Yuki walked briskly through the evening streets. The cold wind brushed her cheeks. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already past 7 p.m. Another late return.
“I wonder if Yuto is okay…”
Her five-year-old son, Yuto, attended kindergarten. Lately, something had been bothering her—he had stopped saying “welcome home.” He used to run to the door with a cheerful “Welcome home!” whenever she came back. But for the past few weeks, there had been nothing. When she asked him about it, he’d just shrug and mutter, “Nothing.”
As she approached their apartment, something felt off. In the dimly lit entranceway, a small figure sat curled up.
“Yuto…?”
She rushed over. He sat hugging his knees, a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes as he looked up.
“Mom, you’re late.”
Her chest tightened at those words. Work kept her busy and always delayed her return. She knew Yuto felt lonely, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
“I’m sorry, Yuto… Why are you sitting out here?”
He puffed his cheeks slightly and looked up at the porch light.
“Because if I stay here, I’ll know when you come home.”
Yuki felt tears threatening to spill. The thought of her little boy waiting in the cold, watching for the light to signal her return—it overwhelmed her with guilt and tenderness.
“I’m so sorry, Yuto.”
She hugged him tightly. His small frame was warm in her arms. In that moment, she resolved to be more attentive to his feelings, to be the mother he needed.
“Yuto, can I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“When I come home… could you say ‘welcome home’ again?”
Yuto thought for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“…Then you have to say ‘I’m home,’ too.”
Yuki smiled. “Of course.”
From that day on, the “welcome home” habit returned between them. When she opened the door, Yuto would greet her with a quiet “Welcome home.” And she would respond, “I’m home.” Just those simple words made their home feel a little warmer.
Amid the busy days, Yuki realized anew how precious these small moments of connection were between mother and son.
