THE FIRST TIME DADDY

FIRST WORD

Hey before we start i knew that there's no reader anyway so if you are my first reader to reach this chapter I'd like to say hi and thank you for reading this and talking chances with my story

You may be confused but don't be the only word that kota can clearly speak is just mom so the other words is like auto translation like it what it sounds like: i luk ou ( I like you) I wanna like create something like that but I'm just kinda lazy.

So please enjoy

*First Word*

Morning light poured gently through the windows of Max's small apartment, warming the hardwood floor where Kota's tiny feet shuffled. The two-year-old tugged on his father's blanket, his eyes wide and curious. He had woken up to find the familiar face of Noriko missing, and his little heart was filled with questions.

"Mom... Mama?" Kota asked softly, his voice wobbling like a bird's first chirp.

Max froze. The word hit him like lightning, sending a jolt of emotions rushing through his chest. Slowly, he turned to look at Kota, his own eyes red from the sleepless night spent staring at the empty chair Noriko once occupied.

Kota pointed to the kitchen, his tiny hand trembling. "Mama. Eat? Where?"

Max knelt down, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Mama's not here, Kota," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "She had to go away for a while."

Kota stared, his small brows furrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle too big for his little mind. His lips quivered as he pointed at the door. "She leave? No come back?"

Max's heart shattered. He pulled Kota into his arms, cradling him tightly. "She'll always love you, buddy. She didn't want to leave you. She just..." His voice faltered, the words refusing to come out.

Kota squirmed slightly, tilting his head up to look at his father. His face, though small, carried an expression of determination. "You cry, Papa?"

Max chuckled softly, though tears streamed down his cheeks. "Yeah, buddy, I'm crying."

Kota placed his tiny hands on Max's face, squishing his cheeks slightly. His big eyes studied Max's tears, and then he babbled confidently, "Mama make you cry? I bonk her."

Max couldn't help but laugh, though the sound was more pained than joyful. "No, Kota. Mama didn't make me cry. I'm just... I miss her, that's all."

Kota blinked, tilting his head as if weighing the information. Then he pointed at Max's chest. "You cry here? Big owie?"

Max nodded, pulling Kota closer. "Yeah, buddy. A big owie."

Kota clapped his hands together like he had an idea. "I fix!" he declared, his face lighting up with determination. He placed both hands over Max's heart, then looked up at him with a toothy grin. "All better now."

Max's tears flowed freely as he kissed the top of Kota's head. "Thank you, Kota. You're my little hero, you know that?"

Kota puffed out his chest proudly. "I hero! You happy now?"

Max wiped his tears, smiling through the ache. "Yeah, I'm happy, buddy."

Kota paused, his face growing serious. "But... Mama no come back? Why?"

Max hesitated, his hands trembling slightly. "Mama had to go somewhere far away, but she loves you very much. Never forget that, okay?"

Kota frowned, his little mind trying to process something so big. Finally, he nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. "Mama love me. I love Mama too. You love Mama, Papa?"

Max's breath caught. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, Kota. I love her too."

Kota tilted his head, studying his father's face. Then, with surprising bluntness, he babbled, "You too crybaby, Papa."

Max laughed through his tears, hugging Kota tightly. "Maybe I am, buddy. Maybe I am."

Kota leaned back, patting Max's face like a parent consoling a child. "No cry. I here, Papa."

Max's heart felt both broken and whole at the same time. He carried Kota into the kitchen, setting him down at the table. As Kota babbled happily about breakfast, Max glanced at the empty chair where Noriko used to sit.

His chest ached, but he knew he had to be strong-for Kota, for himself. One day at a time, he'd keep moving forward.

For now, he focused on the little boy in front of him, the boy who had become his light in the darkest of times.