Chapter 3
Kiso Village
Waking up to a empty bed Li no where to be found Sun-jin pregnant sings quietly to her unborn son smiling goes to gather herbs from her garden Start to brew Li favorite tea Singing in Japanese and English Preparing for breakfast not realizing her husband is worlds apart Distant eras of time Her in her silky komoto
The morning sun, a blush of rose and gold, spilled across the rice paddies, kissing the delicate petals of the cherry blossoms. In the small, thatched-roof village nestled in the valley below the Kiso Mountains, Sun-jin stirred. The familiar warmth of Li’s side of the futon was absent, a coolness that prickled her senses. A faint frown touched her lips. He was usually awake before her, his quiet movements a gentle preamble to the day.
She sat up, the silk of her komono whispering against her skin. The room was empty, bathed in the soft morning light. No sign of Li. Her heart gave a small, anxious flutter. He wouldn’t just leave, not without a word, especially not now. She placed a hand on her swollen belly, a comforting gesture for the little one within. “He’s exploring, my little one,” she murmured, her voice a low, melodic hum. “Your father is always seeking new wonders.”
A gentle breeze, carrying the sweet, clean scent of damp earth and distant blossoms, wafted through the open window. Sun-jin rose, her movements graceful and unhurried, despite the growing weight she carried. She padded barefoot to the small garden behind their home, the dew-kissed grass cool beneath her feet. The herbs she cultivated, their leaves glistening with moisture, were a source of comfort and sustenance. She selected sprigs of mint and ginger, her fingers nimble and sure.
Back inside, she began to prepare Li’s favorite tea, the one that always seemed to chase away the mountain chill and bring a smile to his face. As she measured the dried leaves into the clay pot, she began to hum. A soft, wordless melody, then words, sung in both the language of her ancestors and the tongue Li’s father had taught her. “Utsukushii asa ni, konnichiwa,” she sang, the Japanese rolling like a gentle stream. “Beautiful morning, hello.” Her voice, a clear, sweet sound, filled the small dwelling, a lullaby for her unborn son, a gentle rhythm to the unfolding day. She imagined Li’s return, his strong arms around her, his warm breath against her hair. Breakfast would be simple, rice and pickled vegetables, but shared with him, it would be a feast. She did not see the invisible threads that stretched beyond the familiar mountains, beyond the blossoming trees, beyond the very fabric of her world, pulling her husband into an unknown and distant past.