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Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the countertop; her impatience conveyed in a way both restrained and impossible to ignore. The nurse behind the desk stiffened, and redoubled her efforts, her eyes flicking nervously from the computer screen to where she stood over her.
If only the woman would simply focus on her task, they'd be done by now.
Her tapping grew more incessant.
“Ah, here it is,” the nurse announced, looking up with a nervous smile, before quickly dropping her gaze at her severe expression. “Uh, yes, your daughter is in room 312.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly, stepping away from the reception desk without another word. She strode briskly to the lifts, calling for one, and a moment later the doors slid open and she stepped inside.
No one joined her.
The doors closed once more.
She was alone.
She let out an imperceptible breath. She’d never let it show in public, but hospitals always set her on edge; it was the mix of death and disease, wrapped up in the false cheery persona they constructed to prevent the atmosphere from becoming too depressing. She would only ever visit when necessary, and it had been a long time since that had been the case.
Well, she certainly had a reason to visit today.
Her daughter had just given birth.
Her fingers resumed their tapping, playing a muffled stochastic beat through the fabric of her trousers against the case of her phone in her pocket.
Her daughter was still young; she shouldn’t be starting a family so soon. She should have waited another couple of years. Although, she was at least old enough that this wasn’t a scandal. And she was married; that helped a lot.
Waiting as the lift slowly rose, she considered how this would shape her daughter’s public image. It would most likely work to her benefit, at least in the short term. It was hard to criticise a new mother so soon after the birth of her child. The challenge came when the sheen started to wear off, and candid pictures hit the tabloids of her exhaustedly caring for a demanding newborn. But she was sure her daughter could pull it off with elegance and grace.
Mai Sakurajima could do anything.
The elevator doors opened and, despite her distraction, she stepped out promptly. The click of her heels echoed through the corridor as she strode forward, eyes scanning each room as she passed, searching for her daughter. But the numbers on the doors were far from 312. She increased her pace.
Turning a corner, she found her clearest sign yet that she was heading in the right direction. Two girls sat in the hallway, smiling and talking in low voices so as not to disrupt the gentle hush of the hospital, and she recognised the older of the two immediately - Nodoka Toyohoma, her ex-husband’s daughter.
The other, a brown-haired girl just barely out of high school, she had never met her before; but she knew who she was. Kaede Azusagawa. The sister of her daughter’s husband. Technically speaking they were family, so it was only natural she should recognise her on sight.
Let no one say she didn’t do her homework.
The rhythmic clicking of her heels on the laminate floor alerted the girls to her presence. Azusagawa’s expression stiffened, anxiety shining through despite her best efforts. Toyohama surveyed her with open hostility.
Neither offered to show her to her daughter’s room. Such poor manners. But she didn’t need them. She swept past without breaking stride.
She looked instead to the hospital signs, screwed to the walls and hanging from the ceiling. They were far more helpful than the progeny of her faithless husband. She took a right, and then a left, before finally coming to a short hallway, at the end of which a private room was tucked neatly out of the way. No more than her daughter deserved. Privacy was essential for an actress of the stature of Mai Sakurajima.
She approached the doorway.
There she was, Mai, sitting propped up on her pillows in her hospital bed, the light streaming in through the large windows basking her in a warm glow. In her arms lay cradled a bundle of blankets, the baby all but obscured from her position by the door, and leaning against the side of the bed, looking down on his wife and newborn child, was Mai’s husband.
Sakuta Azusagawa. Even now she knew little about him, their interactions seldom and brief, but she would still recognise him anywhere. She wasn’t going to forget the trouble he’d put her through. It was when her relationship with Mai had been at its most strained - when Mai had left home, took a hiatus from acting, and cut off all contact - that he’d appeared. She’d been forced to watch from afar as his presence threatened to stain her daughter’s reputation, ruin her image as a pure and innocent schoolgirl. She remembered the articles and the magazine covers, all the calls she’d made to protect her daughter, even as Mai refused to let her back into her life. It had been the greatest challenge of her professional career, and she doubted Azusagawa had any idea it had even happened.
Although, in the end, it had all worked out for the best. Those early years had been dangerous, but their relationship sustained. Now, rather than salacious rumours, the media had a different view of them. They were the devoted high school sweethearts, madly in love with not a hint of drama or controversy; an image that would only be strengthened by the addition to their family.
And Azusagawa himself wasn’t the worst partner Mai could have chosen. Though his lack of a public profile frustrated her attempts to monitor his behaviour, the fact he was not a famous actor or musician added a sense of authenticity to their relationship, something further emphasised by Mai’s protectiveness with regards to his exposure to the press. It all undoubtedly solidified Mai’s reputation as a woman of thoughtfulness and grace - a reputation she had hoped for her daughter since she was a young girl.
She stood in silence, watching from the doorway as the small family remained oblivious to her presence. Mai and Azusagawa spoke in soft murmurs, favouring each other with warm smiles, their eyes frequently falling to the baby resting between them. They gave the impression she could stand here for hours without them noticing, wrapped up in their own little world.
A wave of jealousy washed over her. What an ugly emotion. Jealousy had no place in her world. There were only results, and the actions you must take to achieve them. That was all that mattered.
She wrapped her knuckles firmly against the door. Immediately the occupants of the room looked up towards her.
“Mum,” said Mai, blinking in surprise. “You’re here.”
She nodded curtly.
Silence stretched between them.
Gently, Azusagawa pushed himself from the bed.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he said, leaning down to kiss the bundle in Mai’s arms before turning the same affection to his wife. “I’ll check in with Nodoka and Kaede. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” Mai promised. “We’ll be right here.”
Azusagawa smiled. He glanced up towards her, straightened, and rounded the bed, passing her wordlessly in the doorway.
At last, she was alone with her daughter.
“Are you going to come in?” Mai wondered, looking at her still stood in the doorway.
She hesitated. Even with Azusagawa gone, it felt like an intrusion, like her presence was an unwelcome blot on the happy scene. Yet, she had come all this way for a reason.
She stepped inside.
And came to a halt once again. Several feet from the bed, her legs refused to take her any further. There was a warmth surrounding her daughter, the lingering joy from welcoming new life into the world, that only grew more potent the closer she got. It was not the place for her; not for a mother who failed her daughter.
She kept her distance.
“Congratulations,” she said instead. “You must be very happy.”
Mai nodded.
“I am,” she said, smiling down at the baby in her arms. “I worried I might not be, but when I look at her face…”
So her grandchild was a girl.
“How was childbirth?” she asked.
Mai let out a soft laugh.
“Not fun,” she admitted, but she was still smiling. “Tiring, stressful… but straightforward. Everything went as planned.”
It sounded much like her own experience with Mai.
“I’d heard so many stories,” Mai continued, shaking her head ruefully. “I was so anxious, expecting the worse. But I had Sakuta with me, so I was alright.”
That was different. She hadn’t had a partner to help her through the fear and the pain; she’d been alone. The disturbing swell of jealously welled within her once more.
“And the baby?” she wondered, ignoring the tightening in her throat.
“Happy and healthy,” Mai assured her. “6 pounds, 12 ounces. She’s perfect.” Mai smiled down at her daughter, every inch of her expression showing her utmost devotion to that one simple belief.
The jealousy twisted uncomfortably in her chest, inevitable, and yet still she pushed it away, ignoring how fiercely it clung to her, how it refused to be forgotten. She had no right to curse her own misfortune, no right to deny Mai her happiness now - not after the way she’d fractured her bond with the only person who’d been there with her all those years ago.
“Does she have a name?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“We haven’t decided on one yet,” said Mai, her eyes never leaving the baby in her arms. “We have some ideas, but for now it is enough that she is our daughter.”
The swirling emotions thrashed more ferociously inside her, threatening to break her facade. She looked at her daughter - her beautiful, contented, wonderful daughter - and all she could think was of the pain she’d inflicted upon her. The control she’d exerted over Mai’s life, never giving her the childhood she deserved, the childhood she’d promised, favouring instead the success and fame of managing a child star… that had all led to where she was now - cold, alone, filled with regret.
“Don’t you want to come closer?” Mai asked, looking up quizzically. “You can’t say you’ve properly met her from over there.”
The simple suggestion froze her in place. For a moment, her breath seemed to vanish. She stared at Mai… and her body began to move of its own volition. Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped forward.
Reaching the side of her daughter’s bed, she caught her first look at her granddaughter. She was so small, so innocent, nothing but a warm body nestled in the protection of her mother’s arms.
She felt her breath catch.
She looked so much like Mai. She remembered, a quarter of a century ago, lying in a hospital bed looking down at her daughter the same way Mai was now, certain that she was everything that was important in the world. Work, wealth, relationships, it all paled in comparison to the miracle of life bundled in hospital blankets, trusting in her to fend off all dangers that come her way.
“Would you like to hold her?”
She looked up, startled. Mai was facing her, smile still in place, perfectly at ease. This wasn’t an offer made out of obligation, out of tradition or family loyalty. This was real, genuine.
Her body subtly shaking, she reached out her arms. Mai shifted, lifting the baby in its bundle of blankets and laying it in her mother’s grasp, the soft smile never once leaving her face, and she sat back, watching as her mother slowly raised her daughter to her chest.
She looked down at her granddaughter, a soft weight in her arms, barely noticeable… if she hadn’t been aware she was holding something so precious. The tiny baby peered up through lidded eyes, squirming at being suddenly removed from her mother’s arms, and instinctively she readjusted her grip. Muscle memory kicked in, her body shifting to provide a secure, comfortable embrace, her movements so proficient it felt as though no time had passed since she’d been doing this every day… as though she had just been holding Mai the same way.
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes. And with her arms wrapped around the beautiful baby, she couldn’t brush them away; she had no choice but to let them fall.
After all these years - after the loss, and the cold, and the heartache of knowing it was all her fault - she was getting a second chance. A chance she did not deserve. A chance she had been sure, even if there was some tiny part of her that had held out hope, would never come. A chance at redemption.
She promised - although she couldn’t say it aloud, but she promised all the same - she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. For her granddaughter, for this tiny baby in her arms, she would do better. She would be what her granddaughter needed. What they both needed.
Family.