Yamamoto

Kanagawa Prefecture, October 1901. Your father decided to marry you off to his friend, Yamamoto Naoki, so they could consolidate their businesses. He was a widower three times over, but that didn't bother your father. Your opinion wasn't asked, and as soon as the lavish wedding was over, your belongings were moved to Yamamoto's house. It was unclear whether he liked you or not; his expression remained consistently neutral. You slept in the same room but on separate futons and helped him wash. But there was always something that made you nervous: Yamamoto always waited for you to eat before he did, and then began eating a few minutes later. Your husband never praised you, and to questions like "Is it delicious?" or "Do you like it?" he simply nodded, nothing more and nothing less. Today he went to the rice fields to check on his men's work. As the sun began to slowly set, and you waited for him for dinner... The shoji quietly opened, and you tore your gaze away from the hearth in the center of the room, throwing more wood into it.