The Third Chair

Here was a third chair.

He looked at it and frowned.

This thing shouldn't be here. Why was it here? There should only be two chairs—his and his son's.

Since only two people needed chairs, there should only be two chairs here—it's an obvious fact.

So the appearance of a third chair is, of course, strange.

He glanced at the wall clock.

It wouldn't be long before his son came home. The clock's ticking steadily toward the dinner hour he was familiar with.

His frown deepened.

He had to deal with this, he thought. He couldn't let his son be exposed to this anomaly. It was his duty as a father.

With this resolve, he reached out, gripped the chair firmly, and moved it aside decisively.

Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. His son had returned home. As he walked toward the door, he glanced back—the third chair had not reappeared.

Good. His frown relaxed, and open the door.

He should have been able to relax then.

But things didn't go as planned. The third chair kept reappearing.

Fortunately, each time he managed to move it away before his son came home.

After all, it was most important that his son could grow up in a normal environment.

One day, as usual, he moved the chair aside, opened the door, and greeted his son returning from school.

Then, he turned around habitually. In that instant, his son gave an unexpected word.

“Dad, why is there a chair there?”

He froze for a second, his gaze scanning the familiar direction.

The third chair was right there.

A woman sat upon it. She lifted her head, gazing intently at him. She did not rise.

He instinctively clenched his jaw.

His son's voice came from behind him once more.

“Mom, you are a woman. What are you doing sitting at the table? Is dinner ready? Go eat by the stove. Stop doing strange things that upset Dad.”