I was ten when two men broke into our house. They raped me, and one of them was going to my little sister’s room. Running after him, I pushed and sent him tumbling down the stairs. 

He died, and his friend ran. Since that day, people had called me a murderer.             

Then, when I turned sixteenth, I met Fumiya Kusuru. Fumiya, ten years older than me, was a lawyer. When we started going out, I only wanted to do something against social norms. I resolved to be dragged into a love hotel and get killed. That way, I would finally be free from this life. 

But he treated me with respect. 

I found myself in love with him. Then one day, he asked to meet with my family.            

“Do you know my sister killed a man before?” asked my little sister aged thirteen. “She always brings shame to our family—”           

“Could you stop that?” He interrupted her.                      

My sister shifted.            

“It’s commonly known that,”  Fumiya continued, “victims of abuse are shunned by our society. But that is wrong. I am sure you know that if she hadn’t done what she did, you would all have died that night. She saved your life. And what have you ever done for her?”            

My parents looked uncomfortable.             

After that, he excused himself. My family tried to stop me, but I ran after him. When I caught up with him at the crossroad, I called out. He turned around. 

A car came and sent him flying in the air. 

He was coughing blood when I reached him. “I am sorry,” he said.            

“Don’t speak. I’ll call for help.”             

“I am sorry,” he said. “About seven years ago—”