When I started Suspecting my Wife of Cheating, I Somehow Ended up Living in the Middle of Nowhere - Episode 18

My mother’s hospital discharge was finally decided. Of course, we didn’t inform my father of the date. Nor did we tell him where she was being transferred to. Since this was a case of domestic violence escape, it was only natural.

My mother, still in a wheelchair, was moved to a care facility—an elderly rehabilitation facility—by a special taxi. The cost: 7,000 yen. Expenses were quietly piling up. The hospital bill had already exceeded one million yen over three months. We had applied for the “High-Cost Medical Expense Benefit,” so no matter how expensive the surgery or hospital stay, the maximum amount we should have paid was about 60,000 yen. However, the “additional bed charge”—the private room fee—was separate.

This hospital had only private rooms, costing 10,000 yen per day. Simple math meant it was about 360,000 yen a month. For three months… you can imagine the hole it burned in my wallet. I still didn’t have a job, and just thinking about living expenses was terrifying.

Fortunately, I had applied for unemployment benefits at Hello Work (Japan’s employment office) and was receiving about 60% of my former salary each month. That was my only source of income. Honestly, I felt pretty cornered.

Then one day, two envelopes arrived in our mailbox—both from different law offices. Two letters from two separate firms at the same time! I had a bad feeling but had no choice but to open them.

First envelope:

“Notice of Custody Transfer”

In short, it was a letter from my ex-wife. She was relinquishing custody of our daughters—on the condition that she wouldn’t pay child support.

I showed it to the girls.

“But child support isn’t for Dad—it’s for our living and education!”
Chieri, the younger sister, was fuming.

“Well, at least now we can officially stay here without any worries…”
The older sister said calmly, like an adult.

Honestly, I didn’t care much about the money. The fact that my ex-wife, who would never normally do anything that didn’t benefit her, agreed to give up custody via her lawyer said a lot. The girls seemed to understand this, too.

“I wonder what Mom’s real reason for giving up custody is?”
The older one mused.

“Maybe she thinks Dad won’t be able to take care of us and will eventually give up?”
Chieri said, clearly harboring no good feelings toward her mother.

“Maybe she just thought about the girls’ happiness…?”
I offered weakly, trying to give their mother the benefit of the doubt.

But both girls sighed heavily—basically saying, no way.

Maybe she did think about them a little… let’s just believe that.

“Didn’t you say the new ‘dad’ was violent?”
“Don’t call him dad! At first, he was all over us—gross! Chii-chan looked super disgusted.”

“Yeah, his touch was seriously creepy!”

Wow, the way they talked about him was brutal—but well-deserved.

“Eventually, when we didn’t warm up to him, he started getting physical. Like, if we said we were too busy to go out, he’d yank our arms…”
“And if we resisted, he’d hit us.”

The worst. Total failure as an adult.

Honestly, I just wanted to end the day there.
But there was still the second envelope—a normal-sized one, suggesting just a few sheets inside.

“Inquiry”

What the heck?
It was from a law office in Fukuoka City.
The client? My father.

The letter accused me of “kidnapping” my mother, Shoko, and claimed it was a criminal act because I took her somewhere without informing him.

It said I was violating his “right to visitation,” complete with attached copies of past court rulings.

Normally, getting a letter from a lawyer would freak someone out.
But I wasn’t scared.
I had no money, no status, no job—nothing to lose.
All I cared about was protecting my two daughters.
Simple.

The next day, I marched into the law office.

“Are you helping him knowing what he’s done?”
I asked calmly after being shown into a conference room.
My daughters insisted on coming with me, and having three people there definitely worked in our favor—numbers help in negotiations.

“But your father has visitation rights…”
“He’s a DV (domestic violence) offender! It’s common sense not to tell him where she is! He’s snuck into hospitals, messed with medical treatments, caused scenes, and never even paid his bills! Honestly, he’s just a criminal who hasn’t been caught. Are you saying helping someone like that is your version of justice?”

“But he is my client, so…”
Ah right.
I had forgotten—lawyers are not champions of justice. They just act for whoever pays them.

Then my older daughter opened the envelope and pulled out the attached court case copies.

“This ruling you sent… wasn’t it about a brother and sister fighting over visiting their mother? It has nothing to do with domestic violence, right? Totally irrelevant.”

“Well, that’s…”
“You thought if you slapped on a ruling, we amateurs would get scared and back down, didn’t you!?”

The lawyer was clearly rattled.
My daughter was strong—amazing.

“Anyway, I’ll relay your position to my client,”
he finally said.

Honestly, he was a terrible lawyer. Definitely just doing it for the money.

“Thanks, girls. If I’d been alone, I would have been super nervous.”
“It’s okay, Dad! You’re still you!”
“That lawyer… I’m gonna crush him…”

Uh, Chieri, did you just say something scary?

〇●〇

Back home, an email arrived from the lawyer. Something about it felt… off.

“Dear Seiji Zempuku, Today I had a meeting with your son…”

Wait—what?
Something felt very wrong.

“This is a mail that should’ve gone to Grandpa, right?”
The older sister leaned over to look at my screen.

“Yeah, he sent the client report to the person they were talking about… not the client,”
Chieri explained.

Even a high school dropout like me knew that was a massive mistake.

And worse, the email badmouthed me.

“Dad, leave this to me!”
My older daughter said, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“…Alright, I’ll leave it to you.”

Before I could even blink, she was hammering out a reply:

“Just a friendly heads-up—you sent an internal client email to the subject of the email. As a lawyer, how does that reflect on your capabilities? Also, your meeting notes contain statements we never said. We recorded everything with a voice recorder, so would you like us to correct the record with your client?”

“Isn’t that a little aggressive…?”
I worried aloud.

“It’s fine! We’re not threatening anything—no extortion here. Just being helpful! Okay, sending…!”

“Ahh!”

Before I could stop her, she hit “send.”

The reply came almost immediately:

“We deeply apologize for this error. This should never have happened. We will take all necessary precautions to ensure it never happens again. We sincerely apologize.”

A complete surrender.

At least now, if they tried anything, we had a card to play.
Still… what a useless lawyer. Definitely need to watch out for him.

It left a bad taste in my mouth.

□□□ Mother’s Current Status

Today, the result of her welfare application came via phone—a week after applying.
Since my mother had been left penniless (my father took her bankbook and all her money), I was footing her hospital bills.
We figured welfare would be a given.

Result: Rejected.

I was stunned.
How is she supposed to survive then?

I was told to come in person to hear the result.
Utterly hopeless at first, but then Mr. Kusuhara, the welfare officer, asked:

“Are you familiar with the concept of ‘borderline cases’?”

I wasn’t, and he could tell.

He took me to a booth and explained:

“Although welfare was rejected, your mother will soon start receiving a pension. She’s considered economically ‘just barely short’ of sustaining herself. Those who fall on that razor-thin line are called ‘borderline cases.'”

I had already explained that we had opened a new bank account for her pension to be deposited into, although no payments had been received yet.

Still, I wanted to argue she clearly didn’t have enough, but I kept quiet and listened to Kusuhara’s explanation.

Upon discharge, my mother entered a “Rouken” (介護老人保健施設—rehab-type elderly care facility).

Fun fact: there’s no such thing as a generic “nursing home” in Japan. There are eight types, both public and private.

We were lucky to get a spot in a “Rouken,” a public facility that helps seniors transition back to daily life.

Mother’s pension would amount to about 95,000 yen per month, but the Rouken costs between 120,000–130,000 yen monthly.

Obviously, not enough.

However, since it’s a public facility, Fukuoka City would help subsidize it so that her pension would be enough to cover it.

They said exact costs would depend on her care needs, and actual calculations would come after she started living there.

Contrary to what I thought, welfare doesn’t just hand you a flat 150,000 yen or whatever.
It’s carefully allocated—like, rent up to 36,000 yen, food costs, etc.—and payments often go directly to landlords.

In my mother’s case, the cost breakdown is complicated because it’s all rolled into the facility fees.
Apparently, combining her pension with a “borderline discount” was a better solution than welfare.

I didn’t fully understand it, but Mr. Kusuhara seemed trustworthy.
So we agreed to pursue the “borderline” support.

Of course, more paperwork and endless waiting were involved…

I really wished society would be a little kinder to the elderly.
If I wasn’t there, there’s no way my mother could have handled all the procedures herself.