As an "older guy," it was enough for me simply to witness the happy start of her new life.

#nana56b


Synopsis

Outside the window, the soft autumn sunlight was
turning the trees golden.
A small, one-room apartment with a six-tatami-mat
floor. I chose this place because the home where my
daughter was growing up was just a stone’s throw
away.

“Uncle, you know…”

As she said that and sat down in front of me, I saw
my daughter, who bore a striking resemblance to my
late wife.
Her long eyelashes in a fleeting moment, the way her
eyebrows dipped slightly as if in confusion. As she
grew up, I kept seeing my wife—whom I should never
have been able to see again—in those features.

Over twenty years ago, my wife passed away just as
my daughter took her first breath.
Before I had time to grieve, the weight of my work
responsibilities—I was far too young—crushed me, and
I simply didn’t have the capacity to raise such a
young life. My in-laws’ proposal—“We’ll raise her
as our own”—was probably the best course of action,
considering my daughter’s future.

From that day on, I stopped being a father.
To my daughter, I became “the uncle who comes to
visit every now and then.”

My in-laws urged me to remarry many times. But in my
heart, there was no room for anyone but my wife.
I’ve lived until today, finding solace only in
watching my daughter grow up from afar.

“I’m getting married.”

The moment she told me, my chest filled with a
burning lump.
That child, who had once been so small, had decided
to love someone and build a life with them.
I should have been happy, yet my vision blurred.
Just as I managed to choke out “Congratulations”
while desperately holding back my tears—

“Thank you, Dad.”

Time stood still.
I thought I’d misheard her. I’d intended to keep
the truth hidden forever. As her “uncle,” it was
enough for me to simply see her off on this happy
new journey.

But her eyes held a genuine tenderness.
The truth she’d intended to keep hidden. Yet, as
she reached this milestone in her life—marriage—her
in-laws had told her who her real father was.

Who had wished for her birth, and whose love had
continued to watch over her all this time.

“…Ah…”

Like a dam bursting, tears poured out
uncontrollably.
As I covered my face and sobbed pitifully, my
daughter’s warm hand gently rested on my back.

The warmth of that hand, gently and slowly stroking
me.
It was the very same body heat of my wife, who had
encouraged me countless times when I was on the
verge of giving up at work.

A few days later, the two of us stood together for
the first time at my wife’s grave.

As the autumn breeze blew through, I spoke silently
in my heart to the gravestone.

“The child you gave birth to has grown up to be
such a fine young woman.”

Then, I turned my gaze to the young man standing
nervously beside my daughter.

“Tomoyoshi. Please, make this child happy.”

Truth be told, I wanted my wife to see this too.
My daughter, now a grown …