CHAPTER 2- Five years later

Chapter 2- Five years later

(Aleira’s Point of View)

“Mommy, can I wear the sparkly headband today?”

Lara stood in front of me, holding her favorite glittery pink accessory like it was made of diamonds. Her eyes—bright, wide, and full of life—were the only constant in a world that never stopped testing us.

“Only if you promise not to trade it for cookies at school again,” I teased, tying the last knot on her ponytail and smoothing down a frizzy curl.

She giggled, pressing her nose against mine. “Promise! But only because Miss Gina said I shouldn’t trade accessories anymore.”

I laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good girl.”

Five years.

That’s how long it’s been since the night I was left standing in the rain—alone, pregnant, and utterly shattered. Five long, relentless years of learning to survive in a world that didn’t stop to ask if I was okay. Five years of learning to become a mother, a provider, a fighter—even when I felt like I had nothing left to give.

And yet, here I am.

Not whole. Not unscarred. But still standing.

We lived in a cramped but decent apartment on the quieter side of the city—three small rooms stacked together like Lego blocks above a bakery that smelled of burnt bread at sunrise and a hardware store that never stopped playing ‘90s OPM love songs. The walls were thin, the plumbing was moody, and the stairs creaked with secrets. But it was our sanctuary. It was home.

It was two jeepney rides away from everything important: Lara’s daycare, the grocery store, and the office building where I’d worked for almost five years.

Until I lost that job two weeks ago.

False accusations. Sabotage. A whisper here, a planted mistake there. Someone framed me for mishandling client records—someone who clearly wanted me out of the way. I tried to defend myself—explained that I double-checked every file, showed them my audit logs. But no one listened. No one cared.

I was the single mom in HR—easy to blame, easier to discard.

And so they did.

No hearing. No warning. Just a stiff conversation in a glass-walled room, followed by an escort from the security guard as if I were some criminal. After nearly five years of hard work and overtime, I walked out with nothing but a box of personal items and a thank-you letter that didn’t even bother to include my full name.

My savings were dwindling faster than I could manage. Rent was due in two weeks, and Lara’s tuition hovered over me like a silent threat. Every peso had to be stretched, every meal carefully measured. I had started skipping dinners again.

Still—I didn’t cry.

I wanted to.

But when you’re a mother, there’s no time to fall apart. You move. You push. You pretend. Because someone smaller is watching, and their world depends on you keeping yours together.

“Do I look pretty, Mommy?” Lara asked, twirling in her faded dress that once belonged to a cousin.

“You look like a queen,” I whispered, kneeling to kiss her soft forehead. “Now let’s go before the rain beats us.”

We left just after six, riding a half-full jeepney that smelled faintly of diesel and roasted peanuts. Lara sang softly beside me, her voice a little melody that chased away the gloom in my heart. The sky was painted in shades of gray, as if the clouds were mourning something they couldn’t name.

At the daycare, I knelt to adjust her tiny backpack straps.

“Be brave today,” I said, brushing a kiss on her cheek.

“You too, Mommy,” she replied, squeezing my hand before running to her teacher.

I stood outside for a while after she went in, watching her laugh with the other kids, wishing I could bottle that energy—her joy, her strength, her ability to find magic in the smallest things. I’d give anything to protect it.

I spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Résumé copies in my bag, umbrella tucked under my arm, a hopeful smile plastered on my face. I walked into offices, handed out applications, and listened to rehearsed lines from receptionists who barely looked me in the eye.

One HR officer flipped through my résumé with disinterest. “You’re a mother?” she asked. “Will that affect your availability?”

“No,” I answered firmly. “It strengthens it.”

She didn’t look convinced.

By afternoon, my feet ached and my pride felt trampled. I sat under a waiting shed as the first drizzle of rain began. My umbrella had broken earlier—one of the metal ribs snapped, flapping like a bird with a broken wing.

I pulled out my phone and checked my email. Nothing but rejection letters and spam ads for fast cash loans. I almost clicked one out of desperation.

Almost.

That’s when I saw it—buried between random job posts and apartment listings.

“Now Hiring: Executive Administrative Assistant – Montenegro Group of Companies.”

The name hit me like a cold wave.

Montenegro.

I hadn’t heard it in years.

Brent.

The name whispered itself into my bones. The memory flickered like a forgotten dream—flashlights in the rain, his coat draped over my shoulders, his strong arms pulling me to safety, the calm power in his eyes.

And the way he looked at me—not with pity, but with… something else.

Respect.

Kindness.

Recognition.

I remembered clutching that coat for weeks afterward, like it was armor. I’d mailed it back eventually, when the scent of it began to fade and I knew I had to let it go. No note. Just a clean jacket and a silent thank-you.

Now here it was again.

His company.

His world.

A chance.

My thumb hovered over the "Apply Now" button. My heart pounded. Could I really do this?

Could someone like me—blacklisted, single mom, fired under suspicion—really walk into the office of one of the most powerful CEOs in the country?

I didn’t click it.

Not yet.

But I saved the listing. Reread it. Memorized every qualification. I leaned back against the bench, eyes closed, breathing in the rain-soaked air.

Something inside me stirred.

I wasn’t ready. Not today. But maybe soon.

Because something deep in me refused to die—not my hope, not my fire, and definitely not my fight.

I got up, straightened my blouse, and headed to my next interview. Another office. Another opportunity. Another maybe.

That night, after putting Lara to bed, I sat at our small dining table with a half-empty cup of coffee and reopened the job listing. Montenegro Group. Executive Assistant. Confidential post, but rumors online hinted that the assistant would be reporting directly to the CEO.

Brent Montenegro.

The man who saved me once… and had no idea who I really was.

I stared at the job post like it was destiny staring back at me. And maybe it was.

The rest of the week was a blur of survival. Stretching food. Skipping meals. Pretending not to be exhausted. I made every coin count. Lara and I played board games made from scrap paper. I told her bedtime stories about brave queens and clever little girls—my way of telling her that being small doesn’t mean being weak.

One afternoon, I came home to find Lara asleep on the floor with a crayon still in her hand. On the paper beside her, she’d drawn a crooked house, stick figures of us, and a lopsided crown on her head. The caption, in her childlike handwriting, said:

"Me and Mommy in our castle."

It shattered me.

She still believed in us. Still thought I was magic.

I touched her hair and made a silent vow—I would build her that castle. Even if it started with a desk job in a skyscraper that bore the name of a man I barely knew.

A man who once gave me warmth when I was drowning in cold.

On Sunday, I visited Julie—an old college friend and one of the few people who hadn’t vanished from my life after Lara was born. She poured me coffee and gave me pandesal with leftover adobo flakes, as if we were still back in our dorm, living off instant noodles and dreams.

“You okay, Lei?” she asked, gently watching me over the rim of her mug.

“I’m managing,” I replied. “Barely, but still standing.”

She nodded, then perked up. “You ever think of going corporate again? I heard the Montenegro Group is hiring. Assistant to a board director, I think.”

My stomach flipped.

“You know who?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“No name posted, but my cousin in HR said it’s someone big. Maybe the CEO himself.”

There it was. The confirmation I didn’t even know I needed.

Later that night, I sat alone with the lights dimmed. Lara was fast asleep, clutching her stuffed rabbit. I opened my laptop and began updating my résumé—removing the bitterness, highlighting the growth. Every word was chosen carefully, every line a piece of me.

I wasn’t the same girl Brent met five years ago.

I was stronger.

Smarter.

Determined.

I stared at the completed file. My finger hovered once more over the "Apply" button.

And then…

Click.

Done.

A soft wind swept through the window, rustling the curtains as if the night itself was whispering: Something’s coming.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe it was redemption.

Maybe it was him.

Whatever it was, I was ready.

Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel invisible.

I felt seen.

And I had a feeling Brent Montenegro and I were about to cross paths again—only this time, I wouldn’t be the girl lost in the rain.

This time, I would be the woman who walked into his empire… and left her mark.