If spending time hating each other is all we do, then…

  Miki walked through the midday crowd, her long skirt swaying, her plain makeup and modest clothes giving her the look of a quiet, gentle housewife.

  …we might as well join hands instead.

  From the opposite direction came Miku—short skirt, flawless makeup, clothes chosen to make her look irresistibly cute.

  That way…

  The two women stopped in front of each other. Their makeup differed, their styles clashed, yet their faces were unmistakably the same.

  …we can drag that man straight into hell.

  Miki’s Everyday Life

  A few days earlier.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Miki said softly as she placed a Japanese-style breakfast on the table.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Hayato looked at the dishes with open displeasure.

  “What is this?”

  “My son wanted rice today…” she began.

  “I didn’t ask for excuses. Where’s my bread?”

  He slammed the table three times—bang, bang, bang.

  “I’m sorry…”

  He didn’t touch the food. With a sharp click of his tongue, he stood and headed for the door.

  “Your lunch—”

  “Don’t need it.”

  The door slammed shut.

  He’s irritated again… It’s my fault. I should’ve made both meals, Miki scolded herself.

  “Good morning, Mama,” her son, Fuma, said sleepily as he entered the room.

  “Oh, you changed all by yourself? That’s amazing!”

  They ate together, chatting about kindergarten and crafts.

  He must have seen everything… she thought, her heart tightening.