By mid Afternoon, the house had settled into something that almost felt normal.

  Not before normal—nothing could ever rewind to that—but a new kind of quiet routine, one that moved carefully around a truth too big to ignore and too precious to mishandle.

  Eri remained in her room, door open now, sunlight spilling across the floor. Yui had eventually been coaxed downstairs with promises of Sweets and cartoons, though not before she’d very seriously negotiated “one st tail hug.” Mira had supervised the extraction gently, peeling Yui off like she was removing tape from something delicate.

  Now, the kitchen smelled faintly of coffee to help relieve some of the extra stress.

  Mom moved around the space with a mug in her hands, slower than usual, like she was thinking through every step. Mira leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely, watching her. There was an unspoken awareness between them that nothing had reset just because they’d taken a breath.

  Mom broke the silence first.

  “So,” she said, staring into her mug. “Your father will be home around six.”

  Mira nodded. “Yeah.”

  Another pause.

  “…We can’t not tell him,” Mom continued, not looking up.

  “No,” Mira agreed. “We can’t.”

  They both fell quiet again, the weight of that inevitability settling between them.

  From upstairs, there was a soft sound—barely audible, but distinct. A rustle. The gentle brush of fur against fabric. Eri shifting.

  Mom’s gaze flicked instinctively toward the ceiling.

  “She hasn’t left the room,” Mom said quietly.

  “She doesn’t feel safe yet,” Mira replied. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.

  Mom closed her eyes briefly. “I hate that.”

  “So do I,” Mira said. “But… she’s still here. She didn’t disappear. That’s something.”

  Mom nodded slowly. “It is.”

  She took a breath and finally looked at Mira. “How do we even begin that conversation?”

  Mira thought for a moment. “We don’t start with expnations. We start with grounding.”

  Mom raised an eyebrow.

  “We tell him Ethan’s okay,” Mira said. “That he’s safe. That he’s still our kid. Then we tell him there’s something he needs to see. Not hear. See.”

  Mom exhaled shakily. “And pray he doesn’t panic.”

  Mira gave a small, wry smile. “Dad panics internally. He goes quiet. That’s… better than yelling.”

  “True,” Mom admitted.

  They both knew him well enough to picture it: the way he’d sit down without being told, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed as he tried to reason his way through the impossible.

  Mom rubbed her temples. “Yui is going to talk.”

  Mira snorted softly. “She already tried to ask if Eri could come to show-and-tell.”

  Mom sighed, but there was a fondness there. “We’ll have to expin some limits to her on Eri.”

  “She understands more than we think,” Mira said. “She didn’t freak out.”

  “No,” Mom said softly. “She didn’t.”

  They both gnced again toward the stairs.

  Upstairs, Eri sat on the bed, knees pulled up, tails draped loosely around her. She wasn’t hiding anymore—but she wasn’t ready to rejoin the house either. She listened to the muffled sounds of everyday life: the clink of dishes, the hum of the refrigerator, Yui’s ughter drifting up from the living room.

  Normal sounds.

  Her ears twitched at each one.

  She hugged one tail close to her chest, fingers threading through the fur absentmindedly. Part of her expected the calm to shatter at any second—to hear raised voices, denial, anger.

  It didn’t come.

  Instead, Mira appeared in the doorway, knocking lightly even though the door was open.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Eri looked up immediately. “Is… everything okay?”

  Mira nodded. “As okay as it can be.”

  She stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed again. “Mom and I are talking about Dad.”

  Eri’s stomach tightened. Her ears dipped. “Today?”

  “Yeah,” Mira said gently. “We don’t think waiting helps.”

  Eri swallowed. “Does he… have to see me like this?”

  Mira met her eyes. “Only if you’re ready.”

  Eri looked down at her hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  “That’s okay,” Mira said. “Ready is overrated. Honest matters more.”

  Eri let out a quiet breath. One of her tails flicked nervously. “What if he hates this?”

  Mira’s voice didn’t waver. “Then he’ll have to deal with it. But he won’t hate you.”

  Eri’s ears twitched upward slightly at that.

  Downstairs, Yui’s voice suddenly piped up. “Mom! Can Eri come watch cartoons?”

  Mom smiled despite herself. “In a bit, honey.”

  She lowered her voice once Yui had scampered away again. “She’s already adjusted faster than either of us.”

  Mira chuckled softly. “Kids are flexible. It’s adults who struggle.”

  Mom nodded. “I keep thinking… what did she go through alone?”

  Mira didn’t answer right away.

  “She learned to survive,” she said finally. “But now she doesn’t have to do that by herself.”

  Mom’s eyes filled again, but this time she didn’t fight it. “I’m going to prepare for dinner,” she said, clearing her throat. “Normal food. Normal ptes. No… big conversations. Not yet.”

  “That’s good,” Mira said. “Let things stay calm.”

  Upstairs, Eri heard the familiar sounds of food prep begin—cutting board, water running, the ctter of a pan. Her chest loosened a little.

  She stood slowly, testing her bance. Her tails shifted naturally behind her, no longer tangled in fear. She padded toward the doorway, peeking down the hall.

  The house was still her house.

  Changed—but not broken.

  Mira gnced up and caught sight of her. She smiled. “Hey. Want to sit on the couch? Yui promised not to tug.”

  Eri hesitated… then nodded.

  One careful step at a time.

  They were going about the day.