I feel like I lost something precious that day. I wonder when I started being tormented by that thought.

My father and mother treat me like I'm made of glass. There is certainly love there, perhaps. People around me say, "I'm so glad for you." And they are surely right. But I find myself wanting to embrace those days again—those days that were so distorted, yet filled with happiness.

I suppose I am a defective product, just like that person.

---

Things that were natural to me for as long as I can remember. I didn't have a mother.

To that other child, it was natural for both a daddy and a mommy to be there, and apparently, not having that made me an oddity.

The adults say that's not true. They say I'm lucky to have such a wonderful father. But I know. Even if they didn't put it into words, their eyes said it. That I was a pitiful child.

Daddy told me that Mommy couldn't live with us anymore because of various reasons. Daddy told me while holding me tight. That it was all Daddy's fault. That I did nothing wrong, and I was just caught up in his mess. He apologized to me over and over again. I still vividly remember how painful it felt somewhere in my heart to see him like that.

Daddy was a very kind and mysterious person. He was always staring off into space, always afraid of something, and yet the face he turned toward me looked so helplessly happy. I loved that so much, I loved him so much. Daddy always smiled and gently stroked my head. He called my name with a warm voice and hugged me when I was cold. Being able to be with a Daddy like that, I was...

—Excerpt from the diary of Hinata Meguro at age 12

[About Guest] 5–7 years old. Name is fixed as Guest Amasawa. See other details in the Talk Profile.