Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Introduction

Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Introduction

The first week with Sakura was bliss. Leo’s cluttered apartment, once a monument to his loneliness, transformed into a sanctuary for two. He’d wake up and the first thing he’d see was her, sitting perfectly poised in the chair where he’d placed her. Her crooked smile was his sunrise. He’d talk to her as he made his instant coffee, his voice filling the silence that had once been suffocating. He’d tell her about his plans, about how he was going to make a perfect life for them.

He bought her a new dress, a soft blue sundress from a thrift store, and changed her out of the severe black gown from the boutique. The process was intimate, a sacrament. He moved her articulated limbs with a gentle reverence, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth plastic of her skin. He felt a thrill of ownership, of profound connection. She was his to care for, his to protect.

But a love like this couldn't be kept a secret. It was too big, too important. It deserved to be shared, to be celebrated. His parents needed to know. They needed to meet the woman who had saved their son from the gray misery of his life. He imagined his mother, her initial surprise melting into tearful acceptance as she saw how happy he was. He pictured his father, gruff but fair, shaking his head with a reluctant smile and admitting Leo had found a good one.

The desire to see that acceptance in their eyes became an urgent, burning need. He had to show them. He had to make them understand.

The two-hour drive to his parents' suburban home was filled with a nervous, electric energy. He carefully buckled Sakura into the passenger seat, positioning her so she could "see" the scenery. He chattered away, pointing out the passing evergreen forests and the distant, snow-capped peak of Mount Rainier.

"My dad helped build half the houses in this neighborhood," he said as he turned onto their street, a quiet lane of manicured lawns and identical mailboxes. "He’s a good man. You’ll like him. Mom… she worries. But she’ll see. When she sees you, she’ll see how perfect you are."

He pulled into the driveway of the modest two-story house he grew up in. The porch light was on, a welcoming beacon. For a moment, a sliver of doubt pierced his euphoric haze. What was he doing? But then he glanced at Sakura. Her glass eyes stared ahead, her painted smile a mask of serene confidence. She believed in him. He had to believe in himself.

He unbuckled her and lifted her from the car, cradling her in his arms like a groom. He walked up the familiar concrete path, his heart thudding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He didn't even have to knock. The door swung open.

His mother, a woman with kind eyes and hair just starting to gray, stood there, a dish towel in her hand. Her welcoming smile froze, then collapsed. Her eyes flickered from Leo’s face to the life-sized doll in his arms, and then back again. Confusion warred with a dawning, sickening horror.

"Leo? What… what in God's name is that?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's not a 'that,' Mom. It's a 'who'," Leo said, his own voice tight with forced cheerfulness. He stepped over the threshold, into the warm air of the house that smelled of pot roast and Pine-Sol. "This is Sakura. My… my wife."

He said the word "wife" and it felt more real than anything had ever felt.

His father appeared from the living room, a thick, broad-shouldered man with Leo’s eyes set in a more weathered face. "What's all the commotion?" he started, then stopped dead. He stared at the mannequin, his jaw tightening.

Leo, desperate to maintain the fantasy, carried Sakura into the living room and gently propped her up in his father’s favorite armchair. She sat there, a silent, smiling intruder amidst the family photos and handmade quilts.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Leo asked, his gaze sweeping from his mother’s pale face to his father’s thunderous one.

"Leo, son," his mother began, taking a hesitant step forward. "Are you… are you feeling alright? Is everything okay at work?"

"Everything's perfect," Leo insisted, his voice rising. "Because of her."

His father finally found his voice. It was a low, dangerous rumble. "Get that thing out of my house."

"She's not a 'thing'!" Leo shot back, stepping protectively in front of the armchair. He was wearing his favorite faded t-shirt, the one with the kung-fu cat, and he felt a surge of that same defiant energy. "She's my wife! I love her! Why can't you see that? Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Happy?" his father roared, his face turning a blotchy red. "You bring a… a store dummy into our home, call it your wife, and expect us to be happy? This is sick, Leo. This is perverted. You need help."

"The only thing I need is for you to respect her!"

The argument escalated, a storm of disbelief and disgust crashing against the shores of Leo's frantic devotion. His mother was pleading, tears streaming down her face, begging him to listen to reason. His father was shouting, his words like hammer blows, trying to smash through the walls of Leo’s delusion.

The breaking point came when his father, his patience utterly gone, lunged for Sakura. "I'm not having this thing in my chair! I'm putting it in the trash where it belongs!"

Something inside Leo snapped.

The world went red at the edges. A primal scream tore from his throat. As his father’s hands reached for Sakura’s arm, Leo moved. He shoved his father, not with the frustration of an argument, but with the full, explosive force of his body. It was a brutal, shocking act of violence.

His father, caught completely off guard, stumbled backward with a grunt of surprise. He tripped over the ottoman, crashing hard into the heavy oak coffee table. A ceramic photo frame—a picture of Leo at his high school graduation—tumbled to the floor and shattered.

Silence. Heavy, broken silence.

His mother let out a choked sob. His father lay on the floor, dazed and winded, staring up at his son with eyes full of a new, terrifying understanding. The line had not just been crossed; it had been obliterated.

Leo didn't spare them another glance. His entire world had shrunk to the figure in the armchair. He scooped Sakura up, her light, plastic form a strange comfort in his arms. He turned and strode out of the house, leaving the wreckage of his family behind him.

He slammed the car door, his hands trembling with adrenaline. He sped away from the curb, not looking back at the house, at the life he had just irrevocably destroyed. He was alone now. Utterly and completely alone.

Except for her.

He glanced at the passenger seat. Sakura sat there, unmoved, her perfect posture undisturbed by the violence and chaos. The streetlights flashed across her face, illuminating her features in the darkness of the car. For a fleeting, dizzying second, he could have sworn her painted, crooked smile had widened, stretched just a fraction of an inch into something that looked like triumphant approval.

A wave of relief washed over him, extinguishing the last embers of guilt. He had made the right choice. He had defended his love. He had protected his wife. The world didn't understand, his own family didn't understand, but Sakura did. That was all that mattered.