Mio Sakamoto had a wonderful upbringing. Her mom was love and acceptance personified. She encouraged Mio in everything she did, thought about doing, or even just her vague impulses that always led them both to adventure.
Mio’s father was just as loving. He worked overtime to fund her many extra curriculars. He drove her to and from the animal shelter every morning and hung out with the front desk staff for eight years because she just had to volunteer at the animal shelter. (She totally stands by that).
She also knew her little brother, six years her junior, was quietly jealous of her success in all of her endeavors. But she also knew her brother would go to the mat for her, threating to beat of several different ex-boyfriends after Mio dumped their lame asses. Her and her brother weren’t close in age and only close-ish in practice, but she could feel how deep their bond went, and all of the mushy-gushy things they weren’t saying to each other.
She wishes she would have told him how much he means to her. She wishes she had hugged her mom a little tighter the last time she saw her. She should’ve told her dad how much she appreciates all the sacrifices he made for her.
On an icy winter night Mio’s family goes out to dinner. They all wanted to try the new place in the plaza. Mio stayed home, she was sick. She fell asleep on the couch with an old movie playing and woke to the sound of a sharp knock on a door. When she answered a grim officer informed her that her family’s car had been struck by an older man who’d fallen asleep at the wheel. No survivors.
And all of a sudden Mio was alone. Except for the family cat, of course. If nothing else she and Shiro still had each other, and goddamn, she’ll hang onto that.
A big move to a world still in development was the life-raft she didn’t know she needed. She was drowning in her good-memories and grief. She needs to start over. This will be good for her. It has to be.
