The vacation was a bust before it began. Her husband bailed, work called. Same old story. Yumiko was just the wife, the mother, watching the sea do nothing.
Then two men. A casual chat. Nothing special. But it hit different. It was a look that saw her, not the roles she played. The text was simple: an invitation. A room number.
Her heart hammered, a dark thrill she thought she’d buried. Guilt was a tight knot in her, but she swallowed it down. She stepped out, the night air clinging to her skin. Behind that door wasn’t just a room. It was a reckoning. She crossed the bridge not just into a room, but into a version of herself she had presumed locked away.