After the divorce, my family's story turned into public spectacle. News anchors reported with glossy smiles, flashing edited clips of Mama's carefully composed face. "We've chosen different paths," she said, her voice steady, her image flawless. Papa echoed her words a day later, standing under the bright lights of a press conference, wearing a calm mask that told the world everything was fine.
But I knew the truth.
The night everything cracked apart never made it to the headlines. No one reported the shouting. No one mentioned the shattered vase. No one saw the way Mama looked at me afterward—like I was someone else's child.
I didn't understand all of it, not then. But I felt it.
Mama grew more distant with every passing day. She stopped asking about school. She stopped smiling when she saw me. She didn't touch my hair anymore. Her arms, once warm and perfumed, became foreign and unreachable. I was left with housekeepers and strangers who forgot my name by the end of their shift.
But Papa… Papa was still there.
Even after the world shifted, I clung to the one constant I had left. After school, I'd sneak away to a quiet park few people remembered, and there—away from the eyes of the world—Papa and I would meet.
Our first stop was often a public restroom, a place where I experienced what I later understood to be an oral. Then, it was off to a family restaurant, followed by a visit to Papa's place, our 'secret love nest', as we called it.
As time passed, the nature of our encounters deepened into something far more troubling.
Papa would play various genres of pornography in the background as we did, his fascination with my naive reactions evident. He'd tie me up and introduce an array of toys, claiming it was necessary for my body to adapt. Gradually, he began filming our encounters, positioning me as a submissive participant in a disturbing imitation of the videos we watched.
In those early years of grade school, I still believed his affection was special. Sacred. Love, I told myself. This is what love is.
I didn't question it. Not when he praised me. Not when he said no one else could ever make him feel like I did. I believed him. I needed to.
But things changed the day Mio entered my life.
She took the seat beside me one morning, as spring air flowed through the open windows and the smell of fresh chalk dust lingered in the classroom. There was something easy about her, something warm. She smiled like it came naturally without reason or agenda.
"Isn't that great?" Mio beamed, her smile as radiant and untainted as a spring morning. "If you drop by the office, we can play there while waiting for Mama."
"Uhm… can I?" I asked, hesitant.
"Why not? Miura-san is Dai-kun's father, right? I'm sure he'd let you come."
Her words were innocent. She had no idea what that offer meant to me. No idea what Papa and I shared behind closed doors. To her, it was just a friendly invitation.
Still, I nodded.
And just like that, the park where I once waited for Papa became a forgotten relic of the past. Now, I trailed behind Mio and her mother into the brightly lit corridors of the agency, pretending we were just ordinary kids with ordinary lives.
If Mio and her mom were speaking to the management, I would sneak into Papa's office. There, with the blinds drawn and the door locked, we would vanish into our world of secrets. I didn't understand what any of it meant, not really. But I looked forward to it. I told myself it was love.
I thought it would last forever. I thought Papa would always want me the same way.
But one afternoon, as we drove through the city in his black car, he reached over and touched my hand—a familiar gesture, one that used to bring comfort. This time, it made my stomach twist.
"You should stop coming to my office, Daichi."
I turned to him, startled. "But… why?"
He gave me a soft smile, brushing his fingers against my cheek. "You see… Mama doesn't like me anymore, and she doesn't want me to see you."
"Am I… not allowed to see you anymore, Papa?"
"Of course we can," he said gently. "But let's tone it down a little and meet only at my place, okay? Papa will fetch you from school."
I nodded. I always nodded. But inside, I wanted to scream.
I wanted to say no. To beg him not to change anything. I wanted to be held, reassured, told that nothing had shifted. That I was still special.
But the truth was… things had changed.
And from that day on, I saw him less and less. Our secret meetings became rare, scattered across weeks instead of days. Sometimes an entire month passed with nothing but silence.
The gap he left behind hurt more than I could say.
Still, I didn't cry. I didn't scream.