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Chapter Text

“Okay,” Christine said, tapping the edge of her recorder. “Nagr-record na yung camera, Ate Ayi.” 

Maraiah smiled and nodded. There was a brief pause, long enough for the hum of the café around them to fill the space. 

Maraiah and Christine belonged to an eight-member girl group—Bloom. They have been the kind of group that has always been a little louder than the rest of the industry. Bright, deafening, and colorful. 

But after all the history they’ve left behind, after all the years they’ve worked together, they finally decided to disband. It happened quietly—no scandals, no explosive headlines. Just contracts ending, dreams shifting shape, and a lot of tears shed. 

The rest of the girls figured it out like they once did. Maraiah stepped into modeling with the same discipline she used for dance, her body becoming language. Christine chose journalism, choosing stories over spotlights, truth over applause. 

Christine glanced down at her notes. “So,” she continued, voice professional again, “Tell me, how does your career in modelling differ from when you were a part of Bloom?”

“Well, they’re completely different things, alam mo yun? I suppose Bloom taught me about performance and a love for the kind of family we found and built over all those years. But modeling is a craft, one that has taught me about listening.”

Christine paused. “Listening?”

“To myself,” Maraiah clarified. “To what my body could and couldn’t do anymore.”

Christine smiled faintly as she wrote. “You talk about your body like you respect it.”

“It should be respected, it allows us to do a lot of things,” Maraiah said simply.

There was a small clink as Christine set her pen down. “That’s nice. How about routines? Meron ka ba before shoots?”

Maraiah nodded. “I run. Same route. Same pace. If I rush it, the shoot feels rushed too.”

Christine glanced at her watch. “You ran this morning.”

Maraiah raised an eyebrow. “You noticed.”

“You always come in warmer when you’ve run,” Christine said. “Less guarded. Kahit dati pa.”

Maraiah laughed softly. “That’s true. I’d rather let myself move. I run, I swim, I model…”

“Bakit?”

Maraiah shrugged. “Because if I stop moving, I overthink.”

Christine hummed, jotting something down. “That’s not going into the article.”

“Why not?”

“Because that part’s yours,” she said easily, then looked up. “Hindi mo kailangan ipaliwanag lahat sa mundo, Ate Ayi.”

Maraiah smiled at that. It was small, but it lingered. “Do you always separate things like that? What goes in print and what doesn’t?”

Christine leaned back in her chair. “Hindi lahat, hindi lagi. Facts should still be reported, whether about a friend or not, because news is news and I respect that as much as you respect your body.”

Ayi nods with a knowing smile, “Pero?”

“I won’t use all the things you say just because you’re comfortable telling those things to me. Sinabi mo ‘yun sa akin, hindi sa mundo, and I know that. My job is to tell the world what they need to know, not what they want to believe.”

“You sound the same, Chin. Like the leader that cared for me—for all of us back then.”

“Hindi naman tumigil yung pagmamahal and pagaalala ko sa inyo dahil lang natapos na yung mga kontrata natin.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It never was. They fell into this familiar rhythm of quiet moments where neither of them rushed to fill the space.

“Same time next week?” Maraiah asked.

“Of course, let’s tell the world who Maraiah Arceta is,” Christine winked. “Pero it’s not up to them. Kumbaga kapag tumakbo tayo, susundan kita. In your pace, your terms.”

By the time Christine packed up her recorder, she realized she hadn’t asked half of what was on her list.

While Maraiah realized she’d already started looking forward to the next interview—not because of the article, but because of the voice that asked the questions.

Years passed. Careers settled. Public curiosity softened.

They fell in love slowly, properly, when the noise finally faded.

Eventually, they left the limelight altogether.

What they built afterward was quieter, sturdier. A home. A kitchen that always smelled like toast in the morning. A small family of three that tried very hard to be ordinary—and succeeded more often than not.

Then Chanelle Amara arrived like a small storm. They called her Chinee.

She was four now—round-cheeked, loud-laughing, stubborn in the way that her mothers also were. 

“Chinee!” Shee screamed from the other end of the phone, which startled the toddler. Ever since Chinee was a baby, her ninangs demanded that they get to call her at least twice every week. Something about “hindi niya pwedeng makalimutan kung anong itsura ng magaganda niyang ninang.” So just like last week, all six of her ninangs joined their group video call.

“Niyang Shee! Hewow!” Chinee replied with the same energy.

“Hi, my bebe!” Shee lit up. “Who’s your favorite ninang?”

“It’s Niyang Maya, right?” Maya intervenes playfully as she sticks her tongue out at Shee. “I’m her favorite niyang!”

Chinee tapped her finger on her cheek like she was thinking. “All of you! I wuv my niyangs!”

“Nako po, Ayi, mukhang kasing kulit ni Chin ah,” Colin joked.

“Anong ako? Baka si Ayi kamo. Ang ligalig nga, palaging naggagagalaw.” Christine shot back.

“Binalik mo pa sa’kin. Magkapangalan na nga kayo, magkasing-kulit pa.” Maraiah replies.

“Yang Cowin, what’s kulit?” 

“You!” Maraiah says while pinching their daughter’s right cheek. “You’re makulit!”

“Does that mean pwetty? I’m pwetty, mom!” Chinee declares, and the girls laugh. 

“Eh kayo Ate Ayi, kumusta naman kayo? Lalo na mukhang lumilikot na ‘yang bulinggit niyo o!” Sace asks with a small giggle.

“Oo nga, anong feeling na may dalawang Ate Chin? Hindi ba masakit sa ulo?” Shee questions with a teasing smirk.

“Edi ang ingay lagi ng bahay niyo, Ate Ayi?” Gwy added, laughing as she enjoyed the scene on her phone.

“Yang, no!” Chinee adds while shaking her head. “Chinee not masakit sa uwo and no no ingay! That’s Mimi.” 

“O sa bata na nanggaling ‘yan ah!” Sace laughs.

“Your daughter just snitched on you, Chin,” Milo giggled as she had been doing nonstop since the call started. 

“Ikaw kanina ka pa tawa ng tawa jan, Milo ha. Kapag talaga nagkita tayo lagot ka sa’kin.” Christine jokingly scolds and then turns to look at Chinee to tickle her sides “At ikaw na bata ka, kung ano anong sinasabi mo ha. Buyoy naman!” 

“I’m not buyoy!”

“Buyoy! My cute-cute buyoy!” Christine says as she peppers kisses on their daughter’s cheek.

When their call ended, the three girls stayed as they were, sitting cross-legged on the floor, basking in each other’s presence. But amidst the silence, Maraiah and Christine look at their child knowingly. The child’s curiosity could be felt in the air as she fiddles with her fingers.

“Mom?” Chinee asked once while Maraiah stretched. “Why you always move?”

Maraiah paused, smiling. “Because my body likes it. And because it makes me feel strong.”

“Why you wanna be stwong?”

“So I can carry you,” Maraiah said easily, scooping her up with one arm.

Chinee squealed. “Again! Again!”

As Chinee’s curiosity toward Maraiah’s lifestyle grew, her parents made it a point to teach her to keep her body healthy and physically active. Every weekend, they went to the park near their house. It had tall trees that filtered the sunlight and a long path perfect for running. Maraiah jogged. Christine walked. Chinee did both—sometimes sprinting, sometimes stopping abruptly to stare at ants.

Saturday mornings were their favorite, except something felt different this morning.

Breakfast stretched lazily, Christine flipped pancakes while Chinee swung her legs at the table. 

But their child’s curious brain does not seem to stop. 

“Mi,” Chinee said suddenly, syrup smeared on her chin. “What’s a boyfwend?”

Maraiah froze mid-sip of her coffee.

Christine blinked once, then calmly placed another pancake on Chinee’s plate. “A boyfriend is… someone you like a lot.”

Chinee giggled. “Like you like Mom?”

“Yes,” Christine said without hesitation. “Kind of like that.”

Maraiah shot her a look. “Chin.”

“O bakit?” Christine replied innocently.

“Love naman. Why are we talking about this?” Maraiah asked, lowering her voice. “She’s four.”

“Chinee asked, so Mimi answers,” Christine smiles. “Hayaan mo na, curious lang yung bata, love.”

“Where did you hear ‘yang boyfriend-boyfriend na ‘yan, Chinee?” Maraiah asks.

“Yang Sace!” Chinee answers with a big smile.

“Of course, what did I expect?” Maraiah says, more to herself than to her girls, as she takes another sip of her coffee.

“So… girls like boys and they have a boyfwend? What about giwfwend?”

Christine chuckled at their daughter’s remark. “Some people like boys. Some people like girls. Some people like both. And some people don’t like anyone that way.”

Chinee nodded but tilted her head. “Can I have one?”

Maraiah nearly choked on her coffee. “No.”

Christine hid her smile behind her mug. “Maybe when you’re much, much older.”

“How old?”

Christine thought. “Hmm… maybe when you’re as big as Mom and Mimi.”

“If I dwink milk, will I be as tall as Mom and Mimi and have boyfwend?”

The questions didn’t stop. They followed them out the door, into shoes being put on and water bottles being packed. Maraiah walked faster than usual, hands shoved into her pockets, trying not to roll her eyes at her daughter's questions.

At the park, Christine stood by the path while Maraiah stretched near one of the tallest trees.

Chinee bounced in place. “Mom wuns fast.”

“She does,” Christine agreed.

Maraiah straightened suddenly. “Hey,” she said, an idea forming. “How about this?”

Both of them looked at her.

“If you run faster than me,” Maraiah said carefully, “you can have a boyfriend.”

Chinee’s eyes widened. “Weally?”

“Yes,” Maraiah said, already knowing she’d win.

Chinee jumped up and down. “I can wun fast!”

Christine raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Ayi, kapag ‘yan napikon ha.”

“No, Mimi! I’m not pikon. I can wun!”

“Okay,” Christine says with a sigh. “From that tree to me.”

She took her place at the other end of the path.

“On three,” Christine said. “One… two… three—go!”

Maraiah bolted immediately, legs eating up the distance.

At first, Chinee laughed, her little feet pattering behind her. Then she noticed the gap growing; her mom was already halfway there.

Her laughter caught in her throat, then she stopped.

The crying came fast and loud, echoing through the park.

Maraiah skidded to a stop, turning around. She was still smiling—until she saw Chinee standing there, arms crossed, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh,” Maraiah breathed, panic replacing amusement. She ran back. “Hey, hey, Chinee—”

She knelt, arms open, but Chinee stepped back.

“No,” Chinee sobbed.

Maraiah’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry, baby—”

Chinee turned and ran straight into Christine’s arms.

Christine scooped her up immediately, rocking her gently. She looked at Maraiah, sensing the building tension between her wife and child.

Chinee buried her face in Christine’s shoulder, refusing to look at Maraiah.

They walked home quietly. Chinee stayed pressed against Christine the whole way.

At home, Maraiah hovered, unsure, guilt heavy in her stomach. She was thinking of ways to make it up to the four-year-old. 

When an idea finally hit her, it was in the form of vanilla ice cream and Chinee’s favorite sprinkles.

They sat at the table, Chinee’s eyes red but dry, which made Maraiah’s heart tighten.

Although slowly, the ice cream worked. By the time spoons were clinking at the bottom of their cups, Chinee finally spoke.

“Mom run too fast,” she muttered.

“I know,” Maraiah said softly. “I’m sorry, baby. Mom shouldn’t have done that.”

Chinee reached for her mom’s hand. “I’m sowy fow not pansining you, mom,” she says while jutting her bottom lip out. “Was Chinee bad?”

“No, you weren’t bad. You were just being makulit. I was being makulit too.”

Christine watched as the moment unfolded with a fondness that settled deep in her chest. 

“Bati na kayo?” She asked.

Chinee looked at both her parents. “I don’t need boyfwend,” she declared. 

“Is that so?” Christine asked.

“Yes, because I have mom and mimi!” she shouted as she reached over to hug her mothers.

“We love you, baby,” Maraiah says.

“Mom, mimi,” Chinee looks up at them. “What about giwfwend?” 

Mariah could only groan while Christine laughed at their daughter’s antics.

They’ll compromise later; those boyfriends or girlfriends could wait.

At the end of the day, her moms would always slow down if Chinee couldn’t keep up, whether it’s when they run during the weekends or just another day that they’re trying to figure out. No matter how hard the days are, they would go through it on their own terms, in their own time, at their own pace. It’s the rules of their race—like it always has been.

Chapter Text

Christine woke up to quiet.

No footsteps down the hall. No small voice asking for juice. Just the faint hum of the electric fan and the weight pressing down on her head like it had decided to stay.

She shifted, then immediately groaned.

“Okay,” she muttered. “That’s… not normal.”

She tried to sit up. The room swayed.

“Nope,” she whispered, lying back down.

The ache behind her eyes pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Christine squeezed her eyes shut, waited for it to pass. It didn’t. After a moment, she pushed herself upright again, slower this time, bracing a hand on the mattress.

“Just get the thermometer,” she told herself. “Then you can panic.”

She shuffled to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, and stared at the thermometer for a long second before using it. While she waited, she caught her reflection—too pale, eyes unfocused.

The beep sounded, and the number blinked back at her.

40°C.

Christine opened the cabinet again, grabbed medicine, and swallowed it with water straight from the tap. Her hands were shaking, but she ignored them. Back in bed, she curled onto her side and reached for her phone.

A message from Maraiah lit up the screen.

“We’re heading to Chinee’s check-up! She chose her own socks. Very proud!”

Christine smiled faintly and typed back slowly.

“Tell her Mimi says good luck. I love you both!”

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then locked the phone.

“I’ll just sleep it off,” she murmured.

Sleep came in pieces. When she woke again, the ache was worse. Her phone buzzed—Sace.

Christine sighed and answered anyway.

“Hey,” she croaked.

“Whoa,” Sace said immediately. “You sound awful.”

“I’m fine,” Christine said automatically.

“Hindi tunong fine ‘yan, Chin.”

Christine shifted, the room spinning again. “I’m… not great. Baka hindi ako makasama sa inyo ni Shee.”

“Are you sick?”

“Just a fever,” Christine said lightly. “Magpapahinga na lang muna ako.”

“Did you tell Ate Ayi?”

Christine hesitated. “She’s at Chinee’s check-up. I don’t want her worrying.”

Sace went quiet. “Christine.”

“I’ll be okay,” Christine insisted. “Please tell Shee I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Sace said slowly. “But we’re checking on you later.”

Christine smiled weakly. “You don’t have to—”

“We are,” Sace said firmly.

Christine hung up and closed her eyes again.

At the clinic, Chinee swung her legs on the chair, staring at the colorful posters on the wall.

“Mom,” she whispered loudly, “is this the place with the pokey?”

Maraiah laughed softly. “Sometimes.”

“I don’t like the pokey.”

“I know,” Maraiah said, brushing Chinee’s hair back. “But Doc gives stickers after.”

Chinee gasped. “The shiny ones?”

“The shiny ones.”

While they waited, Maraiah checked her phone.

No new messages from her wife since her last update earlier that morning.

But Chinee, ever the curious child, leaned over to her mom’s phone with a flicker of wonder in her eyes. “Can I call Niyang Sace?”

Maraiah raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I need to tell her something,” Chinee said gravely.

“Something important?”

“Yes?” Chinee said, unsure but with a determined nod.

Maraiah laughed softly and handed her the phone. “Okay. One minute.”

The phone rang once before Sace picked up.

“Hello?” Sace answered, her face appearing on the screen. “Oh! Hi, buyoy!”

Chinee gasped. “How did you know it was me?”

“Because I know you love calling me,” Sace said with a giggle. “What’s up?”

“I am at the doctor,” Chinee announced.

“Uh-oh,” Sace said. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m nawt sick.”

“Why are you there then, baby?” Sace asked, but Chinee only turned her phone to Maraiah af if asking her mom to answer instead.

“Hi, Sace! We’re here for her monthly check-up lang. Brave naman daw kasi siya,” Maraiah answered. “Right, Chinee?”

“Hi, Ate Ayi!” Sace perked up. “Very brave naman pala yung baby namin na ‘yan eh.”

“Yes! I wore my yellow socks,” Chinee added excitedly.

“Of course you did.”

“They have ducks! They look like Mimi!”

“Ducks are very important for doctor visits,” Sace agreed.

Chinee leaned closer to the phone. “Did you eat lunch?”

“Not yet, buyoy. But I’m about to eat with Yang Shee.”

“Oh! Mom says Mimi will come with you!”

At that, Maraiah speaks again. “Oo nga, Sace. Magkikita-kita na ba kayo?”

“Well, Ate—” Sace paused, now speaking carefully. “I’m guessing she still hasn’t told you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She called me earlier kasi. Tapos, she said that she wasn’t feeling well and na hindi raw siya makakasama.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah. She sounded rough.”

Maraiah’s chest tightened. “She didn’t tell me.”

There was a pause. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry you.”

Maraiah looked down at Chinee, who was busy counting floor tiles.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Maybe.”

There was a pause.

“Mom? Tita Sace?” Chinee said softly. “Why you wook sad?”

“Mom’s not sad, just worried.”

“Why you wowied?”

“Remember when I told you that it’s hard when you’re sick?” Maraiah tried to explain.

“Yes, you said that it’s ouchie.”

Mariah nodded. “Right now, I think Mimi might be sick, and we’re not there to take care of her. That’s why mom’s worried.”

“Don’t be sad, Mom. Mimi is stwong like Chinee!” She said before turning back to her mom’s phone. “Yang Sace?”

“Yes?”

She looked back at her mom once again, sensing the heavy feeling but still smiling. “I will give you a sticker.”

“Oh?” Sace smiled. “Really, what for?”

“Latow, ok?” Chinee said. “If you behave… and if you go check on Mimi. Please?”

Sace laughed. “We will, buyoy. Me and Yang Shee will check your Mimi, ok?”

Chinee giggled, a small sound.

Maraiah watched as her daughter leaned back against the chair, laughter bubbling out of her like it always did, as if joy was something she couldn’t hold in for long.

“Say bye-bye to Ninang Sace na, Chinee.” Maraiah urged her daughter.

“Okay,” Chinee said breathlessly. “Bye now.”

“Bye, buyoy,” Sace said gently. “Be brave.”

With that, Chinee handed the phone back to Maraiah, still smiling that familiar smile Maraiah always sees on Christine’s face, now on their child.

Before going into the clinic, she texted Christine.

“Chin? Sace said you weren’t feeling well. Are you okay?”

No reply. She tried calling. Straight to voicemail. With a sigh, she took Chinee’s hand and went in.

The check-up went smoothly—height, weight, questions Chinee answered very seriously.

“I eat veggables,” she said proudly.

Maraiah smiled. “She does.”

Right after Chinee’s check-up, Maraiah wanted to go straight home. Unfortunately for them, they got stuck in traffic for more than an hour, and still had a long way to go before they arrived at their house.

When Maraiah saw how sleepy Chinee was getting, she chose to make a U-turn and go to the nearest place they could stay over for the night—Maraiah’s parents' house.

The gate was already open when Maraiah pulled into the driveway.

Before she could even turn the engine off, her mother was at the door.

“Ayi,” her mom called, waving. “It’s late. Buti pumarito na kayo.”

“We ran into traffic,” Maraiah said as she stepped out, already reaching for Chinee in the back seat. “And then—”

“And then you decided to visit us,” her father finished, grinning as he came around the car. “Good choice.”

Chinee gasped. “Lolo!”

She launched herself at him, arms wide.

“My favorite buyoy,” he laughed, lifting her easily. “Are you gonna stay here?”

“We have a sleepover,” Chinee announced.

Maraiah blinked. “We do?”

“Yes,” Chinee nodded seriously. “Please, Mom? Please?”

Maraiah laughed as she nodded, then turned to her parents. “Thank you for letting us crash for the night, Ma. Ayoko kasing makatulog siya sa back seat tapos malayo pa byahe.”

“Ano ka ba, nak. You’re welcome here anytime! Na-miss na rin namin yung bulingit niyo o!”

“Oo nga, nak,” her father says while Chinee sits on his shoulders. “Tiyaka mukhang pagod ka na ah.”

“I’m okay,” Maraiah said automatically.

Her parents exchanged a knowing look.

Inside, her dad placed Chinee down, which signaled the toddler to quickly kick off her shoes.

“Lola,” she said, “can I have milk?”

“Of course,” her grandmother replied. “Warm or cold?”

“Warm,” Chinee said. “Like bedtime.”

Maraiah could only smile at the scene, trying to push the uneasy feeling still gnawing at her stomach.

They ate dinner together—simple, comforting food. Chinee narrated every bite.

“This chicken is good,” she said. “Mom, you should eat more.”

“I will,” Maraiah promised, though she barely tasted it.

When bedtime came, Chinee was suddenly very serious.

“I sleep here,” she said, pointing at the familiar room. It was Maraiah’s childhood room that they usually stay in when they visit her parents’ house.

“Yes,” Maraiah nodded. “Same bed as last time.”

Chinee climbed up happily, arranging her stuffed toys with care.

“Mom,” she said softly, patting the pillow beside her. “You stay.”

“I’ll stay until you sleep,” Maraiah said. “But first, go to the bathroom and brush your teeth.”

Chinee grumbled but followed her mom’s orders anyway.

Her mother lingered in the doorway. “Ayi, nasaan si Chin?”

Maraiah sighed. “Nasa bahay po. May sakit po ata…”

“Ata?”

“Hindi po nagsabi sa’kin,” Maraiah continued. “But I have a feeling, and that’s never good.”

“We’ll take care of her tonight,” her mom said gently. “You go do what you need to do.”

“Thank you,” Maraiah swallowed. “Patutulugin ko lang po muna si Chinee.”

Her mom nodded and dimmed the lights.

“I’m done!” Chinee announced as she jumped on the bed, then curled onto her mom’s side.

“Mom?” she whispered.

“Yes, love?”

“Mi okay?”

Maraiah brushed her hair back slowly. “I hope so, baby.”

Chinee nodded, trusting completely. “Okay.”

Her breathing evened out not long after.

Maraiah stayed a moment longer, listening—then stepped out quietly, worry already pulling her back toward her phone.

Later into the night, worry had settled into something heavier.

Christine still hadn’t replied.

Maraiah didn’t realize how quiet the house was until her phone rang.

She was sitting on the edge of the guest bed, shoes still on, phone in her hands like she’d been waiting for it to come alive. When Shee’s name flashed on the screen, her heart jumped hard enough to hurt.

“Shee?” she answered immediately. “Did you check on her?”

There was a breath on the other end, long and sharp.

“Ate Ayi,” Shee said. Her voice wasn’t steady. “We’re at the hospital.”

Maraiah’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What?”

“She was vomiting when we got there,” Shee continued, words tumbling faster now, like if she stopped, they’d collapse. “Sobrang taas ng lagnat. We couldn’t get her fever down.”

Maraiah stood without realizing it, the room tilting slightly.

“Buong araw na siya may sakit, Ate,” Sace’s voice came through next, softer but no less urgent. “She told us she took medicine this morning, umiinom naman nga siya. Pero akala niya lilipas lang yung sakit.”

Maraiah pressed her palm against the wall.

“All day?” she repeated, voice dangerously calm.

“Yes,” Shee said. “Ayi, I’m sorry—hindi naman namin alam na ganito kalala kung hindi pa namin siya pinuntahan.”

The word sorry cracked something open.

“She didn’t tell me,” Maraiah said. It wasn’t an accusation. It sounded more like disbelief. “She messaged me like everything was normal.”

There was silence on the line, heavy and shared.

“She kept saying she didn’t want to worry you,” Sace said quietly. “You and Chinee.”

Maraiah closed her eyes.

Images stacked over each other—Christine smiling in the morning light, Christine not answering her messages, Christine lying alone all day thinking she could handle it.

“Which hospital?” Maraiah asked, and they gave her the details. “I’m coming.”

“Ate Ayi—”

“I’m coming. Stay with her,” she repeated, firmer now, grounding herself in the certainty of it.

She ended the call and stood there for a moment longer, breathing through the rush in her chest. Fear was there—sharp and immediate—but so was something else. Anger, small but burning. Not at anyone else, but at Christine. At the way she always chose to be brave alone.

She grabbed her keys, then stopped, forcing herself to slow down.

Chinee.

She went back to the hallway and peeked into the room. Her daughter slept sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over her stuffed toy, face soft and untroubled.

Maraiah’s chest tightened.

“Rest well, love,” she whispered. “I’ve got, Mimi.”

Downstairs, she found her parents in the living room.

“Ma,” she said quietly. “Pa. Christine’s at the hospital.”

Her mother stood immediately. “Kumusta siya? Pupuntahan mo ba?”

“She’s been sick all day,” Maraiah said, voice breaking now that the words were out loud. “She didn’t tell me.”

Her father took her keys gently from her shaking hand. “Kami na bahala kay Chinee,” he said. “Go.”

Her mother squeezed her arm. “Drive safe.”

Maraiah nodded, swallowing hard.

As she stepped out into the night, phone clutched tight in her hand, the fear finally surged—raw and overwhelming—but beneath it was resolve.

She would get to her. No matter what.

Christine looked small in the bed.

When she saw Maraiah, her face softened instantly.

“Ayi,” she whispered.

Maraiah crossed the room and took her face gently in both hands.

“What were you thinking?” she said, voice trembling. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” Christine murmured.

“You scared me more when you didn’t answer all day,” Maraiah said. “Do you know how many times I checked my phone? I was so worried.”

Christine blinked slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Maraiah sighed. “You don’t have to be. But let’s not have this happen again. I don’t want you bearing anything alone. Please?”

Before they could say anything more, the doctor explained the diagnosis calmly.

“A urinary tract infection,” he said. “Severe fever. We’ll need to monitor her.”

Maraiah nodded, never letting go of Christine’s hand.

When they were alone again, Maraiah sat beside the bed.

“You don’t get to go quiet like that. Hindi pwedeng wala kang sasabihin sa’min. Lalo na kapag may sakit ka or nahihirapan ka,” she said softly. “We’re teaching Chinee to tell us when she’s not feeling well and yet you don’t do the same. That’s not a very good example, is it?”

Christine shook her head, then squeezed Ayi’s hand weakly. “I promise. I’ll tell you next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Maraiah said. “Because we’ll catch it early.”

Christine smiled faintly. “Yes, mom.”

Maraiah snorted despite herself.

The next day, Maraiah thanked Shee and Sace for all their help, but asked them to leave so they could also properly rest. They later bid their goodbyes to the couple and reminded Christine to rest before they left.

Then a few hours later, Chinee arrived at the hospital with her grandparents. So Maraiah met up with them at the lobby to guide them to the room. 

“Mom?” Chinee looked up. “Is Mimi ouchie?”

Maraiah exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She knelt in front of her, forcing a smile. “Mimi’s just resting, okay?”

“Oh,” Chinee nodded. “I’ll give her my stickew.”

Maraiah swallowed. “She’d like that.”

When they got to the room, Chinee blinked. She was wearing her little jacket, hair slightly messy from sleep, eyes roaming the room as they adjusted to the hospital lights. The moment she spotted Christine, she approached the hospital bed carefully. 

With flowers—that seemed too big for her—clutched in both hands, she said slowly, “For you, Mimi.”

Christine’s eyes filled instantly. “Thank you, buyoy.”

Chinee handed over a slightly crumpled drawing next.

“Lola said I dwawed you. And look… this is the stickew I got fwom the hospital, but I want you to have it.”

Christine pressed the paper with the sticker to her chest. “It’s beautiful.”

But then, Chinee crossed her arms—or tried to.

“Mimi,” she said again, this time sharper. “Why you sick?”

Christine stared at their daughter for a bit. “Ah—”

“You not tell Mom,” Chinee continued, brows furrowed. “Mom say you supposed to tell, wemembow?”

Maraiah hovered near the foot of the bed, arms crossed but lips twitching despite herself.

Christine glanced at her. “Did Mom say that?”

Maraiah raised an eyebrow. “Don’t drag me into this.”

Chinee leaned closer to the bed, voice lowering like she was delivering a very important lecture.

“You get fever,” she said slowly, carefully pronouncing each word. “Because you stiw dwink coke. That’s not allowed.”

Christine let out a soft laugh that quickly turned into a cough. “Okay, okay. You’re right.”

“Do you pwomise not to dwink coke anymow?” Chinee asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Christine looked back and forth from Chinee to Ayi, quietly asking for her wife’s help. But to no avail, she simply sighed. “Ok, I promise!”

Chinee nodded once, satisfied. Then, as if remembering something crucial—

“Mimi! You need west,” she added. “And water. And soup.”

Maraiah finally stepped in, brushing a hand over Chinee’s hair. “Doctor Chinee, huh?”

“I learned it,” Chinee said proudly. “From you, Mom.”

Christine smiled at that, eyes warm despite the exhaustion. “Lucky me.”

Then a nurse knocked lightly before entering, pushing a small cart. “Hi there,” she said cheerfully. “We’re just going to take a little blood sample, okay?”

Christine stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Chinee noticed.

“What that?” she asked, eyes following the nurse’s hands.

“Just a small poke,” Christine said quickly. “Mimi’s okay.”

The nurse wrapped the tourniquet around Christine’s arm.

Chinee’s smile vanished.

“Mom…” she whispered.

Maraiah immediately crouched beside her. “Hey. It’s okay, love.”

But Chinee’s eyes were already glassy as the needle came out.

“No,” she said softly. “Don’t huwt my Mimi.”

Christine’s breath hitched. “Hey, hey, Chinee. Mimi’s brave, remember?”

The needle went in.

Chinee gasped like the world had ended.

Her face crumpled, and suddenly she was crying—quiet at first, then harder, fists clutching the front of Maraiah’s shirt.

“Mimi’s bleeding,” she sobbed. “She’s bleeding.”

Maraiah gathered her up instantly, holding her close. “Shh. It looks scary, I know. But she’s okay. See? She’s still smiling.”

Christine reached out with her free hand, fingers brushing Chinee’s sleeve. “Buyoy, hey look at me.”

Chinee sniffled, eyes darting up.

“Mimi’s okay,” Christine said gently. “It doesn’t hurt much. Promise.”

The nurse finished quickly, taping the cotton in place. “All done.”

Chinee stared at the bandage, still crying softly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Christine said, voice thick. “Mimi’s all good because Mom and Chinee are here.”

Chinee leaned forward, pressing her forehead carefully against Christine’s arm, as if guarding it.

“Next time,” she muttered, “you tell Mom… or Chinee.”

Christine closed her eyes, smiling. “Yes, my baby.”

Maraiah exhaled, brushing Chinee’s back in slow circles. “Deal sealed.”

Chinee nodded sleepily, still tucked against her chest.

Maraiah watched them, heart aching and full all at once.

Love, she thought, wasn’t just running together.

Sometimes, it was stopping—it was telling the truth even when you were afraid. And this was their family.

Chapter Text

Chinee had already been bathed, her hair still smelling faintly of soap and something sweet. She sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching her picture book upside down.

“Mom,” she said, patting the mattress beside her. “Sit here.”

Maraiah smiled and sat.

“Buyoy,” Christine lingered at the doorway, towel slung over her shoulder. “Do you want Mimi to read tonight?”

Chinee glanced at her, then back at Maraiah. “But mom reads better.”

Christine chuckled lightly. “Excuse me?”

“She does the voices,” Chinee explained, decisive.

Maraiah shot Christine an apologetic look. “We can switch halfway.”

“It’s fine,” Christine said, still smiling. “I’ll listen.”

She leaned against the wall as Maraiah began reading, her voice rising and falling, animated and warm. Chinee laughed in all the right places. Christine watched the way Maraiah instinctively brushed Chinee’s hair back, the way Chinee leaned into her without thinking.

When the book ended, Chinee yawned dramatically and then looked up at Maraiah.

“Good night, Mom. I wuv youuu!” she said enthusiastically as she tackled Maraiah with a kiss.

“Good night, love,” Maraiah said gently. “How about Mimi? Won’t you give her a good night kiss?”

Chinee scooted to Christine’s side, then kissed her cheek quickly before turning back to Maraiah, already curling into her side.

They waited until Chinee was fully asleep before they left her room. 

In the hallway, she exhaled slowly. Maraiah joined her a minute later, pulling the door mostly closed behind them.

“She’s out,” Maraiah whispered.

Christine nodded. “That’s good.”

Maraiah blinked. “Is something wrong? Ok ka lang ba, Chin?”

Christine shook her head. “Ok lang ako, this is nothing. Baka antok lang.”

Maraiah only nodded, not fully convinced. So she guided them to the kitchen together instead. 

Christine reached for a glass, filled it halfway, and set it down without drinking. “Nakakamiss din pala nung mas maliit pa si Chinee,” she said suddenly.

Maraiah moved toward her, wrapping her in a back hug. “She’s still our little baby.”

“I just miss nung mas gusto niya ng attention. When her world seemed to revolve around us and her toys,” Christine sighed. “I love watching her grow, pero minsan parang ayoko na lang siya lumaki.”

“Awww soft hours naman pala ng mimi na ‘yan.”

Christine chuckled, turning around to look at Maraiah now. “How does it feel?”

“Ang alin?”

“To be her favorite. Nandun na siya sa phase na may hinahanap siyang parent palagi eh.”

“And you think she likes me better than you?” Maraiah asked carefully, trying to catch Christine’s gaze.

“She asks for you all the time, Ayi. I guess she finds your presence comforting, like she feels safe around you. Gets ko naman ‘yun, kahit ako ganon pakiramdam ko sa’yo…”

“But?”

“But I long for that too, and hindi mo naman siguro maalis ‘yun sa’kin diba?” Christine made her way to one of the chairs at the dining table, trying to calm and ground herself. “She didn’t even say good night to me.”

“She did. She kissed you.”

“Because you reminded her,” Christine replied.

“Chin…”

“Ayokong magselos just because our daughter loves you. I love how you guys are close and that you love each other. ‘Yun naman ang hiniling ko eh, this kind of life.” Christine then let out a humorless chuckle while she nodded. “It stings a little. Kasi, I feel like an extra in this little movie that you two have. Parang nanonood lang ako sa gilid.”

“That’s not fair.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That tone. Na parang kasalanan ko pa.”

Maraiah crossed her arms. “What are you saying? Bata siya, anak natin siya. I’m only attending to her needs.”

Christine leaned back on the chair. “Oo nga, anak natin. But where am I in the picture, Ayi?”

Maraiah frowned. “You’re here. You’ve always been here, kasama namin.”

“Ayun na nga eh,” Christine continued. “I’m right here. I’m not gone, I’m not busy. And still, I feel like I’m… hovering.”

“Hovering?” Maraiah echoed.

“Yes,” Christine said. “Like if I step in, I’m interrupting something already complete.”

Maraiah straightened. “That’s not how it is.”

“Then why does it feel like she settles more easily with you? Bakit ganon, feeling ko may mali akong ginagawa? Na nagkukulang ako sa inyo?”

Maraiah sighed. “Hindi totoo ‘yan. You’re a good mom, Chin.”

Christine’s jaw tightened. “It sure doesn’t feel like it.”

Maraiah blinked. “Saan ba nanggagaling ‘toh?”

“Wala,” Christine tries to shut her down, voice sharpening. “Hindi ko rin alam. Ang alam ko lang nasasaktan ako. I don’t want to blame it on either of you, pero nasasaktan ako.”

“You think this doesn’t hurt me? ‘Yang mga sinasabi mo sa tingin mo hindi ako nasasaktan?” Maraiah's voice was shaky but raising, irritation creeping in. 

“Natatakot ako, Ayi,” Christine says while standing up.

“Natatakot saan?” 

“Dito. Sa atin. Sa nararamdaman ko.”

“Kelan mo pa nararamdaman ‘toh? Bakit hindi mo sinabi sa’kin?” Maraiah asked as she watched Christine walk around the house, grabbing her keys. “Anong ginagawa mo?”

Christine pushed past her. “Ang dami mong tanong, Ayi. Please, I can’t answer them right now. Hindi ko kaya, ok?”

Maraiah stared. “Aalis ka?”

“Yes,” Christine said. “I’m going to go to one of the girls’ houses for the night. I just—I can’t stay here. Not like this.”

Maraiah moved to Christine’s side abruptly, grabbing her arm. “Don’t leave, Chin.”

“Bitaw, Ayi. Please let me go. Kahit ngayon lang.” Christine looks Maraiah in the eye, red with tears. “Maraiah.”

Maraiah’s breath hitched. Her wife does not call her by her first name. Not seriously, not intentionally. “Pagusapan muna natin ‘toh,” she pleaded.

“I can’t do this right now,” Christine said, grabbing her jacket now. “Ayoko nang makipagsagutan sa’yo. I need to leave before I say anything else.”

Maraiah tried again. “Don’t leave like this.”

Christine pulled away, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She paused at the door, voice barely steady. “I love Chinee, and I love you.”

The door closed.

And for the first time, Maraiah wondered if love alone had been enough to keep them aligned—or if it had simply made the cracks easier to ignore.

When Christine got in the car, it stayed running longer than it needed to.

Christine sat in the driver’s seat, hands still on the steering wheel, staring at the dark shape of their house in the rearview mirror. 

She swallowed and reached for her phone.

No messages. Of course not.

She leaned her forehead against the wheel.

You should go back, a voice in her head said. You didn’t even say goodbye.

Her chest tightened.

She didn’t want Chinee to see her like this.

Christine exhaled shakily, put the car in drive, and pulled away.

The streets were quiet. Too quiet. Every red light felt longer than the last, giving her too much time to replay the argument in pieces—Maraiah’s face, the way her voice changed, the exact moment she realized she’d crossed a line she didn’t know how to uncross yet.

She gripped the wheel harder.

By the time Colin’s house came into view, Christine’s jaw ached from clenching it the whole drive.

She parked, turned the engine off, then sat there again, staring at the warmly lit windows.

Colin would know. That was the problem—and the relief.

Christine finally stepped out, locking the car with a soft beep that felt too loud. She hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the bell, heart pounding like she was about to confess something instead of ask for shelter.

The door opened before she could knock.

“Chin,” Colin said, already frowning. “Anong nangyari sa’yo? You look like hell.”

Christine laughed weakly. “Hi to you too.”

Colin stepped aside without another word. “Come in.”

The warmth inside hit her immediately—not just heat, but a sense of familiarity. The smell of something savory simmering in the kitchen. The sound of a sitcom playing softly in the background.

Christine kicked off her shoes and stood there, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Colin studied her for a moment. “Nagaway kayo?”

Christine nodded.

“Bad?”

Christine nodded again, throat tight.

Colin sighed. “Maupo ka muna.”

Christine did, sinking onto the couch like her body had finally given up holding itself together.

Colin went to the kitchen, returned with a glass of water, and handed it to her.

“Drink,” she said. “Tapos tiyaka ka magkwento.”

Christine took a sip. Her hands shook.

“I left,” she said quietly.

Colin raised an eyebrow, then tried to throw a joke. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, would you?”

“I didn’t want to,” Christine added quickly. “I just—if I stayed, hindi ko na alam gagawin ko. Hindi ko na matignan si Ayi sa mata kanina. Kung ano ano nang nasabi ko tapos—”

Colin sat across from her. “Huminahon ka nga muna, Chin. Wala kang kalaban dito. Breathe. I’m listening.”

“I messed up, Col. Pero nasasaktan din ako,” Christine started as she told Colin what happened.

“Nagpaalam ka naman ba sa mag-ina mo? Kay Chinee?”

Christine flinched.

“No,” she admitted. “Baka kapag sumilip pa ako sa kwarto niya, magising tapos makita kaming nagaaway or kaya umiiyak.”

“And you think na mas mabuti yung ginawa mo? Na umalis ka na lang?”

“Hindi.”

“Good. You know that,” Colin nodded once. “Ang tanga mo.”

It’s Christine’s turn to nod. “Alam ko.”

“May kasunod na pero?

Christine stared at the water. “I felt like I didn’t belong in my own house or my family tonight.”

Colin leaned back, arms crossing. “Hindi naman nila sinabi o pinaramdam ‘yan sa’yo diba?”

“I know,” Christine whispered. “That’s the worst part.”

Colin watched her carefully. “Hinayaan mo nanaman kasi. Feeling mo kapag tinago mo, it will be ok soon. Tignan mo ano nangyari ngayon.”

Christine laughed bitterly with a sarcastic remark, “Ang galing kong asawa noh? Ang galing kong nanay.”

“Wala nang point na sisihin mo sarili mo,” Colin continued. “You need to figure out what you’d do next.”

Christine closed her eyes. “Nasaktan ko sila. I hurt the people I told myself I’d protect.”

“Yes,” Colin said gently. “And you hurt yourself.”

Silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, just heavy.

Colin stood up, “I made arroz caldo earlier, paborito mo diba?”

Christine’s eyes opened. “Ang galing ng timing mo.”

“Pasalamat ka mahal kita.” She set a bowl in front of Christine, steam curling up. “Eat.”

Christine took a spoonful and immediately felt her throat tighten. “God,” she murmured. “Akalain mo ‘yun, nakaka-miss din pala luto mo.”

Colin smiled softly. “I missed you too, Chin. Kayo ng girls.”

After dinner, Colin returned with a familiar blanket—Christine’s favorite one from years ago.

“You’re staying,” Colin said, not asking. “Guest room’s ready.”

Christine hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”

Colin snorted. “You’re family. Go, magshower ka na dun. Usap pa tayo bukas.”

Christine stood slowly. “Salamat, Col.”

Colin met her gaze, firm but kind. “You don’t get to run forever, Chin. But you’re allowed one night to breathe.”

Christine nodded, eyes burning. “Mahal ko sila. I don’t wanna run from them.”

“I know,” Colin said. “That’s why this hurts.”

As Christine headed toward the guest room, she paused, turning back.

“Colin?”

“Yes?”

“Am I a bad mom? A bad wife?”

Colin didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Then why does it feel like I am?”

Colin softened. “Because good parents are the ones who worry they might be. You’re trying your best. Nakikita ni Ayi at Chinee ‘yun.”

Christine let out a shaky breath and finally, finally let herself rest.

The house woke up without Christine.

Maraiah noticed it before she even opened her eyes—the wrongness of the air, the way the space beside her stayed cold. Her arm stretched out on instinct and found nothing.

She lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart thudding too loud for a quiet morning.

She really left, she hasn’t come back.

Down the hall, a small voice called, “Mommy? Mimi?”

Maraiah was at Chinee’s door before the second syllable finished.

“Hi, buyoy.”

Chinee sat up, hair a mess, eyes still cloudy with sleep. She looked past Maraiah immediately.

“Mimi?”

Maraiah’s chest tightened. “Mimi’s not here, love.”

Chinee blinked. Once. Twice.

“She go potty?” she asked.

“No.”

“She downstairs?”

“No.”

Chinee’s brows pulled together. “Whewe?”

Maraiah sat on the bed, smoothing Chinee’s hair. “She stayed somewhere else for the night.”

Silence.

Then, very quietly, Chinee asked, “Why?”

Maraiah inhaled slowly. “Mommy and Mimi had a disagreement.”

“What’s that?”

“When people don’t agree and have big feelings about it.”

Chinee’s mouth turned down. “Like when I cwy?”

“Yes,” Maraiah said gently. “Like that.”

Chinee stared at the wall, processing.

“Did she say bye-bye to me? Mimi always hugs me when she goes out, wight?”

The question landed heavy.

Maraiah hesitated a second too long. “She was in a hurry, love. Mimi had to go already,” she tried to explain.

Chinee’s face crumpled instantly.

“She didn’t say bye?” Her voice rose, sharp with panic. “She didn’t hug me?”

“I’m sure she wanted to,” Maraiah said, pulling her close.

Chinee pushed against her chest instead, breath hitching. “Why she not hug me?”

Maraiah’s arms tightened. “She was just in a hurry. She’ll hug you next time”

“But she nevew fowgets,” Chinee said, tears spilling fast now. “She didn’t say bye!”

Her cry broke open fully then—loud, unrestrained, the kind that shook her whole body.

“Mimi left me,” she sobbed.

“No, no, sweetheart—” Maraiah pressed kisses into her hair, rocking her instinctively. “She didn’t leave you.”

“She go away!” Chinee wailed. “With no huggy!”

Maraiah’s own eyes burned. “She’ll be back. I promise. I’m sure she misses your hugs.”

Chinee pulled back, face red and wet. “You pwomise?”

Maraiah nods. “Of course, Chinee.”

“Is she mad at me because I bad? Is that why no huggy?”

“No,” Maraiah said firmly. “She is not mad at you.”

“Is she mad at Mom?”

Maraiah closed her eyes.

“We were mad at each other. Mimi and Mommy said things we shouldn’t have,” she admitted softly. “Adults usually don’t think about the things they say before they say them.”

Chinee sniffed. “You make Mimi sad?”

“Yes.”

“You make her cry?”

Maraiah swallowed hard. “I think I did.”

Chinee’s lower lip trembled harder. “I don’t wike that.”

“I don’t either.”

They moved to the kitchen together, but the calm never really followed. Chinese still kept looking for Christine.

Chinee sat in her chair, legs kicking, tears dripping onto the table now instead of the floor.

“Mimi pouws milk,” she cried.

“I’ll pour it today, ok?” Maraiah said.

“She cuts banana fow me,” Chinee insisted, voice breaking again.

“I can do that too.”

“But I want Mimi! She does bweakfast wemembew?”

The words shattered something inside Maraiah.

Chinee shoved the bowl away. “I want Mimi.”

“I know,” Maraiah whispered.

“I don’t wike you fight,” Chinee demanded suddenly, small fists clenched. 

Maraiah froze. Guilt crashed over Maraiah like a wave.

“I’m sorry, Buyoy” she said, voice breaking. “Mimi and Mom just need time.”

Chinee slid off the chair and ran into her arms, sobbing openly now.

“Pwease no fight again,” she cried into Maraiah’s shoulder. “It hurts here.” She pressed a small hand to her chest.

Maraiah held her tighter, rocking, letting Chinee cry until her breath came in shuddery gasps.

“If yew fight, does Mimi not wuv us anymowe?”

“Your Mimi loves you,” she said softly. “She loves us very much.”

“Then why she not come back?” Chinee whispered.

“Because Mommy and Mimi had big feelings,” Maraiah said slowly. “And sometimes grown-ups don’t handle big feelings very well.”

Chinee leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Maraiah’s hair.

“Big feelings are scary,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Maraiah agreed. “I know, love.”

Chinee sniffed. “Wiw Mimi stiw come back?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Chinee clung to her, exhausted from crying. “Tew her I miss her.”

“I will.”

“Tew her I didn’t mean to be bad.”

Maraiah kissed her temple. “You were never bad, baby.”

They stayed like that for a long time, grief sitting between them but not alone—held, named, allowed.

And in the quiet that followed, Maraiah made herself a vow she didn’t say out loud: I will not let anger teach my child that love disappears.

The house had finally quieted.

Chinee had drifted off to sleep for her afternoon nap. Curled under the blanket she loved, soft breathing rising and falling in tiny waves. Maraiah had kissed her forehead, whispered another “I love you,” then left the room without making a sound.

But the silence that followed was heavier than she could bear. The sunlight spilled through the window in warm stripes across the floor, but Maraiah felt none of it. She sat on the edge of their bed, shoulders hunched, hands tangled in her hair. Her chest felt hollow, yet impossibly full at the same time—full of fear, guilt, and longing.

Maraiah felt the weight of the morning—the way Chinee’s small, red-rimmed eyes had followed her, the way her tiny body had trembled while crying for her Mimi. She had tried to comfort Chinee, to explain, to shield her from the adult storm, but now that the room was empty, the exhaustion, the helplessness, and the fear washed over her in waves.

The thought of Chinee’s heartbreak made her cry harder. Her chest tightened, her fingers clawed at the sheets. Every sob carried the shame of letting anger speak louder than love. Every shudder felt like an echo of her daughter’s tears.

Maraiah whispered through her tears, almost to herself, almost to Chinee.
“I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to make her leave… I love them both so much…”

The words faltered, broken by helpless hiccups. Her voice was ragged. Her eyes were red, streaked with the residue of crying.

And then, just as her sobs were shaking her body uncontrollably, a sound came from the hallway—a key in the lock.

Maraiah froze mid-breath, her body stiff. Christine’s voice came after, almost a whisper through the door. “Ayi?”

The single word cut through everything—through guilt, through panic, through fear. Maraiah’s chest tightened even more. She wanted to sit up, to cover herself, to apologize before Christine even saw her, but she couldn’t move.

Christine stepped into the room. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene.  Maraiah, head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face.

“Ayi…” Christine’s voice faltered.

Maraiah barely heard her. She could only manage a choked, “Chin…I–”

Christine crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate. She knelt beside Maraiah, hand hovering over hers. Maraiah flinched slightly at first, but then the gesture, gentle and familiar, coaxed her to meet Christine’s eyes.

Christine didn’t say anything yet. She just let Maraiah see that she was there. That she had returned to them.

Maraiah spoke, sobbing into her hands again. “I shouldn’t have… I said things… I didn’t mean—”

Christine shook her head gently. “Shh,” she said softly, finally placing a hand on Maraiah’s shoulder. “I said awful things too. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

Maraiah’s body shook harder, but she leaned into Christine’s touch. The warmth grounded her, and for the first time since leaving the house the night before, she felt a tiny spark of relief.

“I was so scared,” Maraiah whispered, her voice cracking. “I thought… na hindi ka pa uuwi. Na baka may masamang nangyari sa’yo. And Chinee… she… she cried for you, and I…”

Christine leaned closer, brushing her thumb over Maraiah’s trembling hand. “I’m sorry. Hindi ko talaga iniisip yung mga sinabi at ginawa ko kagabi. I know this is hard for you too. But I’m ok, we’re ok.”

Maraiah let out a shuddering laugh through her tears. “We’re… okay?”

Christine smiled faintly, voice soft but firm. “We will be. But we can’t let things go like this again.”

Maraiah nodded against her hands. “I… I just… I want to fix it.”

Christine cupped her face gently, tilting her chin so Maraiah had no choice but to meet her gaze. “And we will. Together. One step at a time. No rushing. We learn from our mistakes and we start here. Diba?”

Maraiah blinked through tears, inhaled shakily, and nodded again.

And in that moment, the tension in her chest loosened slightly, just enough to feel Christine’s presence, warm and steady. Enough to know that even after the fight, after the absence, after the worry, they could come back to each other.

From the doorway, Maraiah could almost hear Chinee stirring in her nap, small breaths soft and even. And Maraiah’s sobs softened too, now carrying something fragile but real—hope.

Christine whispered, resting her forehead briefly against Maraiah’s. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Hindi na mauulit yung kagabi, I’m sorry.”

Maraiah let herself believe it. For the first time in hours, she let herself breathe.

Later, they were quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. They now found themselves sitting together in bed, cuddling. Maraiah leaned against the headboard, Christine pressed close, her cheek resting on Maraiah’s shoulder. Their arms wrapped around each other almost automatically, a slow reclamation of comfort after the storm.

“I’m sorry,” Christine whispered again, soft, almost fragile. “For last night. For… everything.”

Maraiah pressed her lips to the top of Christine’s head. “I am too. I shouldn’t have said things that made you feel like you don’t belong. You do. Always.”

Christine exhaled shakily, curling a little closer. “I just… I forgot how easily I let the fear creep in. Natatakot akong hindi ako naging mabuting nanay kay Chinee. O baka hindi na ako enough para sa inyo.”

“You are enough. ‘Wag mong isipin ‘yan, Chin,” Maraiah murmured. “We love you and hindi magbabago ‘yun.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, letting the weight of the words settle. Then, Christine’s voice softened, thoughtful.

“Naaalala mo ba… Do you remember the promises we made the night after our wedding?”

Maraiah tilted her head, brushing a hand over Christine’s hair. “The ones about how we’d raise our future children? How we’d… treat each other?”

“Yes,” Christine said. “Sabi natin hindi tayo magsisigawan kahit galit. Na hindi masasali yung mga bata kapag nagaaway tayo. Na walang competition… not for love, not for attention.”

Maraiah swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. “I know. And last night, we broke a lot of those…”

Christine nodded her head faintly, but her thumb brushed over Maraiah’s hand. “We both did. Not just last night… sometimes we don’t even realize it. Kapag nagaaway tayo sa maliliit na bagay o kaya kapag di tayo nagkakaintindihan, nagsimula dun tapos nagsunod-sunod na.”

Maraiah nodded, pulling Christine closer. “I didn’t notice it either. But now I do. Gusto ko sanang magawa talaga natin, even if it’s hard sometimes. For our family, for Chinee.”

Christine’s lips curved into a small, tender smile. “Me too, gusto ko rin ‘yun. Because I love you… both of you. And I want our little family to feel that, every single day.”

They stayed there, clinging, until a soft creak from the hallway made them both freeze. Small footsteps padded toward their room.

Chinee’s voice was hesitant, tiny, almost unsure.

“Mimi?”

Christine pulled back slightly, searching her daughter’s eyes in the doorway. Her smile brightened immediately, but she froze when she noticed Chinee wasn’t smiling back. Instead, the toddler hesitated, brows furrowed, hands fidgeting with her blanket.

Christine took a careful step forward. “Chinee…”

The little girl stepped back a few more times, shy and reluctant. Her gaze flicked between her two moms, then she stopped, folding her arms, small and rigid.

Maraiah was on her feet in an instant. “Buyoy,” she said softly, kneeling down. “Come here.”

Chinee hesitated, then slowly allowed herself to be scooped up into Maraiah’s arms, pressing her face against her chest. Her little arms wrapped tight to her mom, brows furrowed. She wasn’t crying hysterically anymore, but the small hiccups of frustration still shook her.

“Mimi…” she said, her little voice trembling but firm, “why you weave me?”

Christine’s hands fidgeted in her lap, voice breaking. “I… I didn’t leave because of you, buyoy. I just… I didn’t know how to fix things. I didn’t want to make Mom sad.”

Chinee’s little arms tightened around Maraiah, then she looked up at Christine with wide, questioning eyes. “You… you stiw wove me, wight? And Mom?”

Christine sobbed openly now, nodding her head. “Of course, Buyoy. I love you and Mom more than anything. I was scared, and I made a mistake, but I still love you. Always.”

Chinee’s lip trembled. “You… you won’t stop kissing Mommy or me?”

“No, Buyoy,” Christine whispered, sniffing. “I’ll never stop kissing you. I’ll never stop loving either of you.”

Chinee hiccupped, leaning slightly closer to Christine, but still frowning. “Then… why you no huggy?”

Christine pressed her hand to her mouth, crying softly. “I’m sorry, love. I’ll give you all the hugs that you want. Would that be ok?”

“Mowe than ok! I wuv mimi hugs!” Christine opens her arms, and Chinee runs to her after getting out of Maraiah’s hold. “Chinee wuvs you, ok? I pwomise.”

Christine chuckles and presses a kiss on Chinee’s temple. “Are you mad at mimi for leaving?”

“Just this much,” Chinee said while holding up her tiny thumb and index finger.

Maraiah hugged them both, “It’s okay, buyoy. You’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to ask questions. And Mimi is allowed to feel sorry. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Chinee sniffled, small fists pressing against Maraiah’s chest. “I… I’m a bit mad. I don’t wike it when you weave.”

“I know,” Christine said softly. “And it’s okay to be mad. Being mad is normal. Feeling sad is normal. Feeling scared is normal. But it’s not okay to hurt other people just because you’re hurt, okay?”

Chinee blinked, thinking it over. “Okay…”

Maraiah leaned down, meeting both of their eyes. “Mimi made a mistake, but she loves you. I love you. And it’s okay to feel all your big feelings—anger, sadness, confusion. We all feel those sometimes.”

Christine reached over, hand trembling, and squeezed Chinee’s small fingers. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll always tell you I love you. I’ll never leave without saying goodbye again.”

Chinee let herself melt a little, small tears still sliding down her cheeks. “Okay… I don’t wike seeing you cwy.”

Maraiah kissed her forehead. “It’s ok to cry too, remember? But not all the time. So next time, we’re going to fix things together.”

“What did Mom and Mimi say about love again?” Christine asked, looking at their daughter.

“That it is bigger than mistakes and angew,” Chinee recited.

And for the first time since the fight, the three of them just sat together, breathing, feeling, and slowly letting the storm pass—acknowledging the pain, but also embracing the love that had never left.

The next day, sunlight streamed softly through the kitchen window, catching the steam rising from a small pan. The house smelled of warm toast and something sweet from the fruit Maraiah had chopped earlier. The clinking of utensils and the occasional sizzle from the stove filled the room with a calm domestic rhythm.

Chinee was perched on a stool at the counter, crayons scattered across a sheet of paper. She hummed softly, lips pursed in concentration as she wrote in her big, uneven letters. “D…e…a…r…Mimi,” she murmured, voice quiet but serious.

Maraiah leaned over her daughter’s shoulder, smiling softly. “That’s right, buyoy. That’s how you start your letter.”

“I… I sorry for being mad.” Chinee paused, looking up at her mom, then frowned. “Can I say that?”

“Yes, you can tell Mimi that,” Maraiah said gently, smoothing Chinee’s hair. “And you can tell her how much you love her too.”

Chinee nodded, resuming her scribbles. “I… love… you… and… yuw huggies.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to form the words just right, then let out a little giggle at how hard it was to write.

From behind them, Christine hummed softly, balancing a pan of scrambled eggs and a small pot of warm milk on the counter. She glanced at Maraiah and Chinee, a smile tugging at her lips despite the remnants of the tension from the day before. “Breakfast smells good. What do you think, Buyoy?” she said gently, trying to encourage her daughter without putting pressure on her.

Chinee looked up at Christine cautiously, still holding the letter close to her chest. “I… I make this for you.”

Christine’s chest tightened. She walked over, kneeling to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Love…” she whispered. “Thank you. That means so much to me.”

Chinee pressed the crayon-stained paper into Christine’s hands, watching her carefully. “I sorry too.”

Christine’s eyes filled, tears threatening, but this time they were tears of relief, love, and gratitude. “I’m sorry too, buyoy. For making you sad and angry. We'll be better at handling big emotions, right?” She hugged Chinee close, feeling the small heartbeat against her chest, the soft warmth of her child nestled in her arms.

Maraiah came up behind them, wrapping an arm around both of them. “See? Love is bigger than mistakes. And we’re learning together. That’s what matters.”

Chinee hugged both of them back, small arms tight, then pulled back just enough to look at Christine seriously. “Promise… you don’t leave without telling me?”

“Yes, and always with hugs,” Christine said, voice firm, tears glinting in the sunlight. “I love you both.”

The three of them lingered there for a few moments, holding each other, until Maraiah gently nudged them toward the table. “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Christine moved to set down the eggs, toast, and fruit. Chinee clambered onto her chair, still smiling shyly, glancing at the letter she had made. “Can I eat and show you my letter after?” she asked.

“Of course, buyoy,” Maraiah said, smiling. “We want to see every word.”

Christine carried the little plate of eggs over to Chinee and helped her settle. “And then we’ll all read it together, ok?” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s face.

Chinee nodded, a small giggle escaping her lips as she carefully opened the folded paper. Maraiah and Christine watched her with quiet hearts, knowing that this—these little gestures, these soft mornings, these imperfect, loving moments—was exactly how their family healed and grew stronger.

Even after fights, even after tears, even after misunderstandings, they had each other—and for Maraiah, Christine, and Chinee, that was enough. They knew now that love wasn’t about never stumbling—it was about stopping, turning back, and reaching for each other when the pace got too fast. So as their family ran their life’s course, it wouldn’t be to escape or to win, but to stay together, hand in hand, matching steps as best as they could.