Chapter 31: The Crack In The Glass
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the Tokyo apartment, casting a warm hue across the tidy kitchen. Rina stood at the stove, her hands working mechanically as the smell of grilled salmon and miso soup began to fill the room. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, and though her posture looked normal from afar, her fingers trembled slightly.
Today was supposed to be a normal day. She told herself that—again and again.
Behind her, the sound of shuffling feet and a bathroom door creaking signaled Takumi's arrival.
He entered the kitchen without a word, his presence heavy. The kind of silence that warned of thunder before the storm.
"You're up early," he muttered, glancing at the clock. Then his tone turned cold. "Shit—I overslept."
Rina turned from the stove slightly, trying to stay calm. "I thought I'd make breakfast. You've got a meeting at ten, right?"
"Don't act like you're helping," Takumi snapped, brushing past her to grab a glass. "Why didn't you wake me up? Are you trying to sabotage me now?"
Her hands froze mid-stir. "I was going to... but you looked tired. I didn't want to—"
"You don't think. That's the problem. You don't think about how you make me look. How you behave. How you dress."
Rina's stomach twisted. "I'm trying."
He turned, his tone sharp. "No. You're surviving. Clinging. Like I owe you this life."
Her voice cracked, small. "You said you loved me."
"I said a lot of things," he spat, stepping closer. "And what have you done to deserve it?"
Rina stepped back instinctively.
"You think pity makes you worthy? You think playing the victim makes you special?" His hand slammed onto the counter. "You embarrass me. You embarrass yourself."
She tried to breathe. "I don't deserve this."
Takumi scoffed, stepping in close until his shadow covered her completely. "You won't. You never do. Because you need me. Don't forget that every part of your life—this apartment, your name, your place in this city—it's because of me."
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "So don't act like you have options. You're mine, Rina. Mine to protect, mine to correct. You leave, and you'll have nothing."
He turned—but then stopped. As if the sight of her flinching made him angrier.
With a sudden snap of movement, he reached out and slapped her across the face. The sound cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot.
Rina's world spun. Her knees hit the ground. Her cheek burned. She didn't cry. She just curled slightly inward, her palms pressed to the cold tile.
Takumi stared down at her with disgust. "You always ruin everything."
Then he scoffed, turned on his heel, and stormed upstairs to get dressed—every step like thunder against the hardwood.
Rina stayed frozen, listening as drawers opened and slammed, hangers clattered, shoes were yanked into place.
When he came back down, he didn't look at her—just grabbed his briefcase, yanked his coat from the rack, and muttered, "Don't screw up anything else today."
And then, without a glance back, he slammed the door behind him—leaving only the echo of rage in his wake.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Rina didn't move at first. The tiled floor beneath her felt colder than anything she'd ever known. The air stung her lungs. Her breath came shallow and silent.
She looked at the breakfast still steaming on the stove.
Perfectly plated.
Untouched.
She stayed there on the floor. Shaking. Distant. Her thoughts spiraled—numb and fast.
He said he loved me.
He said I ruin everything.
But I cooked breakfast.
And then, the only thought that mattered:
I can't live like this anymore.
A crack had formed—thin but spreading.
Later that morning, Rina stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent light hummed above her as she dabbed concealer across the darkening mark on her cheek. Her hands moved methodically—foundation, powder, hair pinned just so. But no amount of product could hide the swelling completely.
She stared at her reflection and muttered under her breath, "You're fine. You're okay. Just another day."
She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
By the time she arrived at work, she wore a polite smile and carried a thermos of green tea. She bowed to her coworkers, kept her head low, and slipped into her desk quietly—just as she always did.
But that day, Audrey was waiting.
Under the guise of a follow-up wellness visit, Audrey stepped into the small employee lounge and offered a soft knock on the doorframe. Rina froze at the sight of her—recognition flickering in her eyes.
"May I sit with you for a moment?" Audrey asked gently.
Rina hesitated, then gave a faint nod. Her voice had long since retreated somewhere deep inside.
Audrey took the seat across from her. She didn't say anything at first—just met her eyes, gently, without pressure. Not at the bruises—at Rina.
The makeup was done well. But pain had a way of leaking through mascara.
"You tried to cover it," Audrey said quietly. "You shouldn't have to."
Rina looked away, her eyes fixed on a smudge on the table.
"You don't have to say anything," Audrey added. "But if you want someone to listen... I will."
There was a long pause. Then Rina spoke, her voice barely a whisper.
"It wasn't always like this. At first, he was kind. He said I was special. That no one had ever understood him the way I did.
She swallowed, her lip trembling.
"Then he started yelling. And then... it wasn't yelling anymore."
Audrey leaned forward slightly, her hands folded. "You're not alone. I promise you, Rina."
Rina shook her head, blinking quickly. Her voice was rougher now, edged with something frayed. "I tried to tell someone once. My mother said I must've provoked him. That men get angry sometimes, and it's our job to forgive."
She looked Audrey in the eye, something starting to shake loose inside her. "But I've done everything right. I stayed quiet. I smiled. I took the blame. I hid the bruises. I even apologized for bleeding."
Audrey's expression didn't change, but her eyes gleamed with something fierce and quiet. "No. It's not your job to forgive pain. It's your right to walk away from it. You're not broken, Rina. You're surviving what no one should ever have to."
Rina bit her lip again, harder this time. Her shoulders trembled.
"If I leave, he'll ruin me. My parents support him. They'll take his side. I'll have nowhere."
"Then you'll have us," Audrey said, her voice steady. "We're not asking you to be brave alone. Just take the first step. We'll handle the rest."
Something inside Rina cracked.
Her voice came sharper now, more desperate, eyes wet but burning. "You say that like it's easy. Like the only thing holding me back is fear. But you don't get it. I've tried, Audrey. I tried so damn hard to run. I packed a bag. I stood by the door. I even wrote a letter. But do you know what he did? He laughed. He erased everything. My hospital records. My reports. My voice."
Audrey was still, listening, steady.
Rina's voice broke. "You say I don't have to wait for permission. But it's not that simple. I wish it was. God, I wish it was."
Her voice had risen, louder than she intended, raw with pain. A few heads turned from nearby desks, curious, concerned—but neither Audrey nor Rina seemed to care. In that moment, the world had narrowed to this one table, this one conversation.
Audrey's eyes didn't leave hers. She reached across the table slowly, letting her hand rest near Rina's—not grabbing, not forcing.
"You're right. It's not simple. It's terrifying. But that doesn't mean it's impossible. Not with the right people beside you. Not when you're ready."
Rina stared at her for a long moment. Then, hesitantly, she asked, "Earlier... you said 'you'll have us.' Who's 'us'?"
Audrey's voice didn't waver. "People who have been where you are. Who made it out. Who don't want you to do this alone."
Rina's eyes darted, searching. "Why would you help me? Why do you care?"
Audrey leaned in just slightly. "Because I promised I would. Because someone should've helped me when I needed it, and no one did."
She paused. "You trust me?"
Rina didn't speak, but her silence was no longer resistance.
Audrey reached out, this time resting her hand lightly on Rina's.
"I swear to you—I will get you out of this. All of it. Just say when."
Rina swallowed the lump in her throat. For a moment, her lips parted like she might speak.
But instead, she nodded—once.
And something inside her, long buried, quietly reached toward the surface.
Hope. Just enough to breathe.
But when Rina returned home that evening, the apartment felt colder. Not just in temperature—but in the way shadows clung to corners, in the silence that waited for her like an ambush.
She stepped inside and placed her bag down quietly. Every step she took echoed more than it should.
From the bedroom, she heard movement. Heavy footsteps. Takumi was home early.
Her breath caught.
His voice followed—low, impatient. "You're late."
Rina didn't answer immediately. She stared at the hallway wall, her pulse drumming.
Something had changed in her. Something he would sense. And she didn't know what would happen when he did.
Later that night, Rina moved quietly through the house. Her movements were small, calculated. She began tucking things away: spare cash inside an old book, a photocopy of her ID folded and slipped between notebook pages, a small flash drive hidden in a sock drawer. Keys tucked into the lining of her purse.
Each item felt like a whisper of rebellion. A promise to herself.
When she passed the bedroom mirror, she didn't flinch. Not this time.
And when Takumi called her name from the other room, her hand froze for just a second—before she tucked the last item away and turned toward him.
"Coming," she called, her voice steady.
But her eyes… her eyes burned with something new.