Martin called Sheila as he made his way to her house, but she didn't answer.
Strange.
Their three-day business trip had just ended, and he was looking forward to unwinding with Sheila. Maybe she was just busy, he reasoned, brushing it off. Still, he sent her a quick text, excited to see her.
You're really something, Martin, he thought with a chuckle, shaking his head at himself.
He was home now, alone. The house was quiet except for the occasional footsteps of the housekeepers who ensured everything remained tidy. For now, he needed rest—mental rest most of all.
Later, Martin jolted awake. He felt a presence beside him on the bed. Confused, he turned—but no one was there. He was still alone.
Brushing it off as a dream, he closed his eyes again—but then he felt it.
Eyes watching him.
He opened his eyes and froze. A child in a white dress stood by the bed, silent and still. Martin sat up quickly, heart pounding, staring in disbelief.
The child didn't move. She only gazed at him.
And then—she vanished.
He rubbed his eyes, his sleepiness gone in an instant.
Was that... a ghost? he wondered, shaken.
Irritated and disturbed, he got up and left the room.
"Manang," he called out to his elderly housemaid.
She appeared quickly, startled to be addressed so urgently. "Y-Yes, sir Martin?"
"Has Sharlene been here recently?" he asked bluntly.
The maid hesitated, taken aback. "Ma'am Sharlene hasn't been here at all, sir," she replied nervously.
"Don't lie to me. I'm the one paying your salary," Martin said sharply.
"I swear, sir. Ma'am Sharlene hasn't come back," she replied, her voice trembling with fear.
Martin studied her face carefully. She seemed honest. He finally nodded and dismissed her.
What's going on with me? he thought.
Glancing at the time, he realized it was still early. An idea struck him—he'd visit Ashley. Maybe that would ease his conscience.
He went to the garage and drove straight to the hospital.
When he arrived, he headed to the ICU, only to find Ashley's bed empty. Confused, he paced around the ward, unsure if he'd gone to the wrong area.
A nearby nurse had been watching him. He approached the station.
"Excuse me, Nurse, may I ask something?"
"Yes, sir?" she replied kindly.
"The patient—Ashley Francisco. What happened to her?"
"And your relationship to the patient?" she asked.
Martin hesitated. "I'm... a close relative."
She nodded, accepting his answer. "She's been moved to a private room on the 4th floor."
Martin's brows furrowed. "She's been moved? Has she... recovered?"
"She's still in a coma," the nurse said gently. "But she's fighting. The treatment is helping—the blood clot is slowly dissolving."
Still in a coma... Martin's heart sank.
"Thank you. What room number?"
Once the nurse gave the number, Martin went upstairs. Outside the door, he paused, unsure whether he had the courage to go in. Finally, he turned the knob and stepped inside.
There she was—Ashley—small and fragile in the hospital bed, surrounded by IVs and medication.
He looked around for someone—Sharlene, or perhaps her siblings—but saw no one.
He quietly approached, sitting beside his daughter. Almost three weeks had passed since the accident. Her wounds were healing, and the bruises had begun to fade.
Despite everything, she was still his child.
A movement at the door caught his eye.
Sharlene stood there, silently watching him.
Their eyes met. Neither of them spoke.
"I just came to visit her," Martin finally said.
Sharlene nodded. "You're still her father. I won't stop you from being that."
With nothing more to say, Martin stepped out of the room. He exhaled deeply and headed straight to the hospital cashier.
"Excuse me," he said. "Can you tell me how much is owed for Ashley Francisco?"
"And what is your relationship to the patient?" the cashier asked.
"I'm her father," Martin answered without hesitation.
The cashier checked the records and nodded. "Your wife has already settled most of the ICU charges. The remaining balance is one hundred thousand and twenty-five pesos."
"Is that the total amount owed now?" he clarified.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you accept credit cards?"
"We do."
Martin nodded. "I'll settle the full amount—and include an advance payment as well."
"How much would you like to advance, sir?"
"One hundred thousand."
The cashier proceeded with the transaction. As Martin waited, he sighed.
This is how I start making things right for Ashley, he thought.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
"Sheila," he murmured as he answered.
"Sorry, I couldn't answer earlier. I'm swamped with work on this case," she said.
"It's fine," Martin replied.
"Thanks, hon. Where are you now?"
"At the hospital. I came to see the child."
"Oh, okay. I love you. See you later."
"See you soon. I'm heading there now."
Martin hung up as the cashier handed him some papers to sign. Once the payment was done, he took his card and left.
He drove straight to Sheila's house.