Story 56
“Her”
When I came home, she was there again, waiting for me at the apartment door.
“Welcome home!!”
Her cheerful voice healed me.
“I’m back,” I answered.
“Dinner’s ready!”
The red checkered apron suited her perfectly—she looked wonderful.
Her long hair was tied back, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
There was a pleasant aroma in the air.
She must’ve been cooking the whole time I was gone.
Without even changing clothes, I sat down to eat.
Ginger pork, miso soup, and spinach ohitashi.
“It’s delicious,” I said, complimenting her cooking.
“Right? There’s more if you want!”
Smiling brightly, she went to the kitchen and brought me seconds—more rice and pork.
After dinner, I went straight to take a bath.
Without thinking, I slid open the frosted glass door of the bathroom—
—and there she was, hanging from the ceiling.
Ah.
That again…
I snapped back to myself.
I’d seen it again.
The usual illusion.
I’m a 25-year-old single woman.
There’s no girlfriend who cooks for me.
