Outside, the city lights felt harsh against her skin, so she crossed the street toward the small church nearby — the one they'd passed on their first trip to Manila.
Inside, the scent of burning candles and polished wood wrapped around her like a balm.
Ignacio followed quietly, stepping beside her as she sank into a pew.
She didn't speak at first. Instead, she watched the flickering candles, the quiet faces carved in stone.
Finally, her voice came low and raw. "I'm not sad because I can't have a child."
Ignacio's eyes met hers. "Then why?"
She swallowed hard. "Because I saw a mother and baby tonight… and I remembered."
"Ria?" His hand found hers again.
She nodded, eyes glistening. "I hate that I remember. That I miss a child I never even held."
He squeezed her hand gently. "You're not alone."
The church felt like a quiet refuge from a world that demanded perfection and legacy.
For now, in the flickering candlelight, they could simply be two people holding onto each other — broken, hopeful, and real.
The pew felt cool beneath her palms. The scent of melted wax lingered in the stillness. A few scattered candles flickered near the altar, casting soft, uneven light across the empty space.
Hilda's voice broke the silence, low and uncertain.
"I feel… Ria is more than just a baby we funded, Ignus."
Ignacio turned slightly toward her. He didn't speak, just waited.
"I mean, I know we didn't adopt her. But I felt something tonight. I remembered her again when I saw that baby. And it hurt… but not because of the woman's words."
She paused, searching for what it was exactly.
"My heart ached… because everyone sees me as someone who doesn't have a child. But I remembered Ria in that moment. And I felt—" her voice cracked, "like maybe I do."
Ignacio's eyes didn't leave her face. "You're confused… like me?"
She gave a soft laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So we're both confused?"
He looked toward the altar where the statue of Christ stood quietly above them, his arms open, steady. "Maybe we ask Him," Ignacio said. "Sometimes He brings someone into your life, not by blood… but as part of a plan. Maybe Ria is part of that plan. That's what I think."
They sat together for a moment, watching the flicker of the candles.
Then, without a word, they both bowed their heads and prayed — quietly, not for answers, just for some kind of peace.
After the prayer, Ignacio reached for the Bible on the pew shelf and set it gently between them. They both placed their hands over the cover, then opened it together, eyes still closed.
When they looked down, their fingers had landed on the same page.
Hilda's breath caught in her throat as she read softly, "Psalm 113:9… 'He gives the childless woman a family, making her a happy mother.'"
Her voice trembled. Ignacio didn't say anything — he just looked at her, stunned, a quiet wonder in his expression.
They didn't speak on the way home. They didn't need to.
That verse stayed with them — like a quiet answer to a question they hadn't known how to ask.
The dinner hall of the Geraldine mansion was warm with conversation and clinking cutlery. Ignacio and Hilda entered quietly, their expressions unreadable. The family looked up, expecting a continuation of the earlier party talk, but Ignacio stood still.
"Dad," Ignacio began, "we need to talk."
Charles looked up from his seat. "The woman's comment at the event? Forget it, Ignus. It was handled."
"No, not that," Ignacio said gently. "This is… something else."
Everyone turned toward them now.
He exhaled, voice steady. "Eleven months ago, during a business trip to India, we met a newborn. She was just two days old. Her name's Ria—Hilda named her. The orphanage was underfunded and overwhelmed, so we offered to be her legal guardians temporarily."
Maria's expression softened. "That was kind of you, Ignus. You saved a child."
Ignacio hesitated, then looked to Hilda. "Mom… we want to adopt her. Not as a temporary arrangement anymore. We want to bring Ria home."
There was a pause.
Maria's face tightened. "But… why? Ignacio, Hilda—there's no shame in infertility. But adoption—why not try here, in the Philippines? Why now?"
Hilda stepped forward, calm, her voice soft but certain. "It's not about filling a void. It's not about trying every option. I didn't fall in love with the idea of adoption—I fell in love with Ria. When I held her, I felt like my waiting had meaning. Not for a child—just… for her."
She met Maria's eyes. "She has no known family. No background. No ties to this country. But I don't want to search for those. I don't need her to be a Geraldine by birth. I just need her. I know she's mine."
Charles frowned slightly. "But Hilda, if it's a child you wish for… we could help find one here. There are many children who need homes. And… why not a boy? You know, for the name—"
Hilda didn't flinch. "Because it's not about a name. It's not about legacy. I didn't choose Ria. She found me."
There was silence.
Ignacio smiled gently. "We even chose her name ourselves. Giving her a name... felt like claiming her. Like being chosen too. If you saw her, you'd understand. She's sweet. Full of light. I really think Aron would love her."
He turned to his brother's six-year-old son. "Right, Aron?"
Aron giggled and nodded.
Infanto leaned back in his chair. "Mom, Dad… they're not asking for approval out of pressure. They've waited eleven years without saying a word. This is the first time they've asked—to bring home one specific child. Isn't that worth listening to?"
Hanna added quietly, "They never let it define them. Never made it anyone else's burden. And now, for once, they're asking—not for sympathy, but for Ria. Maybe this isn't a decision for blood or name. Maybe it's something bigger."
Charles was quiet, fingers folded. His voice, when it came, was careful. "It's not a small decision, kids. It's about legacy, yes—but more than that, it's about all of you. All of us. Give me some time. Let me think it through."
Ignacio and Hilda nodded.
They understood. Legacy had weight.
But tonight, something had shifted. For the first time, that weight was shared.
In their room, late at night
Hilda looked up at Ignacio, worry in her eyes.
"Do you think your dad will agree?"
Ignacio sighed softly.
"He's… traditional. But he also cares about how we feel. I think he'll understand. We just have to hope."
Hilda bit her lip.
"But Ignus… if we ever had a child of our own, they'd want a boy. They might never fully accept Ria. What if they end up hating her?"
Ignacio reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.
"Don't think like that. Ria's wonderful. And when they meet her, I think they'll see it too. We'll make sure she's one of us."
Hilda nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through.
The next morning, Charles called them to the study
His tone was steady, thoughtful.
"We'll see the child first. Then we decide. If anyone in this family can't accept her… then we won't do this. Agreed?"
They both nodded firmly.
Plans were made—flights booked for Mumbai.