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The Hardest Choice
(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 7)
Two days later, Kath asked that we not speak over the weekend. Her church had an important Sunday activity, and she needed time alone to think.
I gave her the silence she asked for, but filled it with visions of the life I believed we would finally claim. By then, I understood that Jay was not the greatest obstacle between us. Something far more powerful had already begun calling her back.
Kath called on Sunday night. Her eyes were swollen.
Her laptop was on the study table again, not on the bed. The change was small but deliberate. She had moved our conversation away from the place where we had surrendered to desire, as though furniture and distance could help her recover the boundary we had erased.
“I’m not all right,” she said. “The sermon struck me again.”
She told me that every service since our affair became serious had felt directed at her. Every time we undressed for each other, every time she chose my call over Jay’s, she felt the distance between her desire and her faith widening.
Her Christianity was not a convenient device she discovered at the end of our affair. It had shaped the marriage she chose to repair, the community in which she served, and the understanding of herself she wanted to preserve. Loving me had not erased those commitments. It had divided her against them.
“Doesn’t what we’re doing trouble you?” she asked.
I believed in God, though I was not devout in the way she was. I had asked for forgiveness and understanding, but desire had thrown my conscience aside. All I wanted was Kath.
“We love each other,” I said. “That is what matters.”
“Stop using love to make this right. It isn’t right. Are we supposed to live permanently in sin?”
“Would it be less sinful to remain with people we do not love?”
Kath wiped her eyes. “You keep speaking as if Anna and Jay are merely mistakes standing between two rightful lovers. They are people, Marco. We made promises to them. Our children did not choose this. Love does not make them disappear.”
I had no answer that did not return to what I wanted.
Even as I said it, I heard the convenience in my reasoning.
“It has to end,” she said. “Before Jay, Anna, or anyone else discovers us.”
“Kath—”
“I am not choosing between you and Jay. I am choosing between what is right and what is wrong.”
The sentence was not a denial of her feelings. That was why it hurt. If she had stopped loving me, I could have blamed time or distance. Instead, she was refusing precisely because the love remained powerful enough to destroy what she believed she was called to protect.
There it was: the rival I could not charm, outwait, or defeat.
“We can still be friends,” she continued. “We can exchange messages occasionally, but no more calls.”
“Let me call sometimes.”
“We both know what will happen. If you call, I will block you. If you use your phone, I will block your number. Please help me do this. I have grown used to your presence, and you know how weak I am when it comes to you.”
I had pushed against every boundary she had drawn because I believed persistence was proof of love. Now the only loving act left to me was the one I least wanted to perform: allow the boundary to remain.
“Jay will call soon,” she said. “I asked him to. Instead of talking to you, I should be talking to my husband.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
“Is there anything else you want to say?”
I shook my head.
“Then let me say this one last time. I love you, Marco. But I have to learn to forget you. I hope you understand why.”
“I love you too, Kath.”
“Goodbye. Please try to love Anna. I wish both of you well.”
The screen went dark.
For several minutes, my own reflection remained on the screen. The apartment was unchanged: the cup beside me, the winter lights outside, the empty room waiting for another film or another sleepless night. Yet the space felt altered because I had allowed Kath’s presence to occupy it so completely.
I thought of Anna, who had forgiven betrayals I would have struggled to forgive and still remembered to ask whether I had eaten. I thought of Kenneth, whose failure to answer my call I had dismissed so easily, without considering how much of his life I had already missed. I thought of Jay at sea, trusting that his wife would be there when he called. For the first time since Kath’s birthday, I understood that what we had called our private story had never belonged only to us. We had made it private by pushing everyone else beyond its borders, even though they would have borne the consequences of every choice we made.
I had spent all that time thinking of Jay as my rival. But I had not lost Kath to him. In the end, she had not chosen one man over another.
She had chosen her faith—and the person she still wanted to be.
It was difficult to compete with God.
Against Him, I never had a chance.
Perhaps Kath had been right all along.
Perhaps we were never meant to be.
— END —
Beyond the Screen
(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 6)
After that, we spoke almost every night. If our affair were a voyage, we had sailed so far from shore that neither of us could see where we had begun—or decide whether we still wanted to return.
Our conversations developed rituals. I messaged first to ask whether the children were asleep. She checked whether Anna might call. We used earphones, lowered our voices, and deleted exchanges that could expose us. Secrecy itself became intimacy: every precaution reminded us that there was an us important enough to hide.
One evening, Kath returned to the claim she had never completely believed.
“You still expect me to believe that you lived without sex for eight years?”
“I already told you. I never paid anyone, and I never found a girlfriend.”
“Not even once?”
“Not even once.”
“Then how did you manage?”
“A selfie,” I said, making her laugh. “Twice a week. I tell myself regular release is good for a man’s health.”
“Do you need stimulation?”
I admitted to visiting adult websites.
“Disgusting,” she said, although she was still laughing.
“They would become unnecessary if I had something better to look at.”
Her laughter disappeared. “Don’t start, Marco.”
“I haven’t started anything.”
“Your voice changes whenever you want something.”
“And you recognize it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Then I asked whether she ever touched herself.
“No. Jay and I once tried doing something online when he first returned to sea, but it didn’t work for me. We never tried again.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t the distance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps it was the person on the other side of the screen.”
She stared at me without answering.
The conversation changed the air between us. Her teasing smile faded, but she did not look away. I heard her breathing through my earphones, each quiet breath making the thousands of kilometers between us seem less real.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I feel like taking a selfie.”
She understood. “Then take one.”
“I need inspiration.”
“Visit one of your disgusting websites.”
“I would rather look at you.”
Silence.
I removed my shirt first. Beneath it, I was wearing a white undershirt. Kath shook her head, but the faint smile at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“You are shameless.”
“Your turn.”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you ended the call?”
She could have. Her finger hovered near the touchpad, and for several seconds I believed she would make the choice neither of us had been strong enough to make. Instead, she leaned back.
Her hand moved slowly over her chest, almost unconsciously at first, then stopped when she realized I was watching.
“Marco, what is happening to me?”
“Nothing you don’t want.”
“Don’t pretend you know what I want.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
“I have been telling you that from the beginning.”
The answer should have ended everything. Instead, neither of us moved.
“Please,” I whispered.
Kath closed her eyes. When she opened them again, fear and desire occupied the same expression.
“Why are you so difficult to resist?”
She carried the laptop to her bed. I did the same. Before setting it down, she changed into a thin undershirt and returned beneath the sheet.
“This is all you are going to see,” she warned.
“For now.”
“Don’t push me.”
But she remained.
The two rooms, thousands of kilometers apart, became one private space of restrained movements, uneven breathing, exposed shoulders, and whispered names. We watched each other without touching, yet every movement seemed answered by another on the opposite side of the screen.
Kath hesitated several times. Each pause gave us an opportunity to stop; each time, I asked her whether she wanted to continue. Sometimes she said no while remaining in front of the camera. Once she covered herself completely, and I thought the moment had ended. Then her face reappeared.
When she finally chose to continue, the surrender was mutual, but it was not free of pressure, guilt, or fear. The screen protected us from physical touch while permitting us to pretend that what happened through it was somehow less real.
That night, we crossed the boundary Kath had refused to cross eight years earlier.
It was not the last time. Soon, many of our late-night calls ended the same way. We began our conversations sitting at desks and finished them in bed. What we called friendship had become impossible to defend, even to ourselves.
Afterward, Kath sometimes covered herself quickly and avoided my eyes. At other times she laughed with the shy happiness of the younger woman I remembered. I preferred those moments. Her guilt threatened the future I was constructing, so I answered it with assurances: no one had forced us, our marriages were already incomplete, and love could not be evil simply because it arrived at the wrong time. The arguments comforted me because they began with the conclusion I wanted.
Yet the more we possessed of one another through our screens, the less sufficient the screen became. I wanted to return to the Philippines. I wanted to hold her without glass, pixels, or distance between us.
One night, Kath asked, “What exactly do you intend to do about us?”
I had waited for that question.
“First, answer something. Whom do you love more—Jay or me?”
“That is a ridiculous question.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember the crisis Jay and I went through before you left for Korea?”
I nodded.
“You were the reason. I told him everything about us. He asked whom I loved more, and I answered honestly: you. He threatened to leave me. That was why I came to you that day. I expected warmth, some sign that you still wanted me. Instead, you advised me to reconcile with him. You pushed me back into his arms.”
Her revelation rearranged eight years of memory. I had believed Kath chose Jay because she loved him more or because what existed between us had been insignificant to her. Now I learned that she had once approached me on the edge of choosing—and I, absorbed by my own crisis, had failed to recognize it. The lost possibility became more intoxicating than any future we could realistically build.
Had I known, I thought, I might never have boarded the plane to Korea.
“When Jay apologized and promised to help me forget you, I accepted. But did he erase you? Look at me, Marco. I talk to you instead of him. I want to see you all the time. You ask whom I love more?”
“I understand.”
“No. Say it.”
“You love me more.”
“You fool. You are the only man I love. I needed Jay because you were not there. I was learning to love him. Then you returned.”
She began to cry.
“Perhaps we decide whether we are meant to be,” I said. “Leave Jay. I will leave Anna. Come with me.”
Kath lifted her tear-streaked face.
“And my children?”
“I will accept them as my own.”
We discussed separation, secrecy, scandal, custody, and sacrifice. She had far more to lose than I did, but I was confident she would choose me.
I proposed that we keep our relationship hidden even after separating from our spouses. If Jay discovered that I was the reason Kath left, he might fight for custody or prevent the children from seeing her. Anna would have to face another betrayal, Kenneth would have to understand why his parents’ marriage ended, and both families would endure gossip and anger. I spoke of these consequences as obstacles we could manage, not wounds other people would suffer.
Kath listened, but the practical future made her quieter than the romantic one. It was easy to say she would leave everything for love while we were safely separated by thousands of kilometers. It was harder to imagine telling her children that the man on her laptop would replace the father they knew.
“Give me time,” she said. “I love you, but I don’t know what to do.”
I heard only the words I wanted to hear: I love you. I treated everything that followed as uncertainty time would eventually overcome.
PART 7 – The Hardest Choice
It Has Always Been You
(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 5)
“It’s you, Kath. It has always been you.”
“Stop, Marco.”
“I should have waited. I should never have rushed into marriage with Anna. I should not have listened to my mother. I should have taken you to Cebu.”
“I said stop.”
“I stayed with Anna because there was nowhere else to go. There was no Kath waiting for me. If I ever love someone again, it can only be you. I never stopped loving you.”
Kath stood and moved away from the laptop. When she returned, she looked shaken.
“Do you know what you are doing?”
“I’m being honest.”
“No. You are disturbing my peaceful life. You did it before, and you are doing it again.”
She ended the call.
For a moment, clarity pierced my certainty. She had entered my office years ago wanting nothing more than to begin a career. I had allowed her feelings to deepen while knowing I was married and held authority over her future. Now, after she had built a family and repaired her marriage, I had returned carrying the same disruption.
Kath had not been innocent, but neither was she merely an equal reflection of me. I sent the birthday greeting, insisted on the first video call, revived the old questions, and pushed every answer toward the conclusion I wanted. Each time she said friendship, I searched for a way to make the word contain romance. Each time she asked me to stop, I treated the request as fear to overcome rather than a decision to honor.
Yet even as I recognized the harm, part of me wondered only whether I had moved too quickly. Perhaps I should have revealed my feelings gradually. Perhaps I had frightened her by forcing the issue.
Near midnight, I sent an apology. I promised that I would never call again.
Kath called.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I never intended to disturb your life.”
“But you did. You disturbed my mind.”
I wanted to ask why, but I believed I already knew.
“All I wanted was to reconnect,” I said. “To talk to you again.”
“Can’t you talk to Anna?”
“I can. But I don’t merely want conversation from you. I long for your presence. I want to see you.”
She shook her head. “Why can’t you leave me alone? Forget me.”
“I tried. God knows I tried. I failed.”
“I cannot control what you feel. But expect nothing from me. We are married. We have children. What we can have is friendship.”
“Then let me call once a week.”
She sighed. “Once a week.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“We are friends, Marco.”
“Friends can say ‘I love you.’”
“Always a loophole.”
“Say it.”
She looked into the camera. “I love you too, my friend.”
The word friend should have ended the matter. Instead, it became permission.
Over the next two weeks, our weekly call became twice a week, sometimes three times. We told each other what had happened during the eight years apart. Kath spoke about her Christian community and the worship services she attended with Jay whenever he was home. I told her that I had begun taking my writing seriously and had created a website.
We also spoke about ordinary things—the children’s classes, groceries, weather, books, films, and the inconveniences of pandemic life. Those conversations were perhaps more dangerous than the declarations. They allowed us to rehearse companionship. We began imagining not only kisses and escape but breakfast, errands, shared jokes, and growing old within reach of each other. Desire entered through nostalgia; domestic fantasy persuaded it to stay.
“I know,” she admitted. “I read your stories and poems.”
“Then you know some are about you.”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
“Whenever I need to write love, joy, longing, or pain, I think of our memories. I think of the us that never happened.”
She asked about the white rose in one of my poems.
“You,” I said. “Obviously.”
“You must have prepared that speech to make me fall in love with you again.”
“Again? Are you saying you aren’t in love now?”
“Friends, Marco. Nothing more, nothing less.”
But soon she began calling me during the day. She knew the hour of my coffee break and the days I left work early. Once, when she noticed a woman behind me in a café, jealousy sharpened her voice.
At home, Kath waited until her children had gone to their rooms before answering my calls. Sometimes one of them knocked, and her entire expression changed as she turned away from the screen and became their mother. Those brief interruptions should have restored perspective. Instead, I waited impatiently for her to return, as though her family were intruding upon time that belonged to me.
“Make sure she isn’t with you.”
“No, baby. I don’t even know her.”
“Baby?”
“May I call you that?”
“Do whatever you want.”
I treated her refusal to refuse as consent.
That night, however, she did not answer my messages. At midnight, I called.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “We have to stop this.”
“Why?”
“The pastor’s sermon struck me hard tonight. I realized that I long for your presence more than I long for Jay’s. I used to talk to him almost every night. Now I would rather talk to you.”
Jay was somewhere at sea, trusting the wife who had told him years earlier about me and had chosen to rebuild their marriage. I knew that history, yet I regarded his absence as an opening. Because Kath and I shared language, humor, and emotional intimacy, I treated compatibility as a superior claim. I rarely asked what promises Jay had kept during the years when I had been absent from her life.
Her confession filled me with joy even as I watched it frighten her.
“Why are you doing this to me again?” she cried. “I had become peaceful. I could have ended our first conversation, but I stayed. I answered your calls. When it comes to you, I am so weak.”
“I love you, baby.”
She looked directly into the camera.
“I love you too, Marco. May God forgive me, but I love you.”
PART 6 – Beyond the Screen
What We Left Unsaid
(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 2)
“Do you really need to ask me that?”
“You can refuse to answer.”
“Why are you asking?”
Why was I? What difference would the answer make now? What if she admitted that she had loved me—or that she still did?
“Because there are things we never clarified,” I said. “Every time we met after you resigned, we avoided them. Maybe we were afraid. Maybe we knew nothing good could come from talking about them.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Perhaps I was wrong,” I added. “Perhaps I only imagined that something important had happened between us.”
“What was your question again?”
“Did you really love me?”
“Of course I do—I mean, I did. Did.”
I could not suppress a smile.
“What are you grinning at?”
“So it’s did, not do.”
“You heard me.”
“Meaning you don’t love me anymore?”
“You are unbelievable, Marco. Some questions are better left unanswered.”
I let the silence answer for her.
“I’m happy when I see photographs of you and Anna,” she said. “You look happy together.”
“So you check my Facebook page.”
“Don’t you check mine?”
I admitted that I did. Then I asked what she had wanted to ask me.
“You already know,” she said. “But I want an honest answer.”
“Which question—did I love you then, or do I still love you now?”
She smiled. “Both.”
“Do you really need to ask me that?”
She laughed at hearing her own words returned to her.
“I loved you then, Kath.”
“And now?”
“Some questions are better left unanswered.”
“I can read between the lines, Marco.”
“So can I.”
When she left briefly to use the bathroom, memories crowded into the silence. We had once spent nearly every working day together. At first, while she was my intern, we had been strictly professional. Then our conversations became personal. I told her about my difficulties with Anna; she told me about Jay, who was then still courting her.
One night, while we were working overtime, I held her hand and kissed her. The kiss lasted longer than either of us could excuse. After that, affection became part of our secret routine. Sometimes a kiss welcomed one of us into the office. Sometimes I whispered that I missed her or loved her. At night, behind a closed door, we kissed until restraint was the only thing keeping us from going further.
Kath never allowed us to cross that final boundary. She never once said she loved me. And because Anna worked in the next office, we made certain no colleague noticed anything unusual.
Kath returned to the call and settled on a sofa. She wore shorts and a thin shirt, and when she reclined I had to remind myself not to stare.
The years had altered her less than I expected. There were faint lines around her eyes now, but they made her beauty feel lived in rather than diminished. She had become a mother, a wife, and a woman who spoke with greater certainty than the young intern I remembered. Yet when she smiled at something foolish I said, I could still see the twenty-something woman who used to enter my office carrying two cups of coffee and pretend not to notice that I had been waiting for her.
The memory pleased me, but it also carried a fact I preferred not to examine: back then I had been her supervisor. My recommendation had helped determine whether she would be hired. I had told myself that her affection was freely given—and perhaps it was—but I had never asked what my authority might have meant to a young woman beginning her career. It was easier to remember the kisses than the imbalance surrounding them.
“Careful, Marco. Your eyes might fall out.”
“You’ve attracted me for a long time.”
“There goes the charmer again.”
“You’re still very attractive.”
“I know.”
We laughed, but the ease did not last.
“I have another question,” she said. “Do you know someone named Mayette?”
PART 3 – THE TRUTH ABOUT THEM
Gertrude (2)
(SHORT STORY – 2nd of 2 parts)
I insisted.
Softly at first.
Then just enough for her to give in.
“Can you lend me ten thousand?”
She did not meet my eyes when she said it.
“It’s for the house… we’re behind on the payments.”
For a moment, everything I had been told—
everything I had chosen to ignore—
surfaced.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Like something rising from beneath still water.
__________
Then I reached for my wallet.
I handed her my ATM card.
Told her to withdraw everything.
Eleven thousand.
I said I was closing the account anyway.
She smiled.
And just like that—
whatever had surfaced…
sank again.
__________
Trust does not always come from certainty.
Sometimes, it comes from need.
I went to work the next day, exhausted.
But strangely… light.
I moved through the day with an energy I could not explain.
As if giving something away
had made room for something else.
Gertrude did not come to the office.
I told myself she was attending to her problems.
I did not question it.
__________
The following day, she returned.
Wearing less than she usually did.
I noticed the way the men looked at her.
Not discreetly.
Not politely.
I had seen it before.
But that day—
it felt different.
Something in me tightened.
__________
She passed by my table.
Touched my cheek—
lightly, almost playfully.
Then walked straight into the boss’s office.
I watched the door close.
I told myself it was nothing.
That I had no right to feel what I was beginning to feel.
__________
I thought of speaking to her.
About the way she dressed.
About the way the others looked at her.
But she did not come out.
Not for a break.
Not for lunch.
__________
Time passed slowly.
Too slowly.
__________
Then I saw it.
A delivery boy.
Carrying a box of pizza.
Bottles of drinks.
The cashier took it.
And brought it inside the boss’s office.
__________
Something moved inside me again.
Not yet anger.
Not fully.
But… close.
Gertrude came out only minutes before closing time.
As she stepped out of the boss’s office,
I noticed something in her hand.
A cellphone.
She held it casually—familiar, practiced—
her thumb moving across the screen
as if it belonged there.
I watched her for a moment longer than I should have.
I remembered the night at my apartment.
“I don’t have one.”
I said nothing.
And like the other things—
I let it pass.
I asked if I could take her home.
She did not answer.
Instead, she handed me a note.
“Saturday. Your place.”
Then she left.
Quickly.
__________
She did not come to the office the next day.
Nor the day after.
I asked.
Casually.
As if it did not matter.
Someone said she had gone to Cebu.
With the Boss.
For a conference.
The word lingered longer than it should have.
Cebu.
__________
I tried not to think about it.
But thoughts have a way of returning
when they are not settled.
I imagined things.
Scenes I had no proof of—
but could not stop forming.
I dismissed them.
Called them foolish.
Told myself I was better than that.
Then, sometime in the middle of the day,
a message appeared on my computer.
No name.
No number.
Just a single line.
“You should get some rest. You look tired.”
I stared at the screen.
For a moment, it was there.
Then it wasn’t.
I leaned closer.
Nothing.
I sat back slowly.
Had there really been something there?
Or had I only imagined it?
Ah… I was a mess.
__________
Slowly, I looked up.
Across the room—
Gertrude was not there.
__________
Anyway… Saturday was coming.
That was enough.
I held on to that.
__________
And somewhere between doubt and anticipation…
I made a decision.
I would ask her to marry me.
Foolish?
Yes.
But by then, I was no longer trying to be right—
only certain.
I thought…
I could make her agree.
__________
Saturday came.
I bought a ring.
The diamond caught the light with quiet precision.
It did not flicker.
It did not hesitate.
It simply… remained what it was.
I thought that meant something.
At the cinema, I sat alone.
The movie played.
Unnoticed.
What drew my attention was the couple seated below.
Too close.
Too absorbed.
Too unaware of the world around them.
There was something excessive in the way they touched.
Something… familiar.
I looked away.
Then back.
I couldn’t help it.
When the lights came on, the man stood.
I recognized him immediately.
Our boss.
Something inside me shifted.
Not yet breaking.
Just… moving.
I leaned forward.
The woman turned.
And everything stopped.
It was Gertrude.
For a moment, I believed I was mistaken.
Memory can deceive.
Desire can distort.
So I called her name.
She looked at me.
__________
No surprise.
No denial.
Only recognition.
She even smiled.
Not warmly.
Not the way I remembered.
There was something in it—
something I could not place,
yet understood immediately.
And in that moment…
I realized
I had never really known her.
She said—
“See you tonight… darling.”
__________
That was when it happened.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But completely.
Something inside me ended.
__________
I stood up.
Walked away.
Not because I was strong—
but because I knew that if I stayed,
I might become something else.
__________
The ring was still in my hand.
The diamond caught the light again.
Unchanged.
Certain.
Unaffected.
I closed my fingers around it.
Some things remain what they are.
Others only appear real…
until they are seen clearly.
Before going home, I bought several cans of beer.
Not to forget.
Not to escape.
Just…
to sit with what remained.
Gertrude (1)
(SHORT STORY – 1st of 2 Parts)
Gertrude had already been with the company long before I arrived.
I did not notice her immediately. Not because she was easy to miss—but because she did not need to be seen to be felt.
There are people who enter a room and demand attention. Gertrude did something else.
She let the room rearrange itself around her.
Conversations would slow. Voices softened. Even laughter seemed… measured, as if it needed her permission to exist fully.
And when she moved, you did not look at her right away.
You felt that you should.
She was the executive secretary—efficient, precise, and quietly authoritative.
She did not raise her voice. She did not need to.
When she spoke, people listened.
I did.
__________
Our interactions began with something simple.
Work.
Or at least, something that looked like work.
She would come to my cubicle carrying folders that were, technically, hers to handle.
“Can you help me with this?” she would ask.
The first time, I said yes without thinking.
The softness of her palm lingered—
just enough to make refusal feel unlikely the next time.
The second time, I noticed how close she stood.
I felt her breath—warm, near—
close enough to unsettle,
and the quiet trace of her scent
that lingered longer than it should have.
For a moment, her body brushed against mine—
light, unintentional… or so I told myself.
Just enough to linger in a way I could not ignore.
The third time, I realized she always came when I was alone.
Not deliberately.
Just… consistently.
__________
There are details the mind chooses to keep.
The faint scent of her perfume—light, almost forgettable, yet impossible to ignore once noticed.
The way she paused before speaking, as if selecting not just words, but their effect.
The way her eyes lingered—not long enough to accuse, but long enough to stay.
And then, the smallest gestures.
A hand resting briefly on my desk.
A brush against my shoulder.
A smile that arrived slowly, as if it had been waiting its turn.
__________
There was nothing inappropriate.
Nothing I could point to and say this was where it began.
And yet… something had already begun.
__________
I started noticing the absences.
The days she did not come to my cubicle stretched longer than they should have.
Work felt heavier. The air—still.
I would find myself listening for her voice.
Not consciously.
But persistently.
__________
It was around that time that I noticed something else.
The other men in the office kept their distance.
Not openly. Not dramatically.
Just enough.
They spoke to her when necessary, but never lingered. Never laughed too long. Never stood too close.
Some avoided her entirely.
At first, I thought it was envy.
Later, I wondered if it was something else.
But by then, I had already chosen not to wonder too deeply.
Because whenever she stood beside me…
everything made sense.
__________
I invited her to dinner.
I expected hesitation. A polite refusal.
I was wrong.
She said yes.
Immediately.
I let myself believe she liked me.
That should have been a warning.
I did not stop to wonder
how easily she might say yes to someone else.
__________
In my apartment, she moved with quiet familiarity.
Opening cabinets. Touching objects as if she were memorizing them—or claiming them.
“I’ll cook,” she said.
I protested, lightly. Out of courtesy, not conviction.
She smiled—just enough—and guided me to the sofa.
“Sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
And strangely… I obeyed.
__________
From the living room, I listened to her in the kitchen.
The rhythm of movement. The soft clatter of utensils. The occasional pause—as if she were thinking of something else entirely.
Once, I thought she had stopped moving altogether.
I almost stood up to check.
Then the sound returned.
It felt intimate.
Too intimate for something that had only just begun.
And yet, I did not question it.
__________
We talked over dinner.
About her family. Her past. Her disappointments.
She spoke freely.
But not deeply.
There were spaces in her stories—small gaps where something should have been.
I noticed them.
I chose not to ask.
At one point, I reached for my phone—out of habit more than intention.
“Do you want to exchange numbers?” I asked.
She paused.
Not long. Just enough to be noticed.
“I don’t have one,” she said.
I looked at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence.
It didn’t come.
“No cellphone?”
She shook her head lightly, as if the question itself did not deserve much thought.
“I don’t like being… reachable all the time.”
There was something in the way she said it—
not defensive, not apologetic—
just… final.
I let it pass.
Like the other things I had already chosen not to question.
__________
Later, she opened a bottle of brandy.
“I don’t drink much,” I said.
“Then I will,” she replied.
And she did.
Effortlessly.
The more she drank, the more she seemed… not intoxicated—but unguarded.
Her eyes softened—but never lost their sharpness.
At some point, I moved closer.
Or maybe she allowed me to think I did.
I reached for her hand.
It was warm.
Real.
Before I could speak, she turned and kissed me.
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
But with certainty.
The kiss lingered—
longer than it should have.
And when it deepened,
neither of us tried to stop it.
__________
What followed was no longer hesitation—
but desire,
finally given permission.
She did not pull away.
And neither did I.
And I saw no reason to.
The space between us disappeared—
slowly at first,
then all at once.
Her warmth,
her breath—
the quiet urgency in the way she held on—
all of it unfolded without resistance.
And whatever distance had existed before that moment…
was gone.
There are moments in life that feel like decisions.
And others that feel like surrender.
That was surrender.
Morning came.
She was gone.
No note. No message. No explanation.
Just absence.
At the office, I waited—more than I should have, more than I admitted.
Every sound from the door pulled my attention away from my work. Every passing shadow felt like it might become her.
When she finally appeared, she smiled.
And said nothing.
I did not ask.
The warnings came later.
Two officemates. Hesitant at first. Then certain.
They spoke of her as if she were something to be avoided.
Something already understood.
Their words were sharp. Accusatory.
Ugly.
I dismissed them.
Not because they lacked truth.
But because I was not ready for it.
That night, she came back to my apartment.
Unannounced.
“I missed you… I need you.”
She said it softly—almost like a confession.
I felt something in me give in too easily.
And whatever doubt had tried to take root… disappeared again.
She was there when I woke up.
Seated beside me.
Quiet.
I reached for her hand and held it gently.
She looked at me.
Something in her eyes had changed.
The warmth I had grown used to… was not there.
I felt it immediately—though I could not name it.
She hesitated, as if holding back something she had already decided to say.
I waited.
When The Rain Falls (2)
Chapter 2 – “The Plot Thickens”
As we reached Elena’s house, the door swung open, revealing her mother waiting with a wave and a bright smile.
“Wow, you’re soaked! Go to the bathroom and freshen up. I’ll make coffee for you and Elena.”
Elena’s mom was super welcoming. Needless to say, I felt incredibly welcome. But I felt another thing – guilt. The memory of what happened in the hut played repeatedly, starkly contrasting the unwavering kindness being showered upon me.
My hand trembled slightly as I reached for Elena’s mother’s right hand. Gently, I placed it on my forehead, a gesture of deep gratitude that transcended words. “Thank you,” I mumbled, the words barely a whisper against the rising tide of guilt.
“Mom, aren’t you lucky to have such a respectful future son-in-law?”
Elena’s mother just smiled as I let go of her hand.
“Shut up, Mommy,” I told Elena jokingly as I walked towards the bathroom.
Elena’s laughter erupted upon hearing me, followed by her mom’s in a delightful cascade that filled the room.
Before I could shut the bathroom door completely, the voices of Elena and her mom drifted through…
“Someone’s in your room.”
“Who, Mom?”
“Camille.”
The name froze me in my tracks. A mix of surprise and excitement rushed through me. Unable to resist the pull of curiosity, I left the bathroom door slightly ajar, hoping to hear more from them.
“You both arrived almost at the same time. Oh, your sister-in-law didn’t bring an umbrella, so she was soaking wet when she arrived. I lent her some of your clothes. She probably had another fight with Daniel, so she came here first.”
“Yeah. Very likely that brother hurt Camille again.” Elena responded with her voice echoing so much disappointment.
“Call Daniel and let him know Camille is here. He can come over, and you can also introduce Jeff to them.”
The sound of your name echoed in my head as a desperate hope battled a rising tide of dread. I couldn’t figure out which feeling was stronger – was it the hope that I would soon see you again or the dread? Could it be? Could you be the Camille they were talking about? Are you Elena’s sister-in-law, the wife of my fiancé’s brother?
While lost in those thoughts, somebody pushed open the bathroom door. It was Elena. She handed me a pair of shorts and a tank top in the bathroom.
“Dad, after you take a shower, could you please go to the terrace? I need to talk to Camille in our room.”
“Camille?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yes, my sister-in-law. I don’t think you know her… or… did you meet someone earlier?”
“No, I only saw those people at the nearby store.”
“Okay, daddy. Go ahead and do your thing. I need to talk to Camille now. She won’t stop crying. It seems like she has a serious problem, probably because of my brother. But something else happened to her on her way here, and she doesn’t want to say it.”
I could only manage a simple nod for Elena as dread tightened in my stomach. Seeing you was a desperate wish, but not under that roof. What if you, Camille, were the one they spoke of? The thought terrified me. Could facing you here be worse than our secret coming out? We could play strangers, a flimsy disguise for the secret we shared. But what if you shattered the pretense, confessing to your sister-in-law those forbidden moments we shared in the hut? The possibility suffocated me with guilt.
I sat on the terrace, overwhelmed by the possibilities ahead of me. I couldn’t shake off the anxiety about the presence of Camille. My usual methods to calm my mind seemed ineffective, but I persisted, trying to regain my composure. Looking around, I noticed the rough planks that made up the terrace floor and the vividly colored potted plants on the ledge, a stark contrast to the darkness of the inner turmoil I was feeling. I had been so preoccupied with exploring Sagada and sharing my experiences on social media that I hadn’t noticed these details earlier.
“Jeff, just stay here for a while.”
That was Elena’s mother. She placed a cup of coffee on a wooden side table before me.
“I’ll go to Elena and Camille in the room. Daniel is also on his way. You can all talk later.”
“Alright, mot…mot…”
“Son, don’t hesitate to call me a mother. Or mama. It’s okay. You and Elena are getting married.”
“Ha… uh… Yes… okay, mama. Thank you.”
“I just hope you love my daughter, be faithful to her. Please don’t hurt my youngest.”
“I… I promise, Inay. I will love and take care of Elena.”
Guilt ate at me as I tried to make a promise I was afraid I couldn’t keep. Elena’s mother’s kindness highlighted my deceit. The rain pounding on the roof matched the chaos in my mind. Every regret hit me like a downpour—the forgotten umbrella, the postponed plans, and the encounter that now filled me with dread. I desperately wished to return and erase the meeting that started this turmoil in my heart. With my mind and heart, I was at peace. But no matter how much I regret it, what happened won’t change. My decisions were wrong, and I had to face the consequences of those mistakes.
On the terrace, I held the forgotten coffee, now lukewarm. My future mother-in-law’s kindness felt like a cruel joke as I paced. Was Camille really here? Unable to stand the uncertainty, I went back inside. Our room’s door was partly open, inviting me in. A thin curtain hid the inside, muffling sounds. But I heard a sob, making me sick with worry.
I didn’t want to wait any longer. It’s killing me softly. I decided to go in. If you were really inside, I had to know.
Driven by that desperate need, I reached for the partly open door. But a car horn blared even before I could pull the door open. The interruption snapped me back, and I retreated a step. The insistent honking escalated, urging me into action. That could be Daniel. There’s nobody else expected to come.
The honking escalated into a frantic barrage. So, I had to race outside and open the gate. A black car with its doors and bumpers splattered with mud glided into the driveway. I retreated to give its driver more space to maneuver.
After parking, the driver got out… it was Daniel. That was the first time I saw it in person.
“Jeff? Are you Jeff?”
I nodded at him as I said “yes” and offered a handshake. He towered over me slightly, his frame solid and athletic. Instead of taking my hand, he embraced me.
“I’m Daniel, Elena’s brother. Damn… no wonder my sister fell in love with you. You’re handsome, and you’ve got a great physique. Looks like you live at the gym.”
“Not really, bro. I usually work out at home. You have a great built yourself.”
“Ah… just from hard work in the fields.”
The terrace buzzed with the distant chirping of crickets as we finally met face-to-face. I had previously seen their family photo on Elena’s Facebook cover page, taken when their father was still alive. It was the only picture Elena had with any of her family members. Daniel exuded a quiet intensity, starkly contrasting Elena’s gentle nature. While I navigated the social media world for my vlog, Elena rarely ventured there. In fact, Miguel, according to her, was a digital ghost – no Facebook, no Instagram, just a phone for the bare necessities. “He’s not a gadget person,” Elena had said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “more of a… gun person.” Her offhand remark left me with a lingering question – was that a playful exaggeration or a glimpse into a world I wasn’t prepared for?
I inquired if Daniel wanted coffee.
“Coffee? Perfect! Although, wait a minute… I just remembered I grabbed a bottle of wine on my way over. Are you in for a switch? I’ll grab it in a second!”
A cold dread settled in my gut as another of Elena’s offhand comments echoed in my mind: her brother drank wine for breakfast. Oblivious to my growing unease, Daniel didn’t waste a breath waiting for my reply. With a muttered excuse, he was already striding towards his car, the clink of glass promising a night far stronger than I’d bargained for. My stomach lurched – the thought of hard liquor sent a familiar tremor through me. I was a lightweight, unlike Daniel, whose casual gait suggested a seasoned tolerance. The prospect of a drinking session, especially with someone who might consider breakfast wine a tame indulgence, filled me with a potent mix of apprehension and a bizarre, desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight wouldn’t be as bad as I feared.
“Alright, put down the coffee. Shot glasses, check! I knew we might need them. Just got to find some nibbles, and then we can get started.”
Daniel returned, a bottle of wine clutched triumphantly in one hand. The other held a black leather clutch bag. He plunked the wine down with a dull thud, but the bag was carefully placed beside it. From what I heard from Elena, I was almost certain it was a gun.
“Where’s my mom and Elena? Is Camille here?”
“They’re in the room, talking.”
“Looks like I’m back in the doghouse. Thanks to Camille. Of course, they’ll all believe the little angel. Guess I’m public enemy number one again.”
I just listened to Daniel.
“That woman can be stubborn as that carabao I use on the farm. I told her to fly back to Italy in February of this year, but she did not. Then the lockdown hit in March, and now she’s stuck here. Damn Covid. Our savings are dwindling, and who knows if she even has a job to return to.”
“The situation is really tough right now, bro. Elena and I were told it might be two more months before we can return to our company. So we’ll stay here for now.”
“Is that so? That’s good, so our mom will have company here. Our female cousin, caring for her, eloped just last week. And my other sister, who’s also in Italy, won’t be back until the end of the year. She’ll definitely be here for your wedding with Elena.”
“Oh, there you are, Daniel.”
That was Elena’s mother, who suddenly appeared behind us.
“Hello, ma. I just arrived.”
“Wine again, Daniel? Elena said Jeff isn’t used to drinking.”
“That’s why I’m starting to train him now. By the time their two-month vacation is over, my brother-in-law will be used to hard drinks. How are you, ma?”
“May God bless you. And I hope He makes you a good person. Oh, Daniel.”
“What did Camille tell you this time?”
“You, stupid good-for-nothing man. Explain it to me later.”
“See, brother!” Daniel addressed me. “Nobody loves me here. Everybody hates me.”
Elena’s mother’s gaze snagged on the black clutch bag nestled beside the bottle of wine. Curiosity flickered in her eyes. “What have we here, Daniel?” she inquired, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you have your gun with you again?”
“Ma, it’s for protection, not trouble. It’s licensed. The neighbor beside my farm has been causing problems, accusing me of encroaching on his land. I can’t let him push me around.”
“I understand but…
“I know you worry, Ma. But sometimes things get messy. I won’t back down from what’s rightfully mine. Nobody can steal what belongs to me.”
After Daniel spoke, I felt uneasy and had a heavy sense of foreboding. “Just be careful.”
My soon-to-be mother-in-law went to the dining area after saying that. Daniel kept on talking. I couldn’t focus on what he said because I was preoccupied with thoughts of you. I kept glancing at the door, waiting to see if the Camille, who was talking to Elena in the room, would already come out.
“Daniel… Jeff… come in. Dinner is ready.”
“Let’s go, Jeff… let’s eat so we can start drinking.” That was their mother’s calling.
My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing the rhythm of my steps on the wooden floorboards. I would finally find out if you were the “Camille” I met in the hut. The question reverberated in my mind like a relentless drumbeat. But what if you were?
“Oh, Daniel… call Elena and Camille from the room. Tell them dinner is served.”
“Okay, ma.”
Daniel went to the room. I didn’t know if I felt scared or excited while waiting to see who would come out of the room.
“Hey… Jeff! Why are you staring at the room door so intently?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing, mama.”
“There’s no ghost coming out of the room, so don’t be scared.”
“Sorry, mama. It’s just that… it suddenly reminded me of the door in our apartment in Pasig. I’m wondering if I locked it or not.”
“Just call the landlord and have them check it.”
“Ah. I’ll call later.”
That’s another lie. I have already told so many of them since we met. I wondered how many more I would have to fabricate because of you.
I kept asking myself why the “Camille” inside hadn’t come out of the room. I felt increasingly restless. The longer I wait, the worse it will become.
“Have a seat, Jeff. Just relax.”
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I was still standing. “Yes, Mom,” I mumbled, sinking into the chair.
Elena’s mother beamed. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Jeff. Having you and Daniel here with Elena makes this a truly special evening. I wish my daughter in Italy could be here too, and the whole family would be together.”
“It won’t be long before we’re all under one roof, Mom,” I assured her, forcing a smile.
Her smile faltered slightly. “Of course, of course.”
Elena emerged from the room, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
“Oh, why only you?”
“Daniel’s talking to Camille. They’ll be out in a moment.”
The anticipation dragged on, making me even more anxious.
“Alright, let’s wait for them. Serve Jeff some mushroom soup; he might be hungry.”
“Oh, Dad, it looks like you and Mom are getting close.”
Elena’s mother looked at me and smiled.
“What else did Camille tell you?”
Elena glanced at the room before speaking.
“Mom, Daniel wants Camille to return to Italy because he’s dating someone.”
Elena’s mom widened. “Oh, dear heavens! Who is it?”
Elena lowered her voice. “Someone from their barangay, Mom. And… she’s married. An OFW in Saudi.”
“Dios mio! What was your brother thinking? Does he have no shame?” Her voice trembled with a mix of anger and disappointment.
Elena’s mother’s words felt like needles piercing my conscience. I remembered my mother’s frequent advice to think carefully about every decision to avoid future regrets. But it was too late; what’s done is done.
Elena sighed. “The rumors have been swirling around their barangay for a while now, Mom.”
“What a mess. Thank goodness Daniel can’t have children. Otherwise, who knows what kind of trouble they’d be in.”
“Mom, there’s trouble with Daniel and Camille. Camille wants to leave him. I mean, they’re not even married, so…”
“What!? Oh no, this is terrible!”
“According to Camille, that other woman might be why Daniel hesitates about marriage.”
Elena’s mother glanced at me.
“Oh Jeff, son, I apologize. We’re burdening you with our family problems.”
“Don’t worry about me, mom.”
That was all I could say in response to the shocking revelations.
“Camille’s heartbroken. Daniel has fertility issues that prevented him from impregnating her, yet that didn’t stop Daniel from cheating on her.”
As soon as Elena finished speaking, the room door creaked open, and Daniel emerged. The woman inside, named Camille, her head bowed demurely, slowly stepped out. It was you. My heart skipped a beat as I saw you. You were yet unaware of my presence. As you approached the dining table, I confirmed that you were the same Camille from the hut with whom I shared passionate moments. Now you’re inside the house where I was about to share a meal with my future in-laws. I was torn between running out of the house for fear of whatever might happen should what transpired between us get known and running towards you so I could make you feel how much I missed you. Would we acknowledge each other or pretend nothing happened? The weight of our secret loomed large, threatening to unravel the fragile peace of this evening.
“Mom, here they come.”
“Camille, dear, sit next to me. This is Jeff, Elena’s future husband.”
When our eyes met, you froze. I was over that feeling of surprise, having seen you already earlier. I could say that you felt like cold water was poured over you like I felt earlier. Your reaction did not escape Elena’s keen eyes.
Our eyes met. A jolt passed through you. You appeared frozen. The surprise mirrored the one I felt moments ago when I saw you. The realization flickered across your face as quickly as it arrived, but it wasn’t fast enough for Elena’s watchful gaze.
“Hey, Camille… have you met Jeff before?”
I anxiously awaited your response. I was worried that you might disclose that we met in the hut. Not because of the chance of you revealing everything that happened there, but because I had told Elena that I hadn’t been to that place or met anyone along the way.
“What?… No! This is the first time I’ve seen him.
You were a great actress. The flicker of surprise in your eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. A cool smile settled on your lips as you offered a hand and a polite, “Pleasure to meet you.” Confusion washed over me. Was this denial? A desperate attempt to protect our secret? I reached out, my fingers brushing against yours. But in a heartbeat, your hand retreated, a flicker of revulsion crossing your face. The gesture was so sudden, so inexplicable, it left me reeling.
Then, you sat directly across from me, acting like I wasn’t there. You ignored me like people do with those they don’t know. You were so cold, completely different from the Camille I met in the hut. There, you were incredibly warm, even scorching. You melted me.
It hurt a bit, but I understood your lie and pretense. If I had spoken first, I would have said the same. Admitting we met at the hut by the mini rice terraces, even without saying what happened between us, would reveal my lie to Elena since I had told her I hadn’t seen that place yet.
“I was surprised by your reactions earlier. It seemed like you both were startled when you saw each other,” Elena said.
“Oh, Elena, with Jeff’s charisma, any woman seeing him for the first time would be startled. Especially now that he’s in shorts and a tank top. And look at my wife; she has the face and body of a beauty queen. Jeff was probably shocked too, thinking you were the most beautiful woman on earth, only to find someone even more beautiful – your sister-in-law, Camille.”
“Oh, there you go again, Daniel. Stop it.” That was Elena’s mom. “Maybe they have met before and just don’t remember when and where, which is why they reacted that way. It happens.”
You kept your head down while listening to that conversation. I noticed Elena looking at you and then glancing at me.
“Alright… alright… Let’s eat,” suggested Elena’s mother.
“Yes, so Jeff and I can start drinking.”
“Guys, perhaps we can, just this once, give thanks before we eat. Let’s also thank God for Jeff’s safe arrival here. Elena, please lead the prayer.”
We all bowed our heads. I noticed you closed your eyes while I was the only one who didn’t. Instead, I kept my head stubbornly raised, and my gaze drifted towards you. I saw you open your eyes. A flicker of movement caught my eye. You peeked open your eyes, seemingly to check on Elena, before gazing at me. Your eyes looked swollen. Your lips curved into a smile, a faint echo of the one you offered me in the hut – hesitant, yet holding a promise of understanding. Despite being forced, your smile lifted my spirits. I smiled back at you and nodded. You smiled at me one more time. You winked a playful spark in your tired eyes before closing them again.
TO BE CONTINUED…
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 