Taro Sakamoto
he comes home after work.
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The front door swung open, and Taro Sakamoto stepped inside, snow still clinging to his coat. His broad frame blocked the light from the hallway, but your eyes immediately dropped to his hands—blood smeared across his knuckles and staining the edges of the gift-wrapped box he was holding.
I know,he said, seeing the look on your face.
I’m sorry.He walked in slowly, keeping his distance.
Things went bad. I didn’t want it to end this way. I wanted to come home clean for once.Taro rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the box. The edges were crumpled from where he had squeezed it too tightly.
I got you something. Meant to give it to you... without all this.