Chapter 2: The Money That Disappeared

Mark woke up at 7:43 in the morning to the sound of his phone vibrating beneath his pillow.

For several seconds, he did not move. His head throbbed, his eyes burned, and his mouth tasted like stale coffee. The room was already warm despite the electric fan spinning beside his bed. On his desk, the computer remained on, displaying the login screen of the game he had abandoned sometime before dawn.

He reached for his phone.

Three missed calls from his supervisor.

Seven messages from the office group chat.

And one message from Mika.

Mark, I left breakfast on the table. Please don't forget to eat. Also, we need to talk about the electricity bill tonight.

He read the last sentence twice.

We need to talk.

He hated those words.

They never meant anything good. Nobody ever said they needed to talk when they wanted to praise him, give him money, or tell him how wonderful he was. They said it when they had complaints, when they wanted explanations, when they had decided that something he had done was no longer acceptable.

He typed a reply.

Okay.

Then he threw the phone onto the bed and closed his eyes again.

His supervisor called.

Mark let it ring until it stopped.

A minute later, another message arrived.

Mark, where are you? You're already late. Please advise.

He sat up, rubbed his face, and stared at the time.

For a moment, he considered going to work. He could shower quickly, buy breakfast downstairs, and arrive before anyone had the chance to make a big deal out of his lateness.

But then he remembered how tired he was.

He had barely slept four hours. His head hurt. His concentration was gone. Even if he went to the office, he would spend the entire day staring at spreadsheets while other people told him what to do.

What difference would one more absence make?

He sent a message saying he was not feeling well.

It was not entirely a lie. He did feel unwell. He simply chose not to examine the reasons too closely.

After sending the message, he lay back down.

At 10:26 a.m., he woke again.

The first thing he did was check the betting application.

The balance remained painfully low.

He stared at the numbers, calculating how much he would need to recover his losses. If he could make a modest profit today, he could replace the money he had used for the electricity bill. He could even have something left over.

He knew he should stop.

That thought appeared briefly, like a pedestrian crossing a busy road. He noticed it, acknowledged it, and continued walking in the opposite direction.

He opened the app.

There was a match later that afternoon. He studied the odds, read a few comments, and watched a short analysis video. The more information he gathered, the more confident he became.

This was not the same as gambling blindly, he told himself.

He was researching.

There was a difference between a man who threw away money and a man who understood probabilities. The fact that both men could lose did not make them the same.

Mark liked that distinction.

It allowed him to look at himself in the mirror without asking too many questions.

His phone rang.

His mother.

He almost declined the call, but something made him answer.

“Hello?”

“Anak, gising ka na ba?”

“Oo, Ma.”

“Bakit parang kakagising mo lang? May pasok ka, di ba?”

Mark glanced at the clock.

“Rest day ko.”

It was another lie, delivered so smoothly that he almost admired himself for it.

His mother continued talking about ordinary things. His aunt had visited the previous afternoon. His younger cousin was looking for work. Their water bill had increased. She asked whether he had been eating properly and whether he and Mika were getting along.

“Okay naman kami,” he said.

“Good. You know, anak, your father and I are getting older. We can't keep worrying about you forever.”

Mark's expression changed.

There it was again. The familiar sermon, arriving even when he had not asked for it.

“Ma, I'm already an adult.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you keep talking to me like I'm a child?”

His mother fell silent.

Mark felt a small surge of satisfaction. He had defended himself. He had established a boundary. He was tired of being treated as though every decision he made needed to be approved by someone older.

“I just want you to be okay,” she said eventually.

“I'm fine.”

“Your father told me you borrowed money from him last month.”

Mark sat up.

“Why is Papa telling you everything?”

“Because he was worried.”

“It's not even a big amount.”

“Anak, that's not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Ma?”

His voice grew louder. He could feel the familiar heat rising in his chest, that unpleasant sensation of being cornered by people who seemed determined to interpret everything he did in the worst possible way.

“I have plans. I'm trying to improve my life. But every time I do something, everyone acts like I'm a failure.”

“I didn't say you're a failure.”

“You don't have to say it.”

He ended the call before she could respond.

For a few seconds, he sat motionless, staring at his phone.

He knew his mother had not called to insult him. He knew she had been worried. Some small, inconvenient part of him recognized that she had every reason to be.

But recognizing something and accepting it were two different matters.

He put the phone down.

Then he opened the betting application again.

---

Mika arrived home shortly after six in the evening.

She found Mark sitting at the computer, wearing the same shirt he had worn the night before. A plate of untouched food sat beside him. The electric fan was pointed directly at his chair, and the curtains were drawn against the fading daylight.

“Hindi ka pumasok?”

Mark did not turn around.

“I wasn't feeling well.”

“Did you see a doctor?”

“No.”

“Did you at least rest?”

“I'm resting now, aren't I?”

Mika placed her bag on the table.

She had spent the entire day at work thinking about the electricity bill, the money she had given him, and the strange feeling that she was becoming more like his mother than his girlfriend.

She did not want that.

She wanted to come home and talk about her day. She wanted to tell him about the colleague who had made her laugh, the new project she had been assigned, and the small amount she had managed to save that month.

She wanted to discuss their future without feeling as though she were asking for something unreasonable.

Instead, she was standing in front of a man who could not spare her a full minute of attention.

“Mark, we need to talk.”

He sighed.

“Can we not do this right now?”

“When, then?”

“Later.”

“You always say later.”

“And you always want to talk about something.”

Mika looked at him.

“Because there are things we need to talk about.”

“Like what?”

“The electricity bill. The money I gave you. Your absences at work. The fact that you barely sleep anymore.”

Mark turned his chair toward her.

“Wow. So you've been keeping a list?”

“I'm not keeping a list.”

“It sounds like one.”

“I'm worried about you.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Everybody's worried about me. My mother, my father, my girlfriend. Apparently, I'm the only person who doesn't know how to live.”

Mika took a slow breath.

“I'm not saying you don't know how to live. I'm saying I'm tired of worrying about things that you won't take responsibility for.”

The words landed harder than she intended.

Mark stared at her.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to grow quieter. Even the fan's rattling sounded distant.

Then his face hardened.

“So that's what you think of me.”

“Mark—”

“You think I'm irresponsible.”

“I think you're making irresponsible decisions.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it's not.”

He stood up.

“Do you know what my problem is? I have people around me who never believe in me. You all want me to live like everybody else. Wake up, go to work, pay bills, come home, sleep, repeat. Is that all there is to life?”

Mika stared at him in disbelief.

“There's nothing wrong with working and paying your bills.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

“Why?”

“Because you're satisfied with your little life.”

She went very still.

He saw the expression on her face and knew, somewhere beneath his anger, that he had crossed a line.

But apologizing would mean admitting that she had every right to criticize him. It would mean surrendering the argument.

So he continued.

“You don't understand what it's like to want something bigger. You don't understand what it's like to know you're capable of more.”

Mika's eyes filled with tears, although she refused to let them fall.

“And what exactly are you doing to become more, Mark?”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

For one terrible second, he saw himself as she might see him: a man in a cramped bedroom, avoiding work, losing money, and explaining his failures as evidence of his untapped potential.

The image was unbearable.

He looked away.

“Forget it.”

“No. I want to understand.”

“Then stop questioning everything I do!”

Mika flinched.

Mark immediately regretted raising his voice. Not because he had frightened her, but because he could see that she was no longer trying to win the argument.

She looked tired.

That was worse.

Anger meant she still expected something from him. Disappointment meant she was beginning to give up.

He could not bear the thought of that, so he did what he always did when he felt her slipping away.

He reached for the one thing he knew she still wanted to believe.

“I'll fix everything,” he said.

Mika looked at him.

“I'll pay the bill. I'll make up for the money. I'll go to work tomorrow. Okay? Just give me a little time.”

“How much time?”

“A few days.”

“You said that last week.”

“Then give me another week.”

She closed her eyes.

“Mark, I can't keep doing this.”

“You're acting like I'm asking you for something impossible.”

“I'm asking you to keep your promises.”

He had no answer for that.

Mika picked up her bag and walked into the bedroom.

He watched her go.

He wanted to call after her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was trying, that she should not judge him by the worst moments of his life.

But he did not say any of those things.

Instead, he sat down at his computer.

His phone vibrated.

A message from Jethro appeared on the screen.

Pre, may laro tayo mamaya? Rank grind. Need one more win.

Mark stared at the message.

One more win.

The words felt like an invitation, an escape, and a promise all at once.

He put on his headset.

From the bedroom, he could hear Mika moving quietly around the room. She was probably preparing for bed. Perhaps she was crying. Perhaps she was thinking about leaving him.

He told himself she would calm down.

She always did.

He entered the game lobby and accepted Jethro's invitation.

The familiar music filled his ears. The screen brightened. For the first time that evening, he felt comfortable again.

Here, at least, nobody asked him about electricity bills. Nobody asked where the money had gone. Nobody looked at him with disappointment.

Here, he still had a chance to win.

And for Mark Villanueva, that was enough.

For now.