Chapter 4: The Quiet Weight of Dreams

The stars shimmered faintly through the thin curtains as a soft breeze whispered through the cracked window. That evening, the scent of warm tea and faint ink from Liz’s diary filled the shared bedroom. The light overhead was dim, casting gentle shadows as Liz sat cross-legged on her bed, her pen dancing over the aged pages of her diary. Her handwriting, slightly curved and careful, trailed down the page like silent whispers of hope and despair.

Their parents had smiled earlier that day—tired, but proud. Seeing their children take small steps toward their dreams, even in the midst of struggle, had brought them a fleeting sense of happiness. Just a flicker—but enough to keep going.

Ren, still full of energy even at night, nudged Liz’s shoulder playfully and grinned.

“Yo, sissy. What are you doing with that old book again?”

Liz rolled her eyes without looking up, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Nothing important, stupid. Just… writing my dreams down. And… stuff about our everyday life.”

Wakasa, lounging near the foot of her bed, glanced at her over the edge of the TV screen. He didn’t say anything at first. A soft smile ghosted over his lips as he watched her scribble so intently.

“Liz…” he said suddenly, his voice low but teasing. “Would you still read all of that after you get rich?”

His smirk widened when she blushed, her cheeks dusted with pink under the yellow light.

“Of course I would,” she mumbled, flustered.

Wakasa and Ren burst into laughter, the room filling with warmth. Their teasing was gentle, full of sibling affection that made their world feel less heavy—if only for a while.

But outside their little bubble, things weren’t so light.

Their mother paced quietly in the living room, worry painted across her face. The clock ticked endlessly. Their father was late—again.

Wakasa, noticing her troubled expression, stood up and walked to her side. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking in silent reassurance.

“Mom… You don’t need to worry. Once I get a job, I’ll ask Papa to quit his. I don’t think he’s doing what he told us,” he said calmly, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of his voice.

His mother turned to him, her brows furrowed, lips trembling.

“Wakasa, my son… you’re right. But… I feel like my heart is sinking tonight. Something feels… wrong,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He pulled her into a comforting hug, holding her gently yet firmly.

“Mama, don’t worry. I’m always here. You’re not alone. Papa will be alright. I’ll try talking to him—properly,” he promised, pressing his forehead against hers. There was a strength in his softness, a quiet fire that burned only brighter under pressure.

Back in the bedroom, Liz lay silently in the dark. Ren had fallen asleep beside her, curled up like a carefree teenage boy, the soft rise and fall of his chest steady and comforting.

Liz, however, stared out the window, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. She felt a familiar emptiness gnawing inside her. Despite their efforts, despite the dreams they each chased, something always felt missing. It was like standing in a field of flowers and only seeing the shadows they cast.

Why does it all feel so pointless?

She buried her face in her pillow, her tears soaking into the fabric. Her shoulders trembled quietly as she let the pain out, muffled and alone. Eventually, exhaustion took over and she slipped into sleep, the weight of unanswered thoughts following her into her dreams.

Later that night, the front door creaked open.

Their father entered quietly, his steps heavy, his shoulders slouched with fatigue. He worked—yes—but not as the simple employee he claimed to be. There were truths buried under his silence, secrets that clawed at his conscience every night.

He walked into the dim living room and found his wife still awake. She stood immediately, rushing to him.

“You’re late again… I was so worried,” she said softly, her hands gently clutching his sleeves.

He gave her a weary smile, brushing a hand against her cheek.

“What happened, sweetheart? You look worried,” he said, his voice hoarse but gentle. His gaze flickered to Wakasa standing nearby. “My son, how was your day?”

“It was alright, Papa,” Wakasa replied, his tone calm yet slightly guarded.

They all sat down on the couch. The room was quiet, the clock ticking like a slow heartbeat. Wakasa took a breath and looked at his father.

“Papa… I’ve decided to get a job soon. You don’t have to keep working yourself to exhaustion anymore. Let me take care of things now.”

Their father looked at him quietly. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, pride, and something else. Regret, maybe.

“My son… there’s no need to worry about me. I’m alright. But I wish you good luck—may you find something fulfilling,” he replied with a soft smile.

Wakasa didn’t back down.

“But Papa, look at Mama. She’s always worried. We all are. Me, Liz, Ren… we miss you, even though we’re used to your late nights. We want to see you at dinner. We want peace. It’s time for you and Mama to rest. Let us serve you now.”

There was a long pause. The father sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I’m tired. I just want to rest now,” he said and left for the bedroom.

But as he walked away, he smiled to himself, his chest swelling with pride. Such a strong son… such a brave family. He wished he could tell them everything, explain why he couldn’t quit, why his late nights were not what they seemed. But the truth was heavy—and dangerous.

He just needed more time.

End for now. 

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