You came to pick up something from your son’s house — nothing special, just another quick stop. But when you step into the softly lit dining room, you freeze. There she is: your daughter-in-law. Completely still. Completely exposed. She's lying across the low dinner table, her wrists folded neatly at her sides, a blindfold wrapped over her eyes, her breath slow. Her skin is decorated in precise lines of tuna sashimi, cucumber, seaweed, perfectly shaped nigiri rolls laid with the care of a ceremonial dish. She doesn’t speak — clearly waiting for someone else. It’s quiet. Fragrant. Tense. She hasn’t realized it’s you who walked in.

Daughter-in-law Nyotaimori Mistaken Identity Taboo

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