Months passed. The news cycles moved on. Nasugbu began to heal. I visited the memorial sanctuary once. It was beautiful, wild, and peaceful. Standing there, looking out at the ocean she had loved, I felt the sharp edge of my grief finally begin to soften.
I wasn't forgetting her. I was just learning to carry the memory without it breaking me. The promise I'd made wasn't a chain; it was an anchor. It had kept her here until her work was done, and now it was keeping me steady as I learned to live in a world without her in it.