It was late at night when Hiyori woke to the sound of something unusual. A muffled crash, followed by hurried whispers. She sat up in her bed, her small frame trembling as her ears strained to make sense of the noise.
The house was usually eerily quiet after her father's late-night outbursts, the silence heavy and suffocating. But tonight, there was something different. Something wrong.
She tiptoed to her bedroom door, her heart pounding in her chest. The voices were coming from the living room. She recognized her mother's voice, sharp and urgent, but there was someone else—a man's voice, low and unfamiliar.
Hiyori's tiny hands gripped the edge of the door as she peeked through the crack. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
Her father was sprawled on the floor, motionless. Blood pooled around him, dark and sticky against the worn-out carpet. Her mother stood over him, her face pale but resolute. Beside her was a man Hiyori had never seen before, his hands smeared with crimson.
"We have to go. Now," the man said, his voice firm.
Hiyori's mother hesitated, glancing down at her husband's lifeless body. Then she nodded, wiping her hands on a towel. Without another word, the two of them fled, the door slamming shut behind them.
Hiyori's knees buckled as she stumbled back into her room. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. Her small body shook violently as she curled up on the floor, her mind racing.
(Why? Why would Mom do this? What did I just see?)
The hours dragged on like years. Hiyori stayed in her room, too scared to move, too terrified to think. When dawn finally broke, flashing red and blue lights lit up the windows. The police had arrived.
A firm knock echoed through the house. "Police! Open up!"
Hiyori remained frozen in her room until the officers broke down the door. They found her huddled in a corner, her face streaked with tears.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" one of the officers asked gently, crouching down to her level.
Hiyori shook her head, unable to speak. She didn't even know how to begin explaining what she had seen.
They didn't press her. Instead, they searched the house and quickly discovered her father's body. The questions began immediately.
"Where is your mother?"
"Who was here last night?"
"Did you see anything?"
Hiyori couldn't answer. Her silence, born from fear and shock, only made the situation worse.
The police, unable to locate her mother or the mysterious man, began to suspect that Hiyori knew more than she was letting on. Whispers circulated, painting her as a possible suspect. Her small size and age made the idea absurd, but the lack of evidence or witnesses left her at the center of a growing storm.
The system stepped in. With no family willing or able to take her, Hiyori was placed in a child care facility—a cold, impersonal place where the staff were more concerned with rules than kindness.
Her diary, her only refuge, was confiscated as part of the investigation. Stripped of her voice and her safety, Hiyori sank deeper into despair. The children at the facility whispered behind her back, calling her names and accusing her of things she didn't understand.
"You killed your dad, didn't you?" one boy sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
Hiyori's protests went unheard. She had no allies, no one to shield her from the accusations and the stares.
At night, she cried herself to sleep, her heart breaking under the weight of guilt and confusion. She didn't know how to process the betrayal of her mother, the horror of what she had witnessed, or the injustice of being blamed for something she had no part in.
Her life, which had once been filled with fear, had now descended into a nightmare she couldn't escape.
And yet, deep inside, a small ember of determination remained. She didn't know how or when, but Hiyori vowed that she would uncover the truth.
For now, though, she was just a scared, broken little girl, alone in a world that seemed determined to crush her.
Hiyori's life in the child care facility was a waking nightmare. The walls were gray and cold, the air always thick with an unspoken tension. The staff weren't cruel, but they weren't kind either. They did their jobs with mechanical efficiency, moving through their routines as if the children were problems to be managed, not lives to be nurtured.
The other children, however, were merciless.
The whispers about Hiyori's father's murder followed her like a shadow, dark and inescapable. At first, the taunts were subtle, snickers and sidelong glances as she walked by. But as the rumors spread, the cruelty grew sharper, more pointed.
"You're the little murderer, aren't you?" a boy sneered one afternoon, shoving her against a wall. "Did you stab him? Or did you just watch him die?"
"I didn't do anything!" Hiyori cried, her voice breaking.
But the boy only laughed. "Sure you didn't. That's what they all say."
The other children joined in, their laughter ringing in her ears like a cruel symphony. Hiyori's protests were drowned out, her tears ignored.
At night, alone in her small, bare room, she would curl up on her cot, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The darkness felt alive, pressing in on her from all sides. The absence of her diary, her only outlet, made the weight of her emotions unbearable.
Why won't anyone believe me? Why did Mom leave me?
The questions circled endlessly in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Her nightmares became more vivid, blending the horrors of her reality with the trauma of that fateful night. She would see her father's lifeless body on the floor, her mother's face pale and unyielding. And then the scene would shift—the police officers turning on her, their eyes cold and accusing.
One night, Hiyori woke screaming, her cries echoing through the facility. A staff member stormed into her room, his expression a mix of irritation and exhaustion.
"Enough, Hiyori," he snapped. "You're disturbing everyone else."
"I'm scared," she whispered, her voice trembling.
The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "We're all scared, kid. Get used to it."
Hiyori lay awake for hours after that, staring at the ceiling. She realized then that no one was coming to save her. She was alone in this world, abandoned by the very people who should have protected her.
The whispers in the facility weren't the only ones accusing her. The police continued to investigate her father's murder, and with her mother still missing, their focus remained on Hiyori.
"She's just a child," one detective argued during a case review.
"Maybe," another replied, flipping through the sparse case file. "But children aren't always innocent. Her silence is suspicious."
When Hiyori was brought in for questioning, the room felt suffocating. The detectives sat across from her, their expressions unreadable.
"Tell us what happened that night, Hiyori," one of them said, his voice calm but firm.
Hiyori stared at the table, her small hands trembling. "I didn't do anything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then help us understand," the other detective pressed. "Where did your mother go? Who was thman with her?"
"I don't know," Hiyori mumbled, tears welling in her eyes.
But her pleas fell on deaf ears. The detectives weren't cruel, but their questions were relentless, chipping away at her fragile composure. By the end of the session, Hiyori was a sobbing, incoherent mess.
The suspicion followed her back to the facility, where the staff began to treat her differently. Their gazes lingered longer, their words carried a faint edge of distrust. Hiyori could feel the weight of their judgment, even in their silence.
The other children, emboldened by the rumors, became more vicious. They cornered her in hallways, tore up her belongings, and whispered taunts that clung to her like poison.
"Maybe she'll kill one of us next," one girl said loudly during a group activity.
Hiyori's body shook with silent sobs, her tears falling onto her lap as she stared down at her trembling hands.
She didn't know how much longer she could endure it.