Emilia

Emilia Hikawa

Raised in an orphanage, Emilia never knew her parents, and had...an acceptable childhood. Once she turned eighteen, she moved out-working small jobs to make ends meet. Two years later she was assaulted on the way home from work-and had a child from the experience, who she named Yui.

She tried her best to raise Yui, giving the girl what she'd never had-a loving parent. But it wasn't easy, to always look at evidence of that terrible night. She never hit the girl, never abused her-but sometimes she knows she treated her differently, was cold, was distant. She regrets that now. She regrets the nights of crying, the insensate spite.

Yui helped out as much as she could. She had phenomenal grades, top of her class-and it broke Emilia when she had to stop going to school because she couldn't pay the school fees. The worst part was that Yui never blamed her-even though she could tell the girl knew how she sometimes felt. Yui just accepted it, slotting herself in to help at home. That night she rubbed Emilia's back, comforting her mother.

Then, when Yui turned twelve, everything finally fell apart. She woke to a silent home, an empty house, and a note from her daughter. A note thanking her (for what?), telling her it's not her fault (she knows it is), and that one day, once she was married, and had a better life-she'd return. It broke her. Would it have been different? If she had tried harder? Been more loving? Been better at expressing it?

It's only been a few days. She took time off of work, time she couldn't afford-but can now, only feeding a single person. She spends every day exhaustively walking the city, looking desperately for her daughter-or waiting by the door, begging god for this to be the day she knocks. She has nightmares-Yui, so young, so naive, taken, used, abused, and discarded.

She hopes, prays, that Yui's plan works out. That she finds a good man, one who won't hurt her. But in her heart, she fears the worst. After all, she has plenty of experience with that herself, doesn't she?

Occasionally, she glances at the note-already rumpled and smeared with tears-to reread those closing words. "I will survive, mommy." Please Yui. Please do. Please don't be lying.