Miggy's POV
"I'm Gabriel's best friend, I mean your father's best friend. Based on what you read—do you recognize your mama's handwriting, dear?" asked Uncle Rick gently.
Gabriella's eyes were red, her voice trembling. "Mama never told me… not even when she was alive. She avoided every question I asked about my father. Always changed the subject. Now I understand why."
She sobbed, and the room fell into a heavy silence. None of us could speak. My heart ached for her—for growing up with so many unanswered questions, for the mother who loved her but chose to hide the truth.
Uncle Manuel stood up, unable to hold back. He pulled Gabriella into a hug.
"Shhh… it's okay. From now on, we're here. You won't go through this alone anymore," he whispered.
"C-can I ask something?" Gabriella murmured.
"Go ahead, my dear. What is it?" Uncle Rick said, his voice soft.
"Why are you here? Where is he? My father?"
We all sighed. No one rushed to answer. A long pause filled the air, broken only when Uncle Rick cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry, my dear," he began slowly. "Gabriel had a heart attack—the same day he told Miggy about you. He was planning to find you, but he didn't know where your mama had moved. Years ago, after he received that birthday card, he tried to track her down, but she'd vanished. Your mama was pregnant with you at that time. After a while, your papa gave up. He figured she wanted to keep you hidden… and he respected that."
Tears welled in Gabriella's eyes. I could only watch, heart sinking. She spent her whole life without a father—not because he didn't care, but because he was kept away.
Then I remembered something—something I'd prepared just in case.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my wallet. From one of the folds, I took out a photo.
"This is dad," I said, holding it out. "I brought it for you. I thought… maybe you'd want to see him."
Her hand trembled as she reached for the photo. She looked at me, then slowly lowered her gaze to the picture.
"I'm sorry—it's the only one I have. Things got hectic at work, and after Dad disappeared, I couldn't go home much."
She studied the photo in silence. Then her eyes widened in shock.
"He… isn't he the…?" she began, but I gently interrupted.
"Yes," I said quietly. "That's the man you saw on TV. Gabriel—your father, our father."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She just stared at the photo.
"Can you tell me how Mama and Papa met?" she finally asked.
"No problem," Manuel replied. "Rick can tell you the whole story. He and my brother were always together."
Uncle Rick nodded and began recounting everything—from the night they met at a producer's gathering, to the bar where Gabriel and Teresa crossed paths again.
Gabriella asked more questions. Uncle Rick and Uncle Manuel answered each one patiently. Time slipped away unnoticed, and before we knew it, darkness had fallen outside.
Later, as we prepared to return to Manila, I approached Gabriella.
"Hey… please don't take this the wrong way," I said cautiously. "I just want to help."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "But… can I have time to process everything? It's a lot."
"Of course. Here—this is my number. Text or call me anytime. Don't be shy, okay? You're family now. And if someone else picks up, it's just Meynard—my assistant. You can trust him too."
Willie volunteered to ride with her. My uncle and I followed in our car. I had asked her earlier if she'd let me know where she lived. She agreed, and we offered to drive behind.
The neighborhood looked aged but tidy. A modest house stood behind a wooden gate. It made me pause. She lived here alone?
"Are you safe here?" I asked.
"It's fine. The people here know me—I grew up in this area."
"But living alone…"
"I wasn't always alone. But I got used to it. It's okay now."
"All right. Just be careful. Call me anytime. And… would it be okay if I called you sometime too? I'll text first, so I don't bother you."
She smiled. "Okay. Thank you… for everything."
Before she could finish, I jumped out to open the car door for her. She nodded and smiled softly as she stepped out. We waited until she was safely inside the gate before driving off.
Back at the condo, Meynard didn't come up. I told him to take the rest of the day off—it was Saturday anyway.
I showered, changed, and realized I hadn't eaten. Too lazy to cook, I ordered Chinese food and flopped onto the sofa. The TV was on, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Gabriella.
I wondered if she had eaten. If she was okay. If she felt overwhelmed. I decided I'd check on her.
After finishing my meal and cleaning up, I sent her a message:
"Hi. Can I call you?"
Minutes later, just as I was tossing out the trash, my phone buzzed. Her reply was simple:
"Yes."
I called her immediately, and she answered just before the second ring.
"Good evening," Gabriella greeted, her voice clear but tinged with fatigue.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual. "How are you? Have you eaten?"
"Later, during my break," she replied. "I'm at the bar now."
"Ah," I said, glancing at the clock. "Sorry—am I bothering you?"
"No, it's still early," she assured me. "Not many people yet."
I let out a breath. "Got it. What time do you usually finish work?"
"It depends," she said. "Sometimes late, sometimes early. Depends on the crowd."
"And you're heading home alone?"
"No, I have friends. We usually take a tricycle together."
"Good," I murmured, though the concern still sat heavy in my chest. "Still—please be extra careful. I just wanted to check in. Hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay," she said softly. "I'm just not used to anyone checking on me."
"Well," I said, leaning back on the couch, "get used to it. I'll be checking in from now on."
There was a brief pause, then she said, "Thank you. Really."
"No problem," I said, smiling a little. "Don't get in trouble because of me. I'll let you go now."
"Bye," she said gently.
"Bye, Gabriella."
The line went dead, but her voice lingered in my mind, like a quiet echo I wasn't ready to let go of. There was something about her that stayed with me—even after the call ended.
The call ended, but I sat for a while, phone in hand, staring at the blank screen. There was something about her that stirred something in me. Something new… and something familiar.
Gabie's POV
Finishing the commercial shoot was a huge relief. I needed to shift my focus back to school. I had missed a day for the contract signing, so I rushed to catch up—begged my classmates for notes, checked for quizzes. They said there weren't any, but I reviewed anyway. I couldn't risk getting a low score. If I lost my scholarship, all this hard work would be for nothing.
I kept reminding myself: just a little more. Once I submit my thesis next semester, I'll finally graduate. Then maybe—just maybe—I can start saving for a new life. A new chapter.
One of our biggest dreams was buying the house we'd been renting. It wasn't big—a modest bungalow with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a combined kitchen and living area. The lot was only 150 square meters, enclosed by a simple iron gate. But it was ours—at least in our hearts. We'd moved around a lot before—always leaving when the rent got too high or the neighbors got too loud. But this place felt safe. It felt like home.
The owner had been hinting at selling it to us. Mama said if we had the money, he'd gladly let it go. And so, I promised myself: I'd graduate, find work, and buy this place. No more moving. No more starting over.
I was busy rereading notes when I noticed Mama checking herself in the mirror, fixing her hair, already dressed.
"Ma, are you leaving?" I asked, surprised.
"Someone will pick up some orders," she said, adjusting her blouse. "I might take a while."
"Aren't you going to tag me with you?" I frowned. Normally, she didn't let me stay home when she had deliveries—said the bags were too heavy for her to carry alone.
She smiled. "You look really busy; I don't want to bother you."
Without another word, I dashed to the bathroom. "Wait a minute! I'm coming with you!"
While I showered, she called out, "How's your school work going?"
"I finished my research earlier. I'm just waiting for my classmates to send me the notes from yesterday."
"Alright. I'll wait for you."
Mama and I chatted happily as we shopped for items to fulfill orders for her online business. Most of the things we bought were women's shoes and clothes, but there were also some children's clothes and men's accessories. She told me many of her customers were repeat buyers, so she lets them order items that aren't listed online. Since they've become regulars, they usually pay immediately when they see something they like.
I could see Mama was happy with what she was doing. I knew it was far from her original dream, since she didn't finish school after she got pregnant with me. She told me she and Papa got married, but I don't remember his face because he died before I was born. Mama doesn't have any pictures of him either—he left everything back in the province—so I have no idea what he looked like. I often imagined him whenever she described him.
"Mom, don't you miss Papa anymore?" I suddenly asked. The look of shock on her face showed I caught her off guard.
"Uhm, yes, sometimes I still think about him. Why do you ask all of a sudden?" she replied, nodding slowly before continuing to shop.
"It just popped into my head."
I entertained myself by watching the busy crowd—some teasing each other, others counting items or asking about colors, sizes, and designs.
"Are you tired?" Mama asked from behind me as I looked up at the bags hanging overhead.
"No, why? You look tired," I said.
"It's just hot. Let's wait here while they finish wrapping. I already paid for everything. Afterward, we'll get halo-halo (is a beloved Filipino dessert that translates to "mix-mix" in Tagalog. It's a refreshing combination of shaved ice, milk (often evaporated or coconut), and a variety of sweet ingredients like fruits, beans, and gelatinous treats.) to cool down," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. I didn't complain because if Mama found out I was tired, she might not have brought me along. I wanted to help her carry everything, especially since it's heavy and hard to walk to the boat alone.
"That sounds like a good idea!" I smiled, and Mama shook her head with a tired but happy smile.
"Mom, why don't you just rent a place to store your stock instead of hauling everything around all the time?" I asked.
"I thought about that before, but it's such a hassle. I'd have to hire someone to watch the place and a security guard because I can't do it alone. Plus, I can't just close the shop whenever I go shopping—it'd be a waste of income since I still have to pay rent and electricity. This way, I don't pay rent and don't have to hire anyone," she explained. I nodded, realizing she made a lot of sense.
"I guess if you rent a place, you'd need a lot of capital to fill it with goods just to cover the rent and expenses," I added.
"Exactly. So, I'm just content with whatever cash I have from the payments I receive," she said.
After our talk, we stopped by a nearby fast-food chain and ordered halo-halo and siopao (steam bun) to make sure we were full before continuing. Mama wanted us to eat first because we'd be heading straight to the bus station afterward—traffic was always heavy at that time. She always made sure we were full so that even if we got stuck, we wouldn't go hungry. Sometimes, if we passed someone selling food, Mama would buy it so we could eat on the bus. It was a bit embarrassing eating in front of strangers, especially when someone next to you couldn't help but watch.
It was already eight o'clock in the evening when we got home. We grabbed something to eat from a barbecue vendor on the way because we were too tired to cook. The trip was exhausting, especially with the heavy traffic. We also bought rice from a small karinderya (a common type of small, affordable eatery in the Philippines. They are known for serving up traditional Filipino dishes in a casual, often bustling, atmosphere.) nearby, but they were running out of food since they closed early.
Finally, home, Mama leaned back on the sofa and rested her feet on our small center table. I could tell she was exhausted.
"Wait a minute, I'll just serve the food so we can eat and then rest properly," I said without waiting for her response. I walked to the kitchen, put the food on the table, washed my hands, and called her to eat.
While we ate, I said, "You can sort out your stocks tomorrow, Mom. Just rest for now—I know you're really tired from all the walking." She smiled and nodded.
"I'll just organize a bit tonight so I can send orders early tomorrow," she said.
"Okay, I'll help after I wash up and get out of the kitchen."
"You really don't have anything to do now?"
"I'm just waiting for my classmates to send the notes I asked for," I replied.
Just then, I heard my phone ringing in my pocket. I quickly washed my hands to check who it was. I missed the call, but I saw it was Jhay. I knew he didn't like to waste time, so I waited a moment, expecting him to call again.