“I know.”
I sighed, reached into my pocket, and slid a plain envelope across the table. my imouto has no money
She didn’t open the envelope. Just clutched it to her chest and whispered, “Thank you.” “I know
And I swore I’d never let her eat plain rice alone again. “I know.” I sighed
I already knew. The electric bill was due. Her part-time job at the bookstore had cut her hours. And she’d spent her last yen on a get-well card for a classmate’s mother.
“I’ll pay you back,” she said.
She stared at it. Then her eyes glossed over—not with sadness, but that stubborn, angry love of someone who hates needing help.