Aya sat curled up on the edge of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, staring at the softly gurgling infant in her mother’s arms. The living room smelled of baby powder, warm milk, and something Aya couldn’t quite name—something heavier, more permanent. Her mother, Naomi, cooed gently as she lifted a warm bottle to Emi’s mouth. The baby suckled eagerly, her little hands fluttering like moths around the plastic.
Aya tried to smile. She really did.
At first, she’d been ecstatic when she found out her mom was pregnant. She wasn’t some sulky teenager who hated kids—no, she’d helped pick the name, painted the nursery, even knit a tiny hat after watching a dozen YouTube tutorials. She was going to be the Best Big Sister Ever.
But it hadn’t turned out that way.
Lately, her mom barely looked up when Aya walked into the room. Every question, every story, every plan for the weekend was answered with, “Maybe later, sweetie,” or worse, “Can you do it yourself? Emi needs me.”
She never said no outright. But she didn’t have to.
That’s when Aya found the coin.
It had been wedged in the dirt beside the old cemetery, where the forest crept in like vines through a crack. It was heavy, too heavy for its size, and inscribed with curling lines that shimmered faintly when touched. After two weeks of obsessive research—late-night forums, obscure folklore books, and a Reddit post that vanished two days after she found it—Aya pieced together what it could do.
The coin responded to desire. It could change you. Shape you by longing alone.
It could turn her into something small. Innocent. Helpless.
Loved.
Maybe even something Emi couldn’t live without.
⸻
Tuesday Morning
“Hold her legs up like this, then wipe down, never up,” Naomi said, her voice calm but clipped. She guided Aya’s hand as they changed Emi’s diaper together on the changing table. “You’ll get used to it.”
Aya bit the inside of her cheek. “I have done this before, you know.”
“I know, I’m just—” Her mother glanced at her, expression softening. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just tired. Emi was up half the night. You know how it is.”
“I wouldn’t,” Aya muttered, too quiet for Naomi to catch—or maybe Naomi just pretended not to.
Emi babbled, kicking her legs as Naomi slipped a fresh diaper under her. She smiled like her whole world was right there above her. Naomi smiled back with a tenderness Aya hadn’t seen in months.
“Do you miss me?” Aya asked suddenly.
Her mom blinked. “What?”
“Before Emi. When it was just us.”
Naomi looked down at the baby, pausing as she fastened the tabs. “I miss the quiet sometimes,” she said. “But I don’t miss you—because you’re still here.” Naomi said tossing the dirty diaper away.
Aya nodded. But her chest felt hollow.
That night, Aya held the coin to the moonlight and whispered a single, impossible wish. “What do I want to be?”
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