Broken Things, Beautiful Scars: A Lost Scene from the Galatean Saga

 

A Kintsugi bowl, a farewell, and a love never allowed to root.

When Doctor Fumiko Nakamura arrived home that afternoon, the gentle notes of foreign music drifting through her modest apartment were an unexpected welcome. Bem Parkett stood in her kitchen, moving fluidly with the rhythm, his sleeves rolled up and hair uncharacteristically tousled. For a fleeting moment, the image was domestic, familiar—almost comforting.

Fumiko leaned silently against the doorframe, drinking in the rare sight. Out of uniform, he seemed both softer and more intense, each graceful motion hinting at confidence she'd watched quietly blossom during his months at Palora Research Station.

Then he turned, their eyes locking, and the quiet spell fractured instantly.

"I've been called," Bem said simply, voice edged with finality.

The warmth drained from her veins, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache. She'd known this was inevitable, yet somehow convinced herself otherwise. "Starlink," she whispered, forcing composure. They both understood the stakes: Starlink was Earth's most formidable space installation, the lynchpin that could tip the scales decisively in Terran favor.

Bem nodded, the movement subtle but heavy with unspoken implications. "The craft arrives at twenty-two hundred."

Fumiko crossed the space between them, anxiety threading through her words. "Why you? Let someone else play the hero."

"It doesn't work like that, itoshii,*" he said softly, using the term he'd picked up from her native tongue. The affection in his voice was at odds with his resolute expression.

Frustration surged, eclipsing restraint. "Don't talk to me about duty. You've given enough. Why does it have to be you?"

"Our ships can't get through," he explained patiently, avoiding her gaze. "Short of thermonuclear options, we've exhausted every possibility. And we can't use them without mutual destruction. The Terrans know that."

Her voice dropped to a plea. "I could request they keep you here, at the research facility. You could stay safe."

Bem's eyes softened briefly, betraying the internal struggle he'd hidden behind disciplined calm. For a heartbeat, she saw hesitation: raw, fleeting, and achingly human.

But the soldier returned swiftly. "You know that's impossible."

She turned away, eyes brimming with tears of frustration and helplessness. Behind her, his footsteps approached cautiously, his presence radiating quiet warmth.

"Allow me this, at least," he said gently, gesturing to the half-prepared meal. "To cook your dinner."

Fumiko forced a faint smile, a shaky attempt to lighten the moment. "You and I both know you can't follow a recipe, Bem Parkett."

He smiled back, but it didn't touch his eyes. She knew that look too well—the resignation of a man who accepted his path even as he regretted its cost.

They ate in near silence, the ticking clock marking each passing moment, an unyielding reminder of what approached. Afterwards, as they cleared dishes, Fumiko paused, the words escaping despite herself. "Don’t go, Bem."

He didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched painfully until he reached for his tunic, slipping it on as if armoring himself against more than physical threats.

She stepped closer, emotion raw in her voice. "I've heard them whispering. They say whoever takes down Starlink becomes the next Master Commander. Please, tell me you aren't chasing destiny."

He looked genuinely startled, then weary. "It was never about glory. You know me better than that."

Her heart twisted. "Do I? Then stay."

"This isn't one of your books, Fumiko," he replied gently, firmly. "The world doesn't bend to our wishes."

Despair overwhelmed her, and she hurled a small ceramic bowl to the ground. It shattered between them, a stark echo of her breaking heart.

Bem stood unmoving, eyes fixed on the fragmented pieces. "Itoshii."

"If you walk out now..." Her voice broke. There was no threat, only helpless grief.

He hesitated again, conflict etched briefly across his face before determination masked it once more. His hand closed over the door handle, turning slowly as he looked back at her. In that glance, regret and longing warred silently.

Then the door clicked shut, and Fumiko was alone with the echo of his departure and the scattered shards of what could have been.

She sank to her knees amidst the broken pieces, finally surrendering to the tears she'd fought to contain. The soft music continued, its gentle notes hauntingly incongruous, a painful reminder of a man who had briefly belonged to her and the vast, unbridgeable distance now stretched between them.

---

Exclusive backstory chapters from the Galatean Saga universe—stories that won’t appear in the books, but live in the silence between them.

---

✍️💔 

A glimpse into Commander Bem Parkett’s past and the quiet heartbreak of duty. 

This scene doesn’t appear in the final novels. I omitted it to keep the core narrative tight, but it offered such a poignant glimpse into Bem Parkett’s emotional world that it deserved to be shared.

The Kintsugi bowl returns later, mended not only with gold, but memory. The cracks remain, but they shine. What was once broken now holds something even deeper.

*Japanese: A term of endearment meaning “beloved” or “darling,” something Bem picked up during his time at Palora Station.