Stara stood beside the physician in the infirmary.
Fresh herbs lay spread across the table.
"As promised," the physician said, "today you learn my greatest recipe."
Stara leaned closer.
"What does it do?"
"It helps women in labor. Sometimes the baby refuses to come out. This tonic helps with that."
He carefully measured the ingredients.
"But the balance must be exact." His voice grew serious. "If you add too much or too little… both mother and child could die."
Stara nodded silently.
"This tonic will save many lives," he said proudly.
But she did not share his excitement. Something else had occupied her mind completely.
Twelve days had gone by, past the date. She had not bled. Instead, she had been feeling awful, and all those signs were familiar. In the first six months of her studies, she read them again and again. She knew what rested within her. And it mortified her.
...
The evening settled quietly over the ladies' quarters.
The long corridors had grown calm after the day's bustle, and a gentle orange light slipped through the tall windows.
Inside their chamber, Omuro stood near the table arranging freshly picked flowers into a small porcelain vase. The petals were delicate and pale, their fragrance faint but soothing. She adjusted one of the stems carefully.
Behind her, the door opened.
Stara entered.
Her steps were slow and uncertain, as though each movement required effort. She avoided Omuro's gaze, walking directly toward her bed before sitting down heavily on the edge of it.
Omuro glanced over her shoulder.
She immediately noticed the tension in her sister's posture—the tight shoulders, the restless hands. Omuro chuckled lightly, trying to break the mood.
"It's not too late to give up," she teased. "Your face is flushed. Soon your hair will start to fall off."
Normally Stara would have laughed.
This time she said nothing.
Omuro paused, realizing the joke had landed badly.
"I guess that was a bad joke."
Stara's fingers twisted together nervously.
"I want to tell you something."
Omuro turned fully toward her.
"Why do you sound so serious?"
"I just…" Stara swallowed. "I don't know how to tell you."
The flowers were forgotten.
Omuro walked toward her sister, concern growing in her chest.
"Alright," she said gently. "Just tell me. Did something happen?"
Stara looked down at her hands.
"Is it bad?" Omuro asked.
Stara cracked her fingers nervously, her breathing uneven.
"I made a mistake."
Omuro knelt in front of her, "We all make mistakes."
"I don't know how to say it."
"Stop scaring me," Omuro said softly. "We've done plenty of crazy things over the years. Have I ever judged you?"
Stara shook her head. "No."
"Then tell me," Omuro urged. "What happened, Stara?"
Stara's face crumpled.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Omuro's heart tightened instantly. She grabbed Stara's hands.
"I'm here," she whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
Stara's voice broke.
"Sister… I'm with child."
The words hung in the air.
Omuro froze.
"What?" she whispered.
Her mind raced through the possibilities.
"But you've been so busy," she said slowly. "You don't even have a man—"
Then she saw it. The guilt in Stara's eyes. Omuro's breath caught. Her hands slowly fell away from Stara's.
She stood up.
"Stara…" Her voice trembled. "You didn't."
Stara bowed her head.
"Forgive me."
Omuro stared at her as the truth began to settle like poison in her veins.
"You've seen my heart," Omuro said quietly. "I opened it to you."
Her voice began to crack.
"You know I love him."
"I know," Stara sobbed. "Sister, it was a mistake—"
"A mistake?" Omuro's voice rose sharply.
She stepped back as though the room had suddenly become too small.
"Spilling a drink is a mistake. Mistaking sugar for salt is a mistake!"
Her chest heaved.
"But this?" she cried. "From the beginning to the end, you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew the pain you were about to throw me into."
Her voice softened suddenly with disbelief.
"Were you drunk?"
Stara shook her head weakly.
"Was he drunk?" Omuro pressed. "Did he force you? Did he—"
"No!" Stara cried quickly. "No."
The denial shattered something inside Omuro.
She laughed bitterly.
"So, what part of it was a mistake, Stara?"
Tears burned in her eyes.
"I helped you make your dream happen," she whispered. "This… this was mine."
Her voice broke.
"I didn't want anything else."
Stara reached toward her.
"Please don't be angry—"
But Omuro stepped away.
"I told the cooks to prepare meals that your tired body could easily digest," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Your bath is always hot when you come home late."
"Please…"
"The gardener told me these flowers relax the body and mind after exhausting work." Omuro gestured toward the vase. "I picked them myself."
Her voice grew quiet.
"I knew I couldn't help you master herbs or medicine the way you wanted. So, I tried to support you in other ways."
She shook her head slowly.
"And then you go and sleep with the man I love… carry his child… and call it a mistake."
The silence in the room felt suffocating.
Omuro let out a small, broken laugh.
"Maybe I deserve it."
"No," Stara cried. "Don't say that."
She wiped her tears desperately.
"I regret it. I wish I could undo everything. If I could go back in time, I would." Her voice trembled. "I can't live knowing you hate me."
She reached for her again.
"You're the most important person in my life."
Omuro looked at her for a long moment.
Then she spoke quietly.
"Can you get rid of the baby for me?"
Stara blinked in shock. "What?"
Omuro's expression hardened.
"Exactly," she said softly, "I think you finally found someone more important than me."
Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the chamber.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Stara collapsed onto the bed, sobbing into her hands.
For the first time in their lives, the bond between the sisters had cracked—and neither of them knew if it could ever be repaired.
***