---
And unfolded it.
Neat handwriting. Not a child’s. Steady. Upright.
Tokyo.
District name.
Street name.
Building number.
Unit 203.
---
My unit.
I slowly raised my head.
---
She wasn’t smiling now.
She was watching me.
Waiting.
---
"Where did you get this address?"
"From..."
"From where?"
"The old house."
That answer explained nothing.
---
I looked back down at the paper. The details were precise. Even the postal code was correct.
Not approximate.
Not close.
Exact.
If this was a coincidence, then coincidence was working far too hard today.
---
"Have you been here before?"
"No."
"So this is your first time here."
"Yes."
"And you still knocked without hesitation."
"Yes."
I studied her face.
"What made you so sure I’d open the door?"
She answered without pause.
"Because Papa isn’t a bad person."
---
I let out a faint breath.
"That’s a rather quick judgment."
She shook her head slowly.
"It wasn’t quick."
Her eyes didn’t move.
Didn’t waver.
---
As if she had reached that conclusion long ago.
I folded the paper once. Then again.
---
The air in the room felt heavier now.
Not because the room was small.
But because the situation was no longer simple.
---
I glanced at the plastic folder on the table.
That name was still inside it.
Kanzaki Sayaka.
---
I didn’t want to think about that yet.
"Anything besides this?" I asked.
She lowered her gaze briefly.
Then reached for her bag again.
This time, her movements were slower.
More careful.
---
She pulled out a small envelope. The corners were worn, softened from being handled many times.
She opened it.
And took out a photograph.
She held it with both hands.
---
"This," she said quietly.
She offered it to me.
I took it.
A woman stood in the center of the frame.
Long hair. Stage dress. Professional smile. White fabric reflecting the glow of overhead lights.
Beside her—
---
A little girl.
Shorter hair. Smaller frame.
Holding her hand tightly.
Smiling at the camera.
---
I felt something tighten in my chest.
I looked up.
Then back down at the photo.
Then up again.
The girl sitting in front of me.
The same eyes.
The same face.
The same person.
I looked back at the woman in the photo.
---
And this time, I recognized her.
Not from television.
Not from a screen.
But from somewhere else.
Somewhere closer.
Somewhere real.
---
Kanzaki Sayaka.
My fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the photograph.
Because I wasn’t just looking at a stranger anymore.
I was looking at someone I had met before.
---