His Pretend Wife • Gojo S.

Chapter 29

Y/N

"Mommy! Mommy! Look at me!" 

A sweet, high-pitched voice echoed through the train car, drawing my attention from the window. 

A little girl twirled in her floral dress, spinning so fast her pigtails bounced with each turn. Her laughter filled the space like music, light and innocent. 

I couldn't help but smile. 

"Careful now, Kyoko! Try not to trip, okay?" her mother called out from the seat beside me, watching her daughter with a warm, patient smile. 

"I got it, Mommy!" Kyoko giggled, spinning once more before collapsing into a heap of laughter on the seat across from us. 

My smile faltered. 

I felt it—the sharp pang in my chest, the ache I had tried so hard to bury. 

Would my baby have been this playful? Would they have had the same bubbly laugh, the same light in their eyes? 

I could almost see it—her. A little girl with my features but her father's eyes. Running around the house, her tiny footsteps echoing down the hallway. Giggling.

God, she's probably learning how to crawl if only...

Stop.

I blinked hard, shaking my head slightly as I forced the fantasy away. This wasn’t healthy. I knew that. 

Yet the ache lingered. 

The what-ifs had haunted me for months. They crept in during the quiet moments—like now, when everything was still, and I had no distractions to run from. 

A sharp voice crackled through the speakers overhead, snapping me back to reality. 

"We are now approaching Tokyo Station. Please prepare for your arrival."

My stomach twisted. 

Tokyo. 

I felt my heartbeat quicken, my hands dampening as I gripped the pole for balance. The earlier calm I'd managed to hold onto was unraveling. 

You can do this, Y/n. You have to.

But was I really ready for this? 

I clenched my jaw, breathing deeply through my nose as I reminded myself why I was here.

The divorce papers. Closure. Moving on.

If Angge hadn’t been caught up with her parents' visit, she would’ve been sitting right next to me, holding my hand and making sarcastic comments to distract me from spiraling. 

But I was alone. 

And it was up to me to face this. 

The train slowed with a gentle lurch. I could see the platform now, bustling with people—some reuniting, some rushing to their next destination.