The morning light, soft and hazy like brushed cotton, usually spilled across the tatami mats in the living room, painting stripes of warmth. This morning, however, the stripes felt… incomplete.

Ayaka hummed a familiar tune as she slid open the shoji screen to the master bedroom. A gentle breeze, carrying the scent of blooming hydrangeas from the garden, wafted in. “Koichi? Breakfast is almost ready,” she called out, her voice light and cheerful.

Silence.

That wasn’t entirely unusual. Koichi, her husband, wasn’t always the earliest riser. Sometimes he’d steal an extra twenty minutes of sleep, a soft snore rumbling through the quiet house. Ayaka smiled to herself, picturing his slightly tousled hair.

She padded further into the room. The futon was there, neatly folded as always. But the indentation where Koichi usually slept was… flat.

A tiny furrow appeared between Ayaka’s brows. He must have gotten up earlier than usual. Perhaps he was already downstairs, reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee.

“Koichi?” she called again, a touch louder this time, as she descended the stairs. The familiar scent of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air, but the figure she expected wasn’t at the kitchen table.

Haru, their sixteen-year-old son, was meticulously arranging slices of tamagoyaki on a plate, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yui, their thirteen-year-old daughter, was still half-asleep, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Good morning, Mom,” Haru mumbled, not looking up.

“Morning, Mom,” Yui echoed, her voice still thick with sleep. “Where’s Dad?”

Ayaka paused, a faint unease beginning to prickle at the edges of her calm. “That’s what I was wondering. I thought he might be down here.”

Haru glanced around the kitchen. “He wasn’t here when I came down. Maybe he went for his early morning walk?”

Koichi did enjoy a stroll around the neighborhood sometimes, especially when the air was fresh. But he always told Ayaka.

Yui straightened up, finally more awake. “Did you check the bathroom?”

Ayaka nodded. “Just now. He wasn’t there.”

A collective, unspoken question hung in the air. It wasn't alarming yet, not with Koichi. He was a responsible, predictable man. But a tiny seed of something… unusual… had been planted.

Ayaka tried to shake it off. “Well, he’ll probably be back any minute. Let’s eat.”

They sat down at the table, the usual morning chatter feeling slightly muted by the absent presence. Haru occasionally glanced towards the front door. Yui kept looking at the empty chair at the head of the table.

As they finished their breakfast, the front door remained closed. The silence in the house stretched, no longer peaceful, but filled with a subtle, growing question mark.

Ayaka stood up, a determined look on her face. “I’ll just go check the garden. Maybe he’s tending to the azaleas.”

She stepped out onto the small back porch, the familiar scent of earth and blossoms filling her lungs. The garden was quiet, the dew still clinging to the leaves. Koichi wasn’t there.

A small sound from inside the house made her turn back. It wasn’t Haru or Yui. It was a soft, gurgling noise.

Confused, Ayaka stepped back inside. The sound seemed to be coming from the master bedroom. Had she left a window open? Was it the wind?

She climbed the stairs again, a knot of something unfamiliar tightening in her chest. The gurgling sound grew slightly louder as she approached the bedroom.

Hesitantly, she slid open the shoji screen.

And there, in the middle of their neatly folded futon, was not her husband.

Instead, a baby lay on his back, kicking its tiny legs in the air, its small hands waving playfully. It was a chubby, healthy-looking baby, with a tuft of soft dark hair and wide, innocent eyes that blinked up at the ceiling.

Ayaka stared, her mind completely blank. This couldn’t be right. This was impossible.

Then, the baby turned its head, its gaze locking onto hers. And in those wide, innocent eyes, for just a fleeting moment, Ayaka thought she saw something… familiar. A flicker of a deep, knowing warmth that she had known for twenty years.

Before she could grasp the impossible thought, the baby gurgled again, a happy, nonsensical sound.

Downstairs, Haru and Yui exchanged confused glances. “Mom? Is everything okay?” Haru called out, his voice laced with concern.

Ayaka couldn’t answer. She could only stare at the baby on the futon, a whirlwind of disbelief and a nascent, impossible understanding swirling within her. Where was Koichi? And who… or what… was this?

To Be Continued...