Part 3 – The Truth About Then

I knew that question would come.

The agency where we had worked was large enough for secrets to travel slowly but small enough for them to arrive eventually. My uncle, a former soldier, owned it with a Korean friend he had known since the war. The business recruited Filipino workers for factories in Korea, which was why my family later had somewhere convenient to send me. Officially, I was transferred to supervise our workers abroad. Unofficially, I was being placed beyond Mayette’s reach—and beyond the daily consequences of what I had done to Anna.

“Why are you frowning?” Kath asked. “Are you angry?”

“No.”

“Then answer me. Do you know Mayette?”

I nodded. There was no point denying it. Kath had made friends at the agency; sooner or later, someone would have told her everything.

“Do I still have to explain?”

“No. I know the details—from the moment Anna found you at Mayette’s apartment to the day your mother and uncle practically exiled you to Korea. I only wanted to hear you admit it.”

I nodded again.

“The last time we met,” I said, “when you were having problems with Jay, I had intended to tell you about Mayette. I was also going to tell you I was leaving for Korea.”

“Your problem, Marco, is that you could never keep that thing under control. Did every intern who worked for you become—”

“Fine. I was a terrible person.”

The irritation in my voice silenced her. For a while neither of us spoke.

“Do you have a girlfriend there?” she finally asked. “How many Korean women have you been with?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said none.”

“I hope there’s no one. I hope Mayette ended all that.”

“It was your fault,” I said.

She stared at me. “What was my fault?”

“You left me.”

Even as I said it, I knew how unfair it was. Kath had not abandoned a relationship I had clearly offered her. I had given her secrecy, stolen affection, and complaints about my wife. I had wanted her loyalty while refusing to name what I intended to give in return. Still, the wounded part of me had transformed her transfer and resignation into betrayal. That story allowed me to regard everything I did afterward as pain rather than choice.

Her laughter was sharp with anger. “That’s ridiculous. Did I ask to be transferred? And what exactly was I to you? The person who listened whenever Anna disappointed you? The woman you kissed whenever you needed someone to kiss? Tell me, Marco—what place did I actually have in your life?”

She reminded me of the day I had promised to meet her so we could visit my mother in the hospital. I never arrived. Kath went anyway and felt like a fool.

“I never meant to stand you up,” I said. “When I told Anna I was visiting my mother, she insisted on coming. I delayed our departure, hoping you would finish your visit before we arrived. My mother later told me that you and Anna almost crossed paths.”

“You never explained. One call or message would have been enough.”

“I know.”

“And why was I transferred? Did Anna discover us?”

I drew a breath. “My mother requested the transfer.”

Kath looked stunned. “But your mother liked me.”

“She did. That was why she wanted to protect you. She knew about us—and she knew what I was planning.”

For the first time, I told Kath the truth. I had intended to leave Anna. On the day I failed to meet Kath, I had planned to ask her to fly with me to Cebu and stay there while I arranged the separation. My mother had warned me not to destroy a young woman’s future because of my unhappiness.

My mother had seen what I refused to see. I was newly married, emotionally volatile, and already searching for someone to become everything Anna was not. Kath was intelligent, attentive, affectionate, and easy to talk to. I called those qualities proof that she was my destined partner. My mother feared that I was turning Kath into an answer before I had honestly confronted the questions inside my marriage.

Tears gathered in Kath’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you rejected me.”

The evening after the missed meeting, we had worked late. When Kath brought me coffee, I pulled her into my arms. I kissed and touched her with an urgency I had never shown before. I wanted us to go all the way—not only because I desired her, but because I believed that once we crossed that line, it would be easier to persuade her to leave with me.

“And you thought I would agree?” she asked.

“I felt you pull back. I stopped. But because you had never said you loved me, I decided you were uncertain about us.”

“I was frightened,” she said. “You were married, I had Jay, and I did not know whether you wanted a life with me or only wanted my body that night. You expected me to risk everything on a plan you had never even told me existed.”

There was no defense against that. I had wanted her to prove her love before I proved the seriousness of mine.

“I loved you,” she said after a long silence. “But I could not fight for that love because of Anna. What we were doing was wrong. Every time we kissed, I felt guilty. And you never told me you were serious. I thought you only wanted to make me your…”

She did not finish the sentence.

The call suddenly disconnected. I tried several times to reach her, but she neither answered nor rejected me. Finally, I sent a good-night message.

She called back.

“Are you tired of talking to me?” she asked.

“No. I’m only sad about how things turned out.”

We looked at one another through our screens.

“How long had you and Anna been married when I became your intern?”

“Two months,” I said. “You arrived two months too late.”

“Another perfect line from Marco.”

It was playful, but it was also true. Anna and I had married after knowing each other for barely six months. Both of us had recently emerged from failed relationships. We had mistaken urgency for certainty.

My former girlfriend had wanted me to follow her to the United States, and I had refused. Anna had left a boyfriend she considered lazy and unambitious. We met at the agency, where my uncle—her godfather—had given her work. Two people nursing rejection found comfort in one another and called the speed of their attachment certainty. By the time Kath arrived, the marriage certificate was only two months old, but the differences between Anna and me had already begun to surface.

“Such a waste,” I said.

“It’s simple, Marco. We were not meant to be.”

I told her that when I finally accepted Anna as she was, I began to see her good qualities. We remained incompatible in many ways, but our marriage became more peaceful. I also admitted that after losing Kath, I had used affairs to punish Anna whenever we fought. Mayette had not been the only one.

Anna had forgiven behavior that I would have struggled to forgive in her. That truth complicated every complaint I made about our marriage. She could be temperamental, and our disagreements could be exhausting, but she had remained when she had every reason to leave. Whenever I presented myself as trapped, I omitted the ways she had absorbed the consequences of my choices.

“I’m not proud of what I did.”

“At least you didn’t leave Anna for Mayette.”

“Mayette was not Katherine. It was that simple.”

Kath rolled her eyes, but she smiled.

By the time we ended the call, it was three in the morning.

“Good night, Marco.”

“Good night, Kath.”

Before sleeping, I sent one last message: Love you, my friend.

Her reply came quickly. Friend? Have I been friend-zoned?

When I asked what she meant, she called it a joke and ordered me to delete our conversation.

I began erasing the messages. When I reached the line in which she said we were not meant to be, I stopped.

Were we really not meant to be?

TO BE CONTINUED