about hemorrhaging.
"What's happening?" Toji demanded. "What's wrong?"
"Sir, you need to step back—"
"Like hell I'm stepping back. What's happening?"
"She's bleeding. We're doing everything we can—" More doctors rushed in. More supplies appeared. The organized efficiency turned into controlled chaos, and Toji could only stand there, holding his wife's hand, watching her face grow paler.
"Toji," she whispered.
"I'm here."
"The baby—take care of him. Remember what you promised—"
"You're going to take care of him. You're going to be fine."
"Just in case—"
"No just in case." His voice cracked. "You're going to be fine. You have to be fine." But he could see it in the doctors' faces. Could hear it in the increasing urgency of their voices. Could feel it in the way his wife's hand was growing weaker in his.
"I love you," she said.
"Don't," Toji said desperately. "Don't say goodbye. You're not—you can't—"
"I love you so much. You and Megumi. Both of you."
"I love you too. Don't leave me. Tell him that yourself. You're going to—"
Her eyes closed. The monitors flat-lined. And despite everything the doctors did—despite the blood transfusions and the emergency procedures and the desperate attempts to bring her back— she was gone.
His wife was gone.
And Toji stood there in his scrubs, blood on his hands from where he'd been holding hers, and watched his entire world end.
Somewhere in the hospital, his son was crying.
And Toji couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't process how both things could be true at the same time: that his wife was dead, and his son was alive, and his promise to her meant that he had to somehow keep going when all he wanted to do was follow her into the dark.
☾
Now. The hospital room.
It had been six hours.
Six hours since she'd died.
Six hours since Megumi had been born.
And now Toji stood in the hospital room where they'd brought her body, where they'd cleaned her up and made her look peaceful, like she was sleeping.
But she wasn't sleeping. She was never going to wake up.
"Fushiguro-san?" A nurse stood in the doorway. The same one who'd handed him Megumi earlier. "Your son needs you. He'd been crying, and… he needs you."
Toji couldn't look away from his wife's still face. "Give me a minute."
"Sir, your son—"
"I said give me a minute!"
The nurse left, quietly closing the door.
Toji approached the bed slowly. Stood looking down at the woman he'd loved more than he'd thought it was possible to love another person.
She looked young. Peaceful. Like the past nine months hadn't happened. Like she was just sleeping, waiting for him to wake her up with a kiss like some fairy tale.
But fairy tales were bullshit. And she was gone.
"I don't know how to do this," he whispered. "You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to help me. Teach me. I can't—" His voice broke. "I can't do this without you/"
She didn't answer. Of course she didn't answer.
"He looks like you," Toji continued. "Megumi. He has your nose. Your features. Every time I look at him, I'm going to see you." He gripped the bed rail, knuckles white. "How am I supposed to love him when every time I see his face, I'll remember that you're gone?"
Silence.
"I promised you I'd take care of him," Toji said. "And I will. I'll keep him alive. I'll make sure he's fed and clothed and safe. But I don't know if I can—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't articulate the terrible truth: that he didn't know if he could love his son. Not when his son's existence had cost him everything. Not when looking at Megumi would be a constant reminder of what should have been and never would be.
"I'm sorry," Toji whispered. "I'm so sorry."
For what, he wasn't sure. For being unable to save her. For resenting their son. For being the kind of person who could love someone so much but still feel anger alongside the grief.
For failing her already, even though Megumi was only hours old.
Someone knocked on the door. A different nurse.
"Fushiguro-san, your son really needs you now. He won't stop crying." Toji took one last look at his wife's peaceful face. Memorized it. Then turned and walked out of the room. Toward his son. Toward the future he'd never wanted and couldn't escape.
Toward the promise he'd have to keep even though it was going to destroy him.
The nurse led him to the nursery, where Megumi was laid in a small plastic bassinet, screaming his newborn lungs out. The sound was piercing, desperate, the cry of something that needed and needed and wouldn't stop needing for years to come.
"He won't settle for anyone else," the nurse said. "But babies know their parents. He'll calm down for you."
Toji didn't believe her.
But he picked up his son anyway, supporting the small head the way they'd taught him, holding the warm, squirming weight against his chest.
And Megumi stopped crying.
Just like that. The wails cut off, replaced by small snuffling sounds as the baby settled against his chest.
"See?" the nurse said softly. "He knows his daddy."
Toji looked down at his son. At the small perfect face. At the delicate nose that was his wife's nose. At the dark eyes that would probably be her eyes. At every feature that would forever remind him of everything he'd lost.
"Hello, Megumi," he whispered.
And tried to feel something other than grief.