When they arrived, the square was already packed. Food stalls lined both sides, the air thick with grease and sugar. Herbert jumped out of the car and made a beeline for the takoyaki stand.
Mom watched him run off. No scolding crossed her face—only indulgence.
I remembered the year I turned eight. Mom had taken Herbert and me to a lantern festival. I asked for a candy apple, and she snapped at me.
"All you ever think about is eating. Didn't we just have dinner at home?"
"Already hungry again? Look at your brother—see how well-behaved he is."
Herbert stuck his tongue out at me, then bolted toward a trampoline across the way.
"Mom, I wanna play on that!"
Mom's expression transformed in an instant. "Okay, sweetheart. Mommy's coming."
After that, I never asked my parents for anything again.
Because I knew. In their eyes, there was only Herbert.
The circus music started, and Herbert was the first to push his way to the front.
The show began.
Monkeys riding bicycles. Lions leaping through rings of fire. Sea lions balancing balls on their noses. One act after another, each more dazzling than the last. The crowd erupted in applause.
Then, right at the peak of the performance, a woman came tearing through the crowd like she'd lost her mind.
She grabbed at every person she passed.
"Have you seen my daughter? She's wearing a white princess dress. She was right here waiting for me just a minute ago."
One by one, people shook their heads. No one had seen her.
The woman's face crumpled with guilt. She slapped herself, again and again.
"This is my fault. This is all my fault."
"I shouldn't have gone to the bathroom and left my daughter out there alone. This is all my fault."
The woman slapped herself across the face, leaving an angry red handprint on her cheek.
Everyone's hearts clenched at the sight.
Someone in the crowd spoke up, telling the woman to call the police right away—if a trafficker had taken her daughter, every second counted.
The woman choked back her sobs, wiped her tears with shaking hands, and pushed her way out of the crowd.
I watched her disappear into the night. That was when I noticed my little brother had been staring at her the whole time.
"Mom, Kate's been gone a really long time. What if she got lost?"
Mom blinked, caught off guard. Then her expression softened into something tender—but it wasn't for me.
"She's fine."