Rei Kimura I - Love My Father In Law More Than My...
Rei Kimura’s love for her father‑in‑law never eclipsed her love for her husband; rather, it deepened it. The two loves existed side by side, each nourishing the other, just like the garden that spanned from Osaka to Sapporo. In the end, the story she lived was not about choosing one over the other, but about understanding that love, when shared, multiplies—making room for more blossoms, more stories, and more heartbeats.
In Sapporo, Rei faced a colder climate, both in weather and in the rhythm of daily life. Yet the garden she cultivated on the balcony of their new apartment thrived. The shiso leaves curled green and fragrant, the daikon grew stubborn but resilient, and the strawberries—against all odds—blushed a delicate pink.
Two years into their marriage, Takashi received an unexpected transfer to a research facility in Sapporo. The news was both a professional triumph and a personal dilemma. Rei loved her husband’s ambition, but the thought of leaving Hideo’s house—and the steady, comforting presence of his guidance—felt like an ache she couldn’t quite place.
When the moving truck finally pulled up, Takashi hugged Hideo tightly, promising to call every Sunday. Rei knelt beside Hideo, her hands trembling slightly. “I’m taking the seed packets with me,” she whispered. “I want to plant them in Sapporo, so a piece of this garden will travel with us.” Rei Kimura I Love My Father In Law More Than My...
“I’m scared,” she confessed. “I love Takashi, but I also love… this place, you, and everything we’ve built here. I feel torn between my husband and my father‑in‑law.”
Hideo laughed, a sound that sounded like wind chimes. “Then our garden will stretch across the whole country. Remember, the soil may change, but the love you pour into the earth remains the same.”
Rei Kimura had never imagined that the word “in‑law” could feel so warm, so familiar, and—most of all—so essential to her life. She had grown up in a small town on the edge of Osaka, the daughter of a diligent schoolteacher and a quiet accountant. Her days were filled with school festivals, after‑school piano lessons, and the occasional night‑time study sessions that stretched until the neon lights of the city flickered on. She was, by all accounts, an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams: a good job, a happy marriage, maybe a dog someday. Rei Kimura’s love for her father‑in‑law never eclipsed
The most surprising development came one winter when Hideo visited them for a short vacation. He arrived with his own little pot of fresh miso paste, a gift for Rei. Sitting at the kitchen table, he watched Rei slice daikon for a winter soup and said, “You have become a bridge, Rei‑san. You’ve taken the love we share and stretched it across the ocean of our lives. I am proud of you.”
The night before the move, Rei sat on the tatami mat in Hideo’s living room, sipping warm green tea. Hideo joined her, his hands folded neatly on his knees. “You seem troubled, Rei‑san,” he said softly.
Rei placed a small pot of shiso into the back of the truck, a token of her promise to keep the connection alive no matter where life took them. In Sapporo, Rei faced a colder climate, both
And that, dear reader, is why Rei often says, “I love my father‑in‑law more than my…self when I think of the garden we’ve built together.”
Years later, the garden on the balcony had become a small sanctuary for the whole family. Takashi’s colleagues would stop by for tea, Hideo’s grandchildren visited during holidays and helped plant new seedlings, and Rei—now a mother herself—taught her children the same lesson she had learned: “When you speak love to a seed, it grows into a promise.”