Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 1014: Tomiko’s Hard Life

But her eyes betrayed her. They flickered to Tomiko, then to Yuko and Haruna, who had followed us into the room, their expressions a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.

Kasumi’s gaze lingered on them, drinking in the sight of her daughters as if she feared they might vanish again. Then, with a suddenness that surprised me, she turned to Tomiko, her voice taking on a note of quiet authority.

”Tomiko,” she said, ”today, I will cook for my daughters myself. Tell the maids to buy fresh ingredients—the best they can find. But don’t let them touch anything. I want to prepare the meal with my own hands.”

Tomiko’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her lips parting as if to protest, but Kasumi’s look brooked no argument. After a moment, Tomiko nodded, though her jaw tightened. ”Fine. But only if you rest first.”

Kasumi’s smile deepened, her hand reaching out to squeeze Tomiko’s. ”I will. I promise.”

Yuko and Haruna settled on the edge of the bed, their voices low as they spoke to their mother. Haruna’s fingers laced with Kasumi’s, her thumb tracing idle patterns over her mother’s knuckles.

Yuko sat slightly apart, her shoulders tense, her eyes bright with unshed tears. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with years of longing and regret and love so fierce it hurt to witness.

I stepped back slightly, giving them space, but my eyes caught on the medicine bottles still sitting on the side table. A quiet command to SERA was all it took.

The response came instantly, a flood of information that settled like a stone in my gut.

Kasumi’s medication wasn’t just for fatigue. It was for chronic anxiety. For depression

. The kind that carved hollows in a person’s soul.
The records painted a picture of a woman broken by abandonment—first by her husband’s death, then by her daughters’ departure.

Yuko’s leaving, especially, had shattered her. The doctors’ notes were clinical but brutal: severe emotional trauma, profound fear of being left behind, heart-related psychological distress. The pills could only do so much. The real wound was one no medicine could heal.

And Tomiko... Tomiko had carried it all.

She had taken over the family business, managed the household, and been both caretaker and pillar for her sister. She had never married. Never allowed herself the luxury of a life beyond this duty.

At 36, she was still bound to Kasumi’s side, her own happiness secondary, her sacrifices silent and unending.

I looked at her now, standing slightly apart from the bed, her arms crossed as if to ward off the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes were fixed on Yuko and Haruna, her expression carefully neutral, but I saw it—the way her throat worked, the way her fingers dug just slightly into her own arms.

Then, with a sharp, almost pained inhale, she turned away. Her shoulders hitched once—just once—before she lifted a hand to her face, wiping at her eyes with a swift, furious motion.

She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t need to. The way her body trembled, just for a heartbeat, said everything.

I didn’t hesitate.

”I’ll go take a look around,” I said to Yuko, my voice low but steady. ”You guys talk.”

Yuko nodded, her eyes still glistening, her focus entirely on her mother. Haruna didn’t even look up, her head resting against Kasumi’s shoulder as if she feared letting go. I slipped out of the room, the shoji sliding shut behind me with a quiet click.

Tomiko was already there, pressed against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, her back to me. Her shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of her breathing, her fingers still pressed to her eyes.

The scent of her perfume—something crisp and clean, like fresh rain on cedar—mingled with the saltier tang of tears.

”Oba-san, are you okay? What happened?” I said softly, stepping closer.

She stiffened, her hand dropping instantly, as if the sound of my voice had burned her. She turned, her face carefully composed, but her eyes gave her away.

They were red-rimmed, glossy with unshed tears, her lashes still damp. She exhaled sharply, her lips pressing into a thin line before she forced a smile. It was the kind of smile that hurt to see.

”I’m fine, Jack,” she said, her voice steady, almost convincing. ”Thank you.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I studied her—the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her jaw clenched just slightly, as if she were biting back words.

The fluorescent light from the hallway fixture cast shadows beneath her cheekbones, making her look older than she was. Or maybe it was the weight she carried that aged her.

”Oba-san,” I said again, my voice dropping lower, ”what happened to Kasumi-sama? And don’t lie to me.”

I took a step closer, close enough to see the way her breath hitched, the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. ”I know those medicines aren’t for treating a fever.”

Tomiko’s facade cracked.

For a second, she just stood there, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as if she were fighting for air. Then, like a dam breaking, her composure shattered. Her hands came up to cover her face, her shoulders shaking as a sob tore through her. It was a raw, ugly sound, the kind that came from a place too deep for words.

”Jack—” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard, her fingers pressing into her skin as if she could physically push the pain back down. ”My sister... she suffers from depression. From anxiety. When Yuko and Haruna left...” Another sob escaped her, her body trembling. ”She was devastated.”

I reached out without thinking, my hand settling on her shoulder. She flinched at first, but then leaned into the touch, her body sagging as if she’d been holding herself up by sheer will alone. The fabric of her suit was cool beneath my palm, but her skin burned through it.

Tomiko’s voice was a whisper now, jagged and raw. ”It’s all that girl’s fault. Yuko’s. If it wasn’t for her, if she hadn’t—” She cut herself off with a sharp shake of her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to whiten the skin.

”No. No, that’s not fair. It wasn’t just her. It was everything. Kasumi’s husband’s death, the business, the way the world kept moving while Kasumi just... stopped.”

Her hands dropped to her sides, her fingers curling into fists. ”She wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t get out of bed. She’d just stare at the wall for hours, like she was waiting for something that would never come. I had to—” Her voice cracked again.

”I had to force her to take her pills. I had to drag her to the doctors. I had to be everything for her, because if I wasn’t, she would have just... faded away.”