I’m Suzu, 35. My husband Kenji, also 35, plays on a community basketball team, and today he’s been at a tournament since morning. The plan for today was simple: after his games, he’d go out with his teammates for a quick celebration, then meet me and our daughter Aira (10) at 6 p.m. for her birthday dinner at a restaurant. Aira and I wanted to go cheer him on, but because of health restrictions, spectators weren’t allowed. So instead, we decided to spend the afternoon shopping and head straight to the restaurant afterward.
Kenji was supposed to finish his games, join the post-match party, and still make it to the restaurant by 6 p.m. But when Aira and I arrived at 5:50, he still wasn’t there. We waited at the table, checking our phones again and again, but there were no calls, no messages, no sign of him at all.
By 6:30, I knew something was wrong. I apologized to the waiter and decided to leave. Maybe something had happened to Kenji, and someone was trying to reach us at home. In over ten years together, this was the first time I hadn’t been able to reach him.