Chapter 5: The Woman He Blamed For Everything

Mark had begun to hate the sound of Mikaela’s keys.

It was a small, ordinary sound—the metal scraping against the lock, followed by the soft click of the door—but whenever he heard it, something inside him tightened. He would glance at the time, lower the volume of his game, and prepare himself for the inevitable questions.

Have you eaten?

Did you go to work today?

Did you pay Paolo?

What happened to the money?

He hated those questions.

More than that, he hated the woman who asked them.

Mikaela had a way of making him feel like a man who had failed at life, even when she was only asking whether they had enough money for dinner. She never needed to shout. Sometimes she barely needed to speak. Her tired eyes and the way she counted bills at the kitchen table were enough to make him feel exposed.

And because Mark could not bear the thought that the shame belonged to him, he decided it belonged to her instead.

That Thursday evening, Mika came home carrying two plastic bags from the grocery store. She placed them on the counter and began putting away the eggs, canned sardines, and vegetables she had bought on sale.

“May tira pa tayong rice,” she said. “Pero next week, kailangan na nating bumili ng gasul. And the internet bill is coming.”

Mark kept his eyes on his phone.

“Can you not do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make a list of everything wrong with my life the moment you get home.”

Mika paused with a can of sardines in her hand.

“I’m talking about our bills, Mark.”

“Exactly. Bills, bills, bills. Is that all you think about?”

She looked at him. “What else am I supposed to think about? We live together.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m living with my mother.”

“Then maybe start acting like an adult.”

The words came out before she could soften them.

Mark slowly lowered his phone.

There it was. The insult he had been waiting for, the proof he could use to justify everything he had been feeling.

“Wow,” he said, laughing without humor. “So that’s what you think of me?”

Mika exhaled. “I didn’t say you were a bad person.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Mark, please. I just want us to be okay.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m useless.”

“I'm not treating you like you're useless. I'm asking you to help me.”

“Because apparently, nothing I do is ever enough for you.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

He had not paid the electricity bill in full. He had borrowed money from Paolo and had not returned it. He had missed work twice that month. Just yesterday, she had found him asleep with his headset still on while an unopened notice about their internet payment sat on the table.

And somehow, he was the injured party.

“Do you even hear yourself?” she asked quietly.

Mark hated that tone most of all. Not anger. Not tears. That calm, exhausted voice that made him feel as though she had already begun giving up on him.

“Honestly, Mika, you’re exhausting.”

She turned back to the groceries.

He watched her arrange their cheap dinner ingredients with the efficiency of someone who had learned to stretch every peso. He knew she had skipped buying herself a new pair of shoes because the soles of his slippers had split and she had bought him a replacement pair instead.

He knew.

That was what made it worse.

Her sacrifices should have made him grateful. Instead, they made him feel indebted, and he despised anyone who could remind him that he owed something.

“You know what your problem is?” he said.

Mika closed the cupboard. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You think being responsible makes you better than everyone else.”

She faced him again. “No. I think being responsible is necessary when you share a home with someone.”

“You always have to be right.”

“Because you never admit when you're wrong!”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Mark smiled—not because anything was funny, but because he had found a way to hurt her.

“Maybe you just like having someone beneath you,” he said. “Makes you feel important, doesn't it? You get to play the hardworking girlfriend while I’m the loser you can complain about to your friends.”

Mika’s expression changed.

He saw it. He knew exactly where the words had landed.

And instead of stopping, he continued.

“Maybe that’s why you’re still here. You like feeling needed. Without me, what would you even have to talk about?”

The kitchen became unbearably quiet.

Mika slowly put the last can away.

“Is that really what you think of me?”

Mark shrugged. “You asked.”

“No. I’m asking if you actually believe that.”

He looked away first, irritated by the question because it required an honest answer. The truth was that he did not believe it—not entirely. He knew Mika had a life beyond him, friends who cared about her, work she took seriously, and dreams she rarely mentioned anymore because there was never enough room for them in their conversations.

But he could not stand the possibility that she might eventually realize she did not need him.

So he made her feel small before she could leave him behind.

“Forget it,” he muttered, putting his headset back on. “You always turn everything into drama.”

Mika remained standing in the kitchen.

He could have apologized. He could have taken her hand and admitted that he was scared, ashamed, and tired of feeling as though every day was another reminder of what he had failed to become.

Instead, he opened his game.

The familiar music filled his ears. His teammates were already waiting. Jethro sent a message asking if he was ready to rank up.

Mark typed back.

G na. May kasama lang akong reklamador dito.

He laughed when Jethro responded with a string of laughing emojis.

Behind him, Mika picked up her bag and walked into the bedroom.

He heard the door close.

For several seconds, he stared at it.

Then he turned up the volume.

---

Later that night, Mika came out to drink water. Mark was still playing, his face illuminated by the screen.

“Mark,” she said.

“What?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Can it wait?”

“No. I want to know if you still want to be with me.”

His fingers stopped moving.

It was a ridiculous question, he thought. After everything he had to deal with, she was asking him to reassure her? Wasn't she supposed to be the one who understood him?

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I don't feel like you even like me anymore.”

He removed one side of his headset.

“Maybe I'm tired of being treated like a disappointment.”

“I have never asked you to be perfect.”

“Could've fooled me.”

Mika swallowed. “I ask you to be honest with me. I ask you to help with the bills. I ask you to stop borrowing money you can't pay back. Is that really too much?”

He looked at her, and for one brief second, he saw the woman who had stayed awake waiting for him, who had lent him money without keeping score, who had defended him when her friends asked whether he was treating her well.

He saw all of it.

Then he remembered how she had looked at him that afternoon when she told him to act like an adult.

He decided that look was unforgivable.

“Maybe I would be happier if you stopped acting like you owned me,” he said.

Mika's eyes filled, but she did not cry.

“I don't want to own you, Mark. I want to be loved by you.”

The words should have reached him.

Instead, they irritated him so deeply that he wanted her to stop speaking.

“Then maybe you're asking the wrong person.”

Mika went completely still.

Mark heard his own words. He understood what they meant. Yet when he saw the hurt on her face, he felt an ugly, fleeting satisfaction.

For once, she had nothing to say.

She turned around and walked back to the bedroom.

This time, she did not close the door gently.

Mark waited for her to return. He expected another argument, another demand that he explain himself, another chance to tell her that she was making everything worse.

She never came back out.

His phone vibrated.

Jethro: Bro, next game?

Mark stared at the message, then typed, Oo.

He told himself Mika was overreacting. He told himself couples said things they didn't mean. He told himself she would wake up tomorrow, make coffee, and return to her usual routine because she always did.

What he did not tell himself was that he had begun to resent her for loving him in ways that made his excuses impossible to ignore.

He wanted her loyalty without her questions. Her money without her concerns. Her presence without her needs.

He wanted to be loved without ever being asked to change.

And as he entered another match, Mark made a decision he would never admit aloud.

If Mika was going to keep making him feel like a failure, he would make her regret ever believing she could expect more from him.

He didn't know yet how he would do it.

But he was already looking for someone to blame.