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Were We Ever Meant to Be?
Were We Ever Meant to Be? is a provocative love story told as a novelette—a story of unfinished love, renewed desire, marital commitment, and the difficult choice between what the heart wants and what one believes is right.
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Living alone in South Korea during the COVID-19 pandemic, Marco sends a simple birthday greeting to Katherine, a woman he has not seen in eight years. What begins as a friendly exchange soon reopens a past they had carefully buried—and feelings neither of them has completely forgotten. But Marco and Kath are no longer the people they once were: both are married, both have children, and both have lives that could unravel if they allow an unfinished love to begin again. As distance disappears through their screens and old questions demand new answers, they must confront a dangerous possibility: perhaps some loves survive because they are meant to be—or perhaps surviving is precisely what makes them hardest to resist.
Part One – A Message After Eight Years
After finishing my third movie of the day, I finally switched off my desktop computer. I would open my laptop later when I felt like browsing the internet.
That was how my days usually passed whenever I had no work—Netflix, the internet, and, when inspiration visited, writing a story, poem, or essay for my website. When I did not feel like watching, browsing, or writing, I read. Whatever I chose, I remained inside my apartment.
I had no desire to go out. COVID was still spreading, and because it was the weekend, I knew the streets and public places would be crowded. Koreans loved going out whenever they were free. Besides, winter was not quite over, and the evening was cold.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t touch anything work-related all weekend. I needed a break from the stress. The report my boss had requested could wait until I returned to the office.
I stepped onto the terrace of my two-bedroom apartment to stretch and breathe some fresh air. It was already past eight, and darkness had settled over the neighborhood.
The terrace was small, with just enough room for a chair and a little table. I sat there whenever I wanted some air, some morning sunlight, or a quiet place to read. Sometimes I drank coffee there. Sometimes beer.
I did not stay long that evening. Hunger drove me back into the kitchen. I had started watching movies after lunch and had not eaten since. I reheated the leftover chicken and pizza in the microwave and cooked a packet of ramen so I would have something warm to sip in the cold weather.
Carrying my food, I returned to the second bedroom, which I had converted into a study and miniature theater. It had also served as my workplace when the rising number of COVID cases forced our company to send its employees home. We had only recently been required to return to the office.
I opened my laptop while I ate. As always, Facebook was my first stop. I messaged Anna, my wife, to ask if she was feeling better. We hadn’t chatted all day because she had told me that morning that she was unwell.
She appeared to be offline. The green dot beside her name was gone.
I tried video-calling our son, Kenneth, but he did not answer. He was probably asleep—or too absorbed in Mobile Legends to notice my call.
I scrolled through my feed instead, then checked the profiles of several close friends and relatives. From thousands of kilometers away, Facebook was the easiest way to know what was happening in their lives back in the Philippines. If I saw something that made me miss someone, I messaged them.
That evening, one of them was celebrating her birthday.
Katherine.
I opened Kath’s profile, found an attractive birthday image on Google, and sent it to her through Messenger, along with a brief greeting and a question about how she had been.
Then I moved on to ESPN to check the day’s NBA results and watched the game highlights on YouTube. By the time I finished, it was already eleven. My food was gone, and I was tired of browsing.
I decided to watch another movie, but first I made myself a cup of coffee.
Before closing the laptop, I checked Facebook one last time. Kath’s profile was still open. I looked at the message I had sent her.
Not yet seen.
She was probably asleep. She would see it in the morning.
For no particular reason—or perhaps for one I did not want to admit—I opened our conversation history and began scrolling upward.
We had not had a real conversation since I moved to South Korea. Every year, I greeted her on her birthday. She thanked me, we exchanged a few questions about how life was treating us, and then we said goodbye. I often wanted to keep talking, but I could never tell whether she wanted the same.
I scrolled down again.
The year before, when I had been preparing to visit the Philippines, we had talked about meeting. Friends often promised to have coffee with me whenever I came home, but most of those plans remained exactly that—plans. Perhaps Kath and I would have met if COVID hadn’t disrupted everything.
I knew I would not have wasted the opportunity to see her.
I simply did not know whether she felt the same way.
I was about to close Facebook when the status beneath my message suddenly changed.
Seen.
Kath was online.
A moment later, the three moving dots appeared. She was typing.
“Sirrr!!!”
I smiled.
Even after all these years, she still called me Sir. She had once been an intern at the travel and recruitment agency owned by my uncle, where Anna and I had both worked before I was assigned to Korea. I had headed the human resources office, and my uncle had placed Kath directly under my supervision.
She had been a fresh graduate then. The arrangement was that she would complete a one-month paid internship, after which my recommendation would determine whether she would be hired as a regular employee.
“How are you, sir?” she added.
“What is this, Kath? First you call me Sir, and now you’re being formal with me. Just call me Marco.”
“All right. Let me try again. How are you, Marco?”
“Still beautiful.”
“Wow. Same here—and I’m more beautiful than you.”
We exchanged laughing emojis.
“Thank you for remembering my birthday,” she wrote.
“How could I forget? You’re on my annual list of people I’m required to greet.”
“Oh, really? Well, thank you for including me on your precious list.”
She reacted to my message with a heart.
“What have you been doing lately?” I asked.
That simple question began the longest conversation we had shared since I left the Philippines. Before that night, we rarely exchanged more than three or four messages before one of us found a reason to leave.
I asked about her family.
“Jay and I are happy together,” she replied. “We’ve been blessed as a couple.”
I had meant her whole family. To be honest, her husband had not even entered my mind when I asked. But since she had brought him into the conversation, I asked whether he was home.
I knew Jay was a seafarer. Kath said he was currently aboard a ship operating in South America.
“How about you and Anna?” she asked.
My fingers remained above the keyboard for a long time.
How were Anna and I?
“We’re okay,” I finally typed.
Kath replied almost immediately.
“Wow. It took you that long to answer, and all you can say is that you’re okay?”
I had intended to add more. I had pressed Enter too soon.
“Things became more peaceful between us when I stopped expecting her to meet my standards.”
“Has she changed?”
Again, I hesitated.
“Anna is Anna,” I wrote. “She is who she is. I’ve learned to accept that.”
Kath sent a thumbs-up.
Her question stirred memories I had kept untouched for years. Whenever Anna and I fought back then, Kath had been the person who listened to me. If she entered my office and found me unusually quiet, she immediately knew that something had happened between my wife and me. She would make me coffee, sit nearby, and tell me I did not have to keep everything to myself.
I thought the thumbs-up would end our conversation. Instead, she sent a sad emoji.
“I’m all right, Kath,” I assured her.
She reacted with a heart.
I turned the question toward her.
“How are things between you and Jay? Have you completely repaired your relationship? Are you back to the way you used to be?”
“Yes. We worked through our problems. We both realized that perhaps we needed to experience what happened—just as you and Anna needed to go through your own difficulties. You know we’re both Christians. We chose to remain together and allowed God to guide us through the healing process.”
I sent her a thumbs-up.
“I think we’re more mature now in the way we handle our problems,” she added.
Shortly before I moved to Korea, Kath and I had met because she and Jay were going through a serious marital crisis. She had needed someone to talk to, and I had listened. At the time, she believed their problems might end their marriage. I asked what caused the conflict, but she was reluctant to tell me.
Her problems had seemed so heavy that I never found the opportunity to tell her about mine. I had been going through a crisis severe enough for a doctor to prescribe antidepressants. I had not even told her that I would soon be leaving for South Korea.
“You suddenly went quiet,” she wrote. “Are you busy?”
“No. I was just remembering the last time we saw each other. We watched a movie that day, didn’t we?”
“Which part are you remembering—the movie, or the way you pretended to comfort me so you could steal a kiss on my cheek?”
“That isn’t true,” I protested. “I was genuinely trying to comfort you. If I had wanted anything else, then I would have—”
“Stop it, Marco.”
“All right. But I really didn’t have any hidden intention that day.”
“If you say so.”
I sent her smiling emojis.
She sent back three hearts.
“I miss you, Kath,” I typed. “I really do.”
The words had escaped before I could decide whether they were appropriate. Something familiar had risen inside me—a feeling I knew too well whenever it concerned her.
The message had already been delivered when I realized she might take it the wrong way.
“Oh, Marco,” she replied. “It’s getting late. I should say good night.”
Perhaps I had offended her.
“I’m sorry, Kath.”
“Sorry? What are you sorry for?”
I stared at the screen, unable to type a single word.
“Marco, I asked what you’re apologizing for.”
I do not know how long I sat there. Memories I had spent years avoiding began returning one after another.
Finally, I typed, “It’s nothing. You said it’s time to sleep, so good night. Thank you for talking to me.”
A series of angry emojis appeared.
“Fine, Marco. Leave me hanging again. I should be used to that by now.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
This was why I kept my distance even when I wanted to speak to her. Perhaps it was also why she kept hers. Neither of us wanted to uncover what we had spent years burying.
Instead of replying, I tried to video-call her.
She rejected the call.
I tried again.
Rejected.
“Please answer,” I wrote. “My hands are tired from typing.”
I called a third time.
At last, she answered—but her camera was off.
“Please turn on your camera,” I typed.
“Why?”
“I want to see you.”
It took her a while, but eventually the screen flickered and her face appeared.
I looked at Kath. She seemed to be studying me in the same way. Almost eight years had passed since we last saw each other, yet she looked scarcely changed.
“Have you been crying?” I asked.
“You’re infuriating, Marco. Why did we have to make this a video call?”
“My fingers were beginning to hurt from typing. And besides…”
I stopped.
“Besides what?”
I drew a breath. “I miss you, Kath.”
“I can never tell whether you’re telling the truth or merely charming me.”
“Is that really what you think of me?”
“Yes. It has been—for a long time. Since the day you failed to show up.”
I had no answer.
Whenever our conversations came dangerously close to what had once existed between us, she returned to that day—the meeting I had missed and the explanation I had never given.
“Marco, I want to ask you something,” she said. “And for once in your life, please answer me honestly. Just this once.”
Her words hurt. They made me sound like a man who had lied about everything.
“All right. I promise I’ll be honest. What do you want to know?”
She stared at me through the screen.
I tried to guess what she was about to ask.
Was it why I had not shown up that day when we were supposed to visit my mother in the hospital? Was it why my uncle had transferred her to another branch after she had worked in my office for six months? She had resigned two months after the transfer. Perhaps she wanted to know why I had not tried to stop her.
Or why I had seemed unaffected when she told me that she and Jay were getting married.
Perhaps she wanted to know why I had left for Korea without telling her—or why I had made so little effort to remain part of her life afterward.
Which of those questions had she carried all these years?
She took so long to speak that I wondered whether she had changed her mind.
“Never mind,” she finally said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“What are you—a teenager?”
“That’s enough, Marco.”
“All right. Ask me.”
“I said forget it.”
I sighed.
Perhaps I already knew what she had wanted to ask.
“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll ask the question.”
“Go ahead. Just don’t ask me anything about mathematics. You know that’s my weakness.”
I smiled. Her humor had not changed.
“Kath…”
“Yes?”
“Did you really love me back then?”
She closed her eyes and released a long, unsteady breath.
Part 2 – What We Left Unsaid
In The Sea Of Love
When love strikes and you can’t turn back,
Make sure your heart’s on the right track.
For love’s like sailing on the tide,
With calm and storms that coincide.
Grab your oars, your sail, and steer,
Fill your heart with strength, no fear.
Love’s like the sea, both wild and wide,
It’s smooth today, tomorrow’s a ride.
Face the waves, both high and low,
Hold tight and let your courage grow.
No matter how the winds may howl,
Keep your grip firm, don’t let love foul.
When the waves come crashing fast,
Hold tight to love, it’s built to last.
Look to the sky, seek a sign,
After the storm, the sun will shine.
And if love lets you slip away,
If it can’t stay strong through the fray,
Hold fast and don’t let go of hope,
Swim back to shore, learn how to cope.
Don’t let the tide pull you under,
Stay afloat, don’t let it tear asunder.
Love again, and set your sails,
The calm will come after the gales.
Mythic Love
I was lost, in love’s all-consuming grace,
Like Kama’s arrows, piercing hearts and minds.
“Feel passion’s pull,” his gentle voice a trace,
“Let love ignite, and leave the world behind.”
Rati, his consort, with beauty so divine,
“Come, surrender to love’s deep, tender fire.
Let desire bloom in your heart’s sacred shrine,
In love’s embrace, you’ll find your soul’s desire.”
Saraswati spoke, her wisdom calm and pure,
“Let love be guided by the mind’s clear light,
For in true love, wisdom will always endure,
And balance love with knowledge’s gentle might.”
But Shiva, with his power dark and vast,
“Love is both creation and destruction’s reign.
Through every trial, true love will always last,
In sacrifice, your heart will bear the pain.”
And finally, from the lotus, Vishnu smiled,“
Love is the path, both simple and profound,
In every form, in every heart, compiled,
Love binds the universe, where peace is found.”
Achieving Marital Bliss
I once had the opportunity to speak with three other married individuals. And yes, we discussed our married life and what we, along with our respective spouses, have been doing in our quest for marital bliss.
While we acknowledged that our respective partners are far from perfect, we also admitted to our own flaws and the possibility that they may be more mature and better people than we are.
When we think that we are a better person than the one we married, we could either be right or wrong. But marriage is not about who is the better person – the husband or the wife? It’s about how the couple complement their strengths and make up for whatever weaknesses the other one has – how they help each other overcome their imperfections. Marriage is about our willingness to accept our spouses for who they are.
In that conversation, we all agreed that the worst presumption married people could make is that their spouses are perfect. Assuming that the person we married is a paragon of virtue is a primary source of disappointment. Any person is a package of good and bad characteristics and attitudes. That’s the reality. One of the ways to attain marital bliss is to embrace both the positive and negative attributes of the person we exchanged “I do’s” with. We marry both the positive and the negative of a person. The reason there is an engagement period is for both parties to get to know each other fully. Eventually, agreeing to tie the knot means accepting unconditionally everything that both parties have discovered about each other in the process.
We also discussed expecting (or forcing) our spouses to think and behave the way we want, to change their confident attitude or tendencies that we perceive as negative. We discovered that trying to do so only frustrated us. Thus, we all stopped doing that at a particular juncture in our married life, and things got better. Our partners are unique individuals who became who they are as a result of their upbringing. We were educated differently, and we also grew up in different environments. It is highly unlikely that we will have the same set of values, mindsets, and perspectives. It is a matter of respecting our differences and figuring out what compromises could be made to preserve the marriage.
The greater challenge is that two of us in the conversation are married to foreigners whose cultures are entirely different from theirs.
Asking spouses to give up a particular vice is sometimes a marital issue, too. Luckily, the spouse’s vice mentioned in the conversation was only smoking, and it didn’t become a big deal between the concerned couple.
We admitted as well that while marriage is a bed of roses, hidden by the leaves in the stems of those roses are the thorns. We all have our share of ups and downs in our married life. So difficult were some of the challenges we faced that we almost ended up “untying the knots.” But in the end, we all found out that we had more and better reasons to stay with our spouses than reasons not to. We all thought the love between us and our partners was just too strong, enabling us to weather all the storms that stood between us and marital bliss. The bible says, “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” (Mark 10:9)
We also shared personal strategies to keep the flame burning between us and our spouses. Three common strategies emerged: finding the simple things that make our spouses happy, giving them space, and avoiding doing things that irritate them.
Determining what could put a smile on the face of our spouses is not rocket science. That is one of the first things we ought to know about our partners if we intend to be with them for the long term. Take note that it’s not always a material thing.
Giving them space is also essential. Our partners never want to feel as if we’re putting chains on their hands and feet.
Avoiding doing things that might anger our spouses is the most challenging thing to do. Disagreements between couples are simply unavoidable. However, any issue between spouses must eventually be resolved, and it should be done in a manner befitting mature adults. They cannot afford to allow quarrels, especially if they are petty ones, to go on for days. There is only one logical conclusion to a disagreement between a couple who love each other (and have no intentions of divorcing), and that is for them to kiss and make up. So, they’ve got to do it as soon as possible.
Two of us in the conversation are men. I expressed the belief that it will not be too much for a man to always initiate the kiss and make-up process. It doesn’t matter whose at fault – him or his lady. That’s what real gentlemen do.
One of the ladies added, “In addition to love, the husband and the wife need mutual respect.”
I said that I couldn’t agree more with what was said. At that point, I shared my personal strategy for a happy married life. I have set a personal goal and am exerting my best efforts to achieve it – to make the lady of my house feel loved, needed, and respected. The preceding words enclosed in parentheses are included among those that I recite when doing my daily positive affirmations. I swear to God it works.
We all agreed at the end that what could help attain marital bliss is for both husband and wife to make each other feel special – that the man should not think that the courtship ends when the wedding bells stop ringing. The woman should try her best to look beautiful in the eyes of her husband every day in more ways than one.
Stolen Kiss
This poem delves into the intoxicating power of a stolen kiss, where passion ignites a series of events that sweep both the heart and mind into an uncontrollable frenzy. The imagery builds from the subtle softness of a simple kiss to the overwhelming intensity of love’s embrace, teetering on the edge of danger and surrender. Through the thief and the captive, the poem explores the thrilling descent into the depths of desire, where the heart is both captive and free.
When The Rain Falls (8)
Chapter 8 – “Bloody Rain”
It was another Sunday, and you and Daniel arrived at the house again. For the first time in a while, the sky wore a somber hue as a cold wind whispered through the trees. The news warned of an approaching typhoon, a tempest looming on the horizon.
Inside, Elena and her mother busied themselves with lunch preparations while Daniel practiced his shooting in the backyard. You found me on the terrace, an unexpected encounter that made my heart skip a beat. You glanced around cautiously before speaking, ensuring our conversation was private.
“Jeff… I am two weeks delayed. I’ve been dizzy and vomiting frequently these past few days.”
Your words doused me like a bucket of icy water.
“Why are you telling me this, Camille?”
“Damn you. Aside from Daniel, you’re the only one who F – – KED me. And I’m sure Elena already told you why her brother and I never had children despite being together for so long.”
I knew your husband was sterile. I just didn’t want to accept what you were saying because we were facing a monumental problem if it was true. I hoped you were fabricating a story to get my attention.
“Why don’t you take a test to be sure?”
“Later, I have a pregnancy kit with me. Don’t worry, Jeff. I know you’re suffering from another kind of impotence. You have no spine. You’re a boneless coward. You’re only good at one thing… f – – king. If I’m pregnant, I won’t chase you. I can face this problem alone.”
“Camille…” I attempted to grab your arm.
“Don’t touch me, you spineless coward.” You stepped away, ensuring I wouldn’t be able to touch you.
“It would be fun if I were pregnant, right? You’ll have two children next year. Both firstborns. WOW!!! You’re amazing.”
You left me on the terrace with those biting words. The joy and peace I felt a few weeks ago vanished like a popped bubble. From the terrace, I watched as a light drizzle began, soon turning into a heavy downpour accompanied by strong winds.
“Dad… call Daniel. He’s in the orchard at the back. Tell him lunch is ready.”
I felt like I was floating as I walked to the back of the house to call Daniel.
“Daniel… , they say it’s time to eat.”
“Okay, Jeff. Oh… by the way. Do you want to learn how to handle a gun? I’ll teach you how to shoot.”
I nodded absently, my mind reeling. What would happen if Camille was truly pregnant? What would Elena, Daniel, and their mother say if they found out I got Camille pregnant?
As we entered the house, Daniel placed his bullets and gun on the living room table. The rain had intensified, signaling the storm’s arrival.
“Oh, Daniel… son… Be careful when using your gun, okay?”
“Yes, Mom. I took it out again because I’m planning to attend a shooting competition in Baguio next month.”
“Alright, you can start now. Eat up, kids,” their mother said.
“Wait, where’s Camille?”
“She’s in the bathroom, feeling unwell. She said we should go ahead and eat,” Elena replied.
Daniel stood up and went to the bathroom. You probably forgot to lock the door as he pushed it open.
Though the conversation was muffled, we could hear your voices inside.
“It looks like they’re having a serious conversation in there. It seems like they had another argument. Oh, Elena, what trouble has your brother caused this time?”
“Just let them be, Mom. Let’s just eat,” Elena responded.
Elena started eating, but I couldn’t bring myself to take a bite. An inexplicable anxiety gnawed at me.
After a while, Daniel emerged from the bathroom. You were not with him. He approached Elena and angrily placed a pregnancy test on the table. It was positive.
I could only close my eyes, feeling the weight of the problem that had just surfaced, one I wasn’t sure I could handle. Fate may not have wheels… but karma does, and I felt it was about to run me over. The boomerang I threw was coming back, and it seemed I couldn’t catch it without getting hurt.
The rain pounded heavily on the tin roof like stones falling.
“No… it’s not mine. I’ve known I’m pregnant for a while, so I don’t need to use this.”
Their mother closed her eyes, bowed her head, and shook it slowly.
“Maybe you… you know, you might not be…”
“Don’t take me for a fool, Elena. Just last week, I had another check-up. I was still hoping to get Camille pregnant. But no… I’m still sterile… STERILE.”
Before anyone could move, Daniel grabbed the gun from the side table. He stormed back to the bathroom, dragging you out by your hair. You struggled mightily to break free.
What did I do? Nothing. I should have defended you. You were right… I have no backbone. I’m a coward.
“Son, calm down.”
“Brother… brother…!!!”
I stood there like a stump, doing nothing. I just waited for whatever retribution was due to me for all the foolish things I had done. I wanted to run out of the house, escape, and disappear into thin air.
Daniel dragged you to our room. We followed, but he slammed the door shut. It didn’t close properly, and Elena tried to enter.
“Nobody interferes!”
Elena’s attempt to enter was halted, perhaps because her brother pointed the gun at her.
“Who is your man? WHO?”
The gun went off.
“Oh, merciful God,” their mother said, attempting to enter the room, but Elena stopped her.
“Who is your man, I asked? You slut, who got you pregnant?”
We could do nothing outside the room. We just listened and waited. I just waited for you to say my name.
“How does it feel, Daniel? It hurts, right? That was you… raising your voice on your husband for the first time.
“That’s how much it hurt when you once brought your woman to our house. You thought I already left home for the market. I saw you undressed each other. I saw how you F – – KED her. How many times did I see you enter her house? I followed you many times because I wanted to prove the rumors about you two were true.”
“I left her, didn’t I? I changed, didn’t I? I promised to fix myself… our life, didn’t I?”
“It was too late when you changed, Daniel. I had already dirtied myself before you decided to change. I had already fallen in love with someone else before you changed. I had already betrayed you before you decided to change. I was already F – – KED…”
And the gun went off again… once… twice… thrice.
Silence fell in the room. Silence fell in the house. The only sound was the rain hitting the roof.
TO BE CONTINUED…
When The Rain Falls (7)
Chapter 7 – “A Woman Scorned”
Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by the relentless echo of your name. Though I’d made my choice, tethering myself to Elena and our unborn child, the pull towards you remained a stubborn ember. My feelings for you, a complex tapestry woven with threads of longing and regret, refused to unravel. In a world without the weight of impending fatherhood, our paths would have diverged from Sagada, hand in hand.
A dull ache pulsed in my temples as I pushed myself out of bed. Elena was lost in slumber; her peaceful face contrasted with my turmoil. The kitchen offered a momentary respite, and a black coffee was the only solace I could find.
The terrace could offer a momentary respite to clear my head. But fate had other plans. There you were, a tableau of domestic bliss, your head nestled on Daniel’s shoulder. A bitter bile rose in my throat as jealousy, a venomous serpent, slithered through my veins.
“Oh, you’re up already,” Daniel said.
“Yeah, I got up early. I have to prepare my things. I’m heading to Marlboro Hills later.”
“It’s beautiful there, Jeff. You’ll enjoy taking pictures. Sorry for the trouble we caused last night.”
“That’s okay, Daniel.”
“By the way, I’ll go ahead. I need to tend to our vegetable garden.”
“Oh, I see. Alright, take care, brother.”
“I’m the only one going. Camille will stay here for now. I’ll pick her up this afternoon.”
I opened the gate for your husband. After he left, I went back to the terrace. As I got closer to where you were sitting, you stood up. Your sudden rise was a silent declaration of war. Your hands, once soft, connected with my face twice with a stinging force. The world tilted, and I was suspended in a bubble of disbelief for a brief, disorienting moment.
“Why?” I asked, glancing inside the house to ensure no one saw what you did.
“Why? You don’t know why? What you did to me was far worse than these slaps.”
I managed to block your next slap.
“Stop it, Camille… stop it. Please forgive me.”
“Goddamn you, Jeff. Why did you do this to me? You pushed me in deeper instead of pulling me out of the quicksand I fell into.”
I shook my head.
“What’s your answer to my question last night? Didn’t you enjoy being with me? I’m asking you, not Daniel. What’s your answer?”
You started to cry. I gently guided you to sit down.
“Camille… let me explain.”
“I don’t need your explanation. It’s you I need. We can still leave. Later today… or even tomorrow… whenever you want.”
“Sorry, Camille… we can’t do that.”
“Why not? Why?”
I shook my head as I looked at you. You kicked me in the leg.
“Get away from me.”
I retreated to the far end of the terrace, your sobs a mournful symphony that echoed in the still morning air. The weight of your anger pressed down on me, a crushing burden. I wanted to explain, to unravel the tangled mess of our lives, but words seemed inadequate. Your pain was tangible, a physical presence between us.
After a few moments, Elena came out of the room. She saw us on the terrace.
“Good morning, Ate Camille.”
You just smiled in response.
“Why do you look like you’ve been crying, Ate?”
“It’s nothing, I just remembered what happened yesterday.”
“Ah, I thought Jeff was making you cry,” Elena laughed. I knew my fiancée was just joking. You looked at me before smiling at Elena in response to what she said.
Then, Elena came over to me and kissed me on the cheek. You bowed your head, just like I did when you kissed Daniel. It seemed like you didn’t want to see Elena kiss me. Maybe it was jealousy, too.
“Your cheek looks red, Dad. What happened there?”
“Nothing… I just scratched it earlier. That’s why it’s red,” I said, trying to divert your attention by asking, “Is your mom still asleep?”
“Let’s just let her rest so she can get better soon.”
Elena took a sip of my coffee. “Oh… by the way, Ate Camille, I have good news for you.”
“Ha!? What is it?”
“Dad, why don’t you tell Ate Camille?”
“Oh. Why me?”
“Please, Dad… pleeeassseee!”
Reluctantly, I granted Elena’s request. “Camille… El… Elena is pregnant. Six weeks now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Ate Camille.”
“Wow… well, congratulations to both of you. You’re going to be parents.”
You smiled as you said that. Your forced smile was a mask concealing a tempest of emotions. I saw the flicker of defeat in your eyes, starkly contrasting the joy she was feigning. Your arm, once resting confidently on the chair, now hung limply, a silent confession of her despair. It was a tableau of pain, a silent plea for solace.
“Thank you. Of course, we’ll ask you to be the godmother… right, Dad?”
I nodded. “Ah… sure… sure. Why not.”
When you said that, it seemed like you wanted to burst into tears, especially when Elena lifted her shirt like a child and placed my hand on her belly.
“Hold on, I’ll go inside and lie down again. I have a headache.”
“Oh… that’s a hangover, Camille. Alright, rest well. I’ll go cook breakfast now.”
You and Elena went inside the house together. It was a silent exodus that left me alone with my thoughts. Elena disappeared into the kitchen while you collapsed onto the sofa, your back turned to me. You seemed to be a fortress of solitude, shielding your vulnerability from my probing gaze. I couldn’t decipher the storm within you—sorrow, anger, or a mix of both.
**********
After that day, you and Daniel only visited the house once a week, usually on a Sunday. It was obvious you were avoiding me whenever you were at the house. Those Sundays became a ritual of avoidance, a carefully choreographed dance around the elephant in the room. Not once did we have a conversation alone. But that’s probably for the best because I didn’t want to give Elena any more reason to doubt us—if she had any doubts at all.
Aside from no families being broken, one positive outcome of my not showing up at our meeting that day is the changes I’ve seen in your husband. Your mother-in-law, who will also be my mother-in-law, says Daniel is completely different now. Once trapped in a shadowy world, Daniel now radiated a newfound sense of purpose. If what she says is true, he hasn’t touched alcohol since the day we were supposed to leave Elena and him. And maybe if what I saw in his clutch bag back then was drugs, perhaps he has quit that too.
The following month and a few days had good weather. There were no heavy rains, just occasional light drizzles that didn’t last long. Because of this, Elena and I could visit the places I wanted to go to for the pictures and videos I needed. Taking care of Elena and my travel vlog kept me busy during those days.
We chose the following week as the schedule for our civil wedding because we would be returning to Pasig the week after that. Elena was three months pregnant by then. Only my father, mother, and one sibling would attend because it would just be a simple wedding. I promised Elena that the grand wedding would be after she gave birth.
TO BE CONTINUED…
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 