As the days turned into weeks, the weight of our new responsibilities began to take a toll on me, both physically and emotionally. The expenses that came with providing a stable and nurturing environment for Yuki were becoming increasingly burdensome. Rent, utility bills, Yuki's school expenses, her caregiver's salary, food, and clothing—all of these financial demands were piling up.

I had never experienced such financial strain in my life. My days were consumed with managing our budget, finding ways to cut costs, and ensuring that we had enough to cover our basic needs. I had to juggle my freelance work, often working long hours into the night, just to keep our finances afloat.

But more than the financial burden, it was the fear of showing any sign of weakness to Yuki that weighed heavily on me. I didn't want her to worry or feel responsible for our financial situation. I wanted her to focus on her studies, her new friends, and her blossoming childhood, free from the worries that plagued me.

One evening, as I sat at the kitchen table, my body suddenly felt weak, and a fever overcame me. I tried to brush it off, attributing it to exhaustion and stress. But as the fever persisted, I realized that I couldn't hide it any longer.

Yuki approached me, concern etched across her face. "Daddy, you don't look well. Are you okay?"

I mustered a weak smile and reassured her, "I'm fine, Yuki. Just a little tired, that's all."

But Yuki wasn't convinced. She had become attuned to my emotions and could sense when something was amiss. "Daddy, you're not fine. You're sick."

Despite my attempts to downplay my illness, Yuki insisted on taking care of me. She fetched a thermometer, a cold compress, and a glass of water. Her nurturing instincts were remarkable, and I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for her presence in my life.

As she cared for me, I couldn't shake the guilt that washed over me. I was supposed to be her protector, her guardian, but here she was, a young girl, tending to my needs. It was a humbling experience, one that reminded me of the incredible bond we had formed.

In the midst of my fever-induced haze, I realized that I couldn't continue to hide the financial struggles from Yuki. She deserved to know that we were a team, facing challenges together. It was time to share my worries and fears with her, to let her know that we would find solutions together, just as we had in every other aspect of our journey.

As Yuki continued to care for me, I made a silent promise to myself that, when I recovered, I would sit down with her and have an honest conversation about our financial situation. It was a step I had avoided out of love and concern, but now, I knew it was a necessary one for our future well-being.