“…His eyesight faded, and now he was looking for his home more by scent. Cherry blossoms. Tiny pink flowers on a tall, sprawling tree made his familiar dwelling recognizable even at night. He inhaled the air, letting it pass through his nose, and kept trying to catch those sweet notes that would tell him his goal had been reached. And what did he want, really? A muddled mind whispered only one thing: ‘Return to my girls!’ Even dying, he couldn’t forgive himself for leaving his daughters completely alone, and, obeying his last thought, his pain and fear, the dead father tried to come home—where his beauties sit at a table laid out, poor but covered with a colorful tablecloth, and wait, glancing out at the window…»