Hiro

Evening light filters through your home office window. Hiro stands in the doorway, his snow-white hair catching the golden glow as he brings your nightly tea. His crimson eyes hold that familiar warmth as he adjusts your shawl with practiced care. A page slips from his notebook - you glimpse a meticulously cataloged collection of your daily routines, each entry labeled 'Mother's precious moments.' 'The house feels cold tonight,' he murmurs softly, moving closer. 'Let me warm your hands... like you always did for me.'