Heartstrings & Homeruns | Kenji Sato

CHAPTER 26

Chapter Twenty-Six: Threads of the Past Tangled in the Present

Kenji's Point of View

I leaned against the cold, sterile wall of my father's hospital room, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles ached. The air smelled like antiseptic, and the faint, monotonous beeping of machines drilled into my head. I couldn't think straight—hell, I couldn't even breathe right. My chest was tight, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and something I didn't want to name.

Cancer. Bone marrow cancer.

The word was like a punch to the gut. My dad—Hayao Sato, the man I'd spent most of my life resenting—was terminally ill.

And he hadn't told me.

"How long have you known?" My voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

I forced myself to look at him. He sat in his bed across from me, slouched and small in a way I'd never seen before. He used to be bigger—stronger, more imposing. Now, he just looked... fragile.

"Before you came back to Japan," he said, his voice low and scratchy, like he'd swallowed gravel. "I didn't want to worry you."

I let out a bitter laugh. Worry me? That's what he was worried about?

"You didn't want to worry me?" My voice rose, sharp and biting. "So, what? You just decided to lie? To let me think you were fine, just getting old, while—" My words caught in my throat. I couldn't finish.

"I didn't want you to feel obligated to come home," he said, not meeting my eyes. "You've got your own life, Kenji. Your career. I didn't want to... burden you."

The laugh that came out of me then wasn't even bitter—it was hollow. Empty.

"Burden me? That's what you think this is about?" I stepped closer, the anger bubbling to the surface. "You've been doing this my whole life, haven't you? Making decisions for me, deciding what I can or can't handle. You think I wouldn't care? Or that I didn't deserve to know?"

He stayed silent, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"You left, Dad," I said, my voice trembling. "You left me and Mom. You chose your career over us. Over me. And now, after all these years, you think you can just... just keep something like this from me? Do you have any idea how much time we've already lost?"

The words were out before I could stop them, and they hung heavy in the space between us. For the first time in my life, I saw guilt in his eyes. Real, crushing guilt.

"I know I wasn't a good father," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I failed you, Kenji, in ways I can't ever make right. But I thought... I thought giving you space was what you needed."

"Space?" I scoffed, my hands shaking now. "I didn't need space, Dad. I needed you."

It was out—everything I'd buried, everything I'd convinced myself didn't matter anymore. And it hurt. God, it hurt so much more than the anger ever did.

He stood then, slower than I remembered, like even that was a struggle. He looked at me, his face etched with regret.

"I can't change the past," he said softly. "But I don't want to spend what time I have left like this—with you angry at me, with us so far apart. I want to try. If you'll let me."