— Farewell
The rain pressed against the window like a quiet heartbeat.
It hadn't stopped for days, or maybe it only felt that way.
Naoki sat by his mother's bedside, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. The steady hum of the machines filled the small hospital room. Beeps. Whirs. The rhythmic sigh of the ventilator.
The only sound keeping her alive.
His eyes were hollow.
The bruises that once marked his face were gone, but the shadow behind his eyes had not faded. His hair was longer now, falling over his forehead, covering part of his gaze like a curtain to hide behind.
Outside, thunder rolled far away. The world seemed distant — like a place he no longer belonged to.
Naoki stared at his mother. Tubes ran from her arms, wires traced over her chest. Her lips were pale, her body thin, fragile like paper left in rain.
He swallowed, hard, but his throat burned.
"Hey, Mom…" His voice cracked, soft, uneven. "You know, it's been months."
He smiled, faintly, but it wasn't joy — just the ghost of what it once was.
"The nurse said you're… stable. That's what they always say." He let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. "Stable. Like that means something."
He rubbed his eyes, trying to stop the sting building there.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I really am."
His voice trembled. His chest tightened.
"If I wasn't your son… maybe you'd be happier. Maybe you'd still be working at the café, laughing with people, making jokes about my hair or how I can't cook to save my life." He laughed weakly, then stopped. "But no… you got me. You got… me."
His hands clenched on his knees, knuckles whitening.
The tears came suddenly — hot, sharp, unrelenting.
"Ahhh! Damn it!" He slammed his hand against the bed rail, the metallic clang echoing through the room. "Why can't I do anything right?!"
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on her motionless hand. The skin was cold, soft, lifeless.
"Why did it have to be you? Why not me?!"
He sobbed quietly, shoulders trembling. The rain outside grew heavier, each drop a hollow sound against the glass — like time itself crying with him.
And then, like a cruel reminder, a memory flashed.
---
"Naoki."
The voice was calm but firm. A doctor stood across from him in the hallway, holding a clipboard. His expression was heavy, the kind doctors wear when they have to break something no one wants to hear.
Naoki's stomach twisted.
"How's my mom?"
The doctor hesitated. His eyes flicked away, searching for words.
"There's… no change."
Naoki frowned. "What do you mean, no change?"
"She hasn't improved. Her brain activity is minimal." The doctor's tone was careful, almost rehearsed. "I need you to understand something important, Naoki."
Naoki's chest tightened. "What are you trying to say?"
The doctor sighed. "Your mother's condition — it's irreversible. Even if she wakes up, she'll…" He paused, the next words barely leaving his lips. "She'll be in a vegetative state. She won't speak. She won't move. She'll live in constant pain, trapped inside her own body."
Naoki took a step forward. "What the hell are you saying?"
"I'm saying she's suffering, even like this. Her body is alive, but her mind… her mind isn't here anymore."
Naoki's jaw tightened. "No. You're lying."
The doctor set down the clipboard. "Naoki—"
"You're lying!" Naoki's voice echoed through the hallway. "You're supposed to be a doctor! You're supposed to save her!"
"I wish I could," the doctor said softly. "But some things… can't be fixed."
Naoki laughed bitterly. "Can't be fixed, huh? You think I don't know that? You think I haven't been watching her every day? You think I don't see her chest move just because of your machines?"
He took another step, closer, his voice trembling with fury. "Do you know how much I've spent on this hospital? Do you have any idea what I did to keep her here?!"
The doctor didn't respond. His silence was like a wall Naoki couldn't break.
"Answer me!"
"I know it's hard," the doctor said gently. "But you need to listen to me, Naoki."
"I don't want to listen!"
The doctor's eyes softened. "If you really love her… if you truly want to ease her pain…" He took a breath. "…then you need to consider letting her go."
Naoki froze.
"What?"
The doctor met his gaze. "I suggest pulling the plug."
Something snapped.
Naoki's fist shot forward, grabbing the doctor by the collar. "Say that again," he growled, his voice shaking. "Say that again!"
"Naoki—"
Before the man could finish, Naoki's right hand clenched and swung. The punch connected squarely against the doctor's jaw.
The sound of it echoed — flesh against bone, anger against helplessness.
The doctor stumbled back, his clipboard crashing to the floor. But he didn't hit back. He didn't even flinch.
Instead, he straightened, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around Naoki.
Naoki's body stiffened in shock.
The doctor's voice was low, trembling. "I know it's hard," he said. "I know everything feels unfair. But she wouldn't want you to suffer like this. You've already been through so much."
Naoki's arms hung limp at his sides. The warmth of the doctor's hold broke something inside him.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy everything. But instead, all that came out was a quiet sob.
The doctor patted his back softly. "Sometimes… love means knowing when to stop the pain."
Naoki shook his head weakly. "You don't know her…"
The doctor's voice cracked. "Maybe not. But I know what it means to lose someone you love."
The memory ended with silence.
---
Naoki blinked. The rain outside blurred the world into streaks of gray and silver.
He stared at his mother again. Her face was calm. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
He stood slowly, his knees weak, and walked closer to the machine. The screen blinked softly — numbers, lines, waves.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers trembled.
"Mom," he whispered. "Do you remember that time I tried to make breakfast for you? I burned the eggs, ruined the toast, and still you smiled. You said it was the best meal you ever had."
He laughed through his tears. "You liar."
He took a deep breath, his voice breaking. "You always smiled. Even when Dad left, even when we lost the house, even when people called me names for being… for being me. You never stopped smiling. You were my light."
His hand moved to the life-support machine. He stared at the switch. The one that kept her breathing.
"I don't know what's right anymore," he whispered. "I don't even know what kind of son I've been."
He leaned closer, his tears dripping onto her blanket.
"If I let you go… does that mean I've failed you?"
He paused. "Or does it mean I love you enough to stop your pain?"
He looked up at the ceiling, at the flickering light that buzzed faintly above.
"Tell me what to do, Mom," he whispered. "Please… just once more… tell me what to do."
But there was no answer. Only the rhythmic beep, steady, cruel.
Naoki clenched his jaw. His breath trembled.
"Remember that night?" he said suddenly, his voice hoarse. "You told me… you told me I was your miracle."
He smiled bitterly. "Some miracle, huh?"
He took a deep breath, his fingers curling tighter around the switch.
"I can't do this…" he whispered. "I can't—"
He squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body shook.
And then the words slipped out — quiet, cracked, broken.
"I'm sorry."
He turned his head away, unable to watch, unable to breathe.
His thumb hovered over the switch.
The rain outside grew louder, hammering against the glass, drowning the sound of his sobs.
His reflection trembled in the window — a boy caught between mercy and madness.
The machines kept humming, unaware of the storm inside him.
Naoki looked at his mother one last time. Her lips parted slightly, as though she might speak.
"Please…" he whispered. "Forgive me."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
His hand moved closer.
And then—
To be continued.🫠