Chapter 13: The Day of Execution

The Day of Execution

The day has finally come. I woke up ten minutes before my phone alarm. I turned it off so my wife would not wake, then moved carefully so the bed would not shake and set my feet on the floor.

“Good morning… take care…”

It seemed that slight movement woke my wife. She did not sit up. She only opened her eyes. She did not have the strength to rise. She had mentioned having low blood pressure before. She had been getting up every morning to make breakfast for me, but maybe she was forcing herself all this time.

From now on, she will not have to do that. I am sorry for everything until now.

I changed into my suit in the living room so I would not wake her. I considered selling this suit somewhere along the way. No, it would be better if nothing of mine remained. I should throw it in some trash bin. I usually do not need suits for work. I work in system design, so I wear work clothes. It is not physically demanding work, so the uniform never gets dirty. I sit in front of a computer all day.

She bought this suit for me, saying, “If you are an adult working in society, you should at least have one suit.” I am overweight and my arms are long, so it turned into something close to a custom order and ended up costing quite a bit. When I said we should not buy it, she told me, “If you do not buy one often, then it is better to get something good that will last,” and she bought it in the end.

My job category is labeled as “manufacturing,” so she seems to imagine it like factory work. Even though we once discussed system details together inside that store.

“Your work clothes never get dirty. Are you really working?”

“I am doing my job properly.”

We had that exchange once.

The face she made when teasing me looked playful and happy. It had seemed like she was genuinely enjoying it. But now I cannot help thinking that even that was a lie. I doubt I will be able to trust anyone again. I started crying just from putting on the suit.

I thought I did not need breakfast, but I opened the refrigerator without thinking. I only thought that if there was a drink, I might bring it. I probably already knew there would be nothing. On weekends too, I could not eat her cooking, so I sometimes cooked for myself. Maybe I have simply grown used to opening the refrigerator lately.

Inside, there was one rice ball. Wrapped neatly in plastic wrap. A sticky note attached.

Take care.

Only those words. It was without question her handwriting. Neat and balanced. I once thought that someone with a beautiful face naturally writes in a balanced way. She sees her face every morning. If it is that symmetrical, then she must learn the sense of balance instinctively. When learning letters, she probably used that same sense to judge what looks right. That is why beautiful women have beautiful handwriting. That is my personal theory. My own handwriting is so terrible that perhaps it is not entirely wrong.

I could not leave the rice ball behind. I doubt I can eat it, but I took it with me anyway.

I quietly opened my daughter’s room. Her sleeping face was peaceful. Even if I think she is cute, this child has no blood tie to me. For three years, I believed she was my daughter, so I cannot help having feelings for her. But having feelings for her should feel like humiliation. Yet I still think she is cute. I am pathetic. This child is the child of my wife and the man she had an affair with. I should despise her. Yet all it takes is a single moment of softness, and I think she is adorable. I am truly pathetic.

I had placed my bag by the entrance the night before. My shoes were already out. I usually wear sneakers, so I only wear dress shoes for business trips. Yet the shoes were polished to a shine. She must have polished them. I am not going on a business trip. I am only running away. And these shoes will be thrown away in a few hours. Tears fell again there at the entrance.

I opened the front door quietly and closed it without a sound. I do not know who I am being considerate of anymore. I locked the door and left.

I took the bus to the station, then transferred to reach the station where I could board a bullet train. I almost used my smartphone to pass through the gate out of habit, but I stopped myself and bought a paper ticket instead. Just in case someone tried to track me. Everything was going smoothly so far.

The problem happened when I got off. I had bought a ticket to Tokyo, but I planned to get off before that. It was a weekday morning, so most passengers getting off were people in business attire. I let them exit first and got off last.

People boarding pushed forward, and among them was a young mother in her twenties holding a child about a year old. She held a folded stroller in her other hand. Going out alone like that is not easy. One of the stroller wheels became stuck in the gap between the train and the platform. If she had only the stroller, she could have lifted it. Maybe the wheel would not have gotten caught at all.

But she had the child in one arm and the stroller in the other. She could not free it. The train had to depart soon. She was flustered. She could not resolve it alone.

Without thinking, I left my bag on the platform and lifted the stroller. It came loose easily. She bowed her head again and again, repeating her thanks as she boarded.

I am not sure whether I should have helped, considering I am trying not to leave traces. But I acted before I thought. What a helpless person I am. I did not see her face, and she did not see mine. Even though I am fat, I am not remarkable. She will not remember me. This will not lead to anything later. With that settled in my mind, I continued traveling through several stations and looked for a net café as planned.