Kabanata 3

Kabanata 3

The cab smelled faintly of air freshener and sweat, the kind of scent I didn’t realize I had missed until now. I sat by the window, hugging my handbag tightly on my lap as the driver navigated through Manila traffic.

Outside, the city blurred past me, billboards stacked high above the streets, jeepneys painted in vibrant colors, vendors pushing carts along the sidewalks. Everything looked the same, yet different. After five years in Spain, Manila felt overwhelming, too alive, too raw.

“Galing po kayo abroad, Ma’am?” tanong ng driver, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

I managed a small smile. “Oo. Spain.”

He nodded knowingly. “Kaya pala. Halatang matagal na kayong wala dito.”

I chuckled softly, but it quickly faded as my gaze returned to the streets. My chest grew heavy. I wasn’t coming back as a tourist or a balikbayan excited to see relatives. I was coming back to a hospital bed… to a father I hadn’t spoken to in years.

I pressed my palm against the cool window, watching as raindrops began to scatter across the glass. Manila rain came sudden, unpredictable, heavy. Just like the emotions I was carrying.

What if I’m too late?

The thought made my throat tighten. Images of Papa flashed in my head, the stern man who scolded me for “wasting” my time in fashion, the cold silence at dinner after I chose my course. But then there were the softer fragments too, uninvited memories that hurt more the way he once carried me on his shoulders during a town fiesta, or the rare smile when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I shook my head, biting my lip. I shouldn’t remember those now. I need to be strong.

“San po tayo mismo sa hospital, Ma’am?” the driver asked, breaking my thoughts.

“St. Luke’s, Global City,” I replied quickly. My voice came out steadier than I felt.

The driver nodded and focused back on the road.

I leaned back, clutching my phone in my hand. Mama hadn’t replied to my last message yet. I wondered if she was too busy at the hospital, or if things had gotten worse.

Every red light felt like torture, every slow crawl of traffic like a punishment. My nails dug into my palm as the cab inched closer and closer to BGC.

And then, as the bright hospital building finally came into view, my heart dropped. The glowing letters of St. Luke’s felt like a final gateway.

I swallowed hard, whispering to myself, “I’m here, Papa.”

But I couldn’t tell if it was anger, fear, or longing that made my voice shake.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of St. Luke’s. My chest rose and fell quickly as I stared at the bright glass doors of the hospital. For a moment, I couldn’t move. My hand tightened around the handle of my bag as if letting go meant stepping into a reality I wasn’t ready for.

“Ma’am, andito na po tayo,” sabi ng driver.

I blinked, forcing myself to nod. “Ah—yes, thank you.” My voice came out faint.

After paying, I stepped out into the drizzle. The scent of rain mixed with the sterile smell that always lingered around hospitals. My heels clicked against the pavement as I dragged my suitcase toward the entrance. Every step felt heavier than the last.

The sliding doors opened with a soft hiss, and suddenly I was inside. The cold air-conditioning hit me, a sharp contrast to the humid air outside. White walls, polished floors, the faint beep of monitors echoing from the corridors, it was all too familiar, too sterile, too suffocating.

And then—

“Anak.”

I froze. That voice. That gentle voice I had missed and avoided all at once. Slowly, I turned my head.

Mama.

She was standing just a few feet away, her eyes red and swollen from crying. For a moment, time stood still. The years apart disappeared, and all I saw was my mother—the woman who had always been caught between me and Papa, the woman who carried both our burdens silently.

“Mama…” My lips trembled as I whispered her name.

She rushed toward me, pulling me into a tight embrace before I could even put my suitcase down. I buried my face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of home that clung to her clothes.

“Anak, salamat at dumating ka,” she said, her voice breaking. “Akala ko… akala ko hindi mo na kami babalikan.”

Hot tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them. I hugged her tighter, feeling both guilt and relief wash over me. “I’m sorry, Ma… I’m so sorry.”

We stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other in the middle of the hospital lobby, as if afraid to let go.

When she finally pulled back, she cupped my face in her hands, studying me as though making sure I was real. Then her expression softened.

“Your Papa… he’s been waiting.”

At the mention of him, my heart twisted. I swallowed hard, nodding, though my legs felt like they were made of lead.

Mama gently held my hand, guiding me through the corridors. Each step echoed loudly in my ears. The closer we got to his room, the more my palms sweated, my chest tightening with every heartbeat.

When we stopped in front of a door with his name on it, I froze. My hand slipped from Mama’s grip, trembling.

Can I really face him? After all these years?

I stood there, staring at the door handle, unable to move.I stood frozen in front of the door, my heart thundering so loudly it drowned out everything else. My hand hovered over the cold metal handle, trembling.

Mama gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Anak… andito na tayo. Kailangan ka ng Papa mo.”

I swallowed hard, finally forcing my hand to push the door open. The quiet click felt deafening in the stillness of the corridor.

The room was dimly lit, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound. My breath caught in my throat the moment my eyes found him.

Papa.

He looked so different…..so fragile. The once strong, commanding man who used to walk into rooms with authority now lay there, pale and thinner than I ever remembered. His hair had more streaks of gray, his face etched with lines of age and struggle. Tubes and wires surrounded him, machines humming softly at his side.

I gripped the strap of my bag, frozen by the sight. Is this really the same man I left behind?

For years, I had built an image of him in my head, a stern, cold, unyielding. But seeing him like this, weak and vulnerable, that image shattered in an instant.

Mama quietly closed the door behind us, leaving just the three of us in the room. She walked toward the bed, brushing Papa’s hair gently with her hand. “Ramon… andito na si Thaliya. Dumating na ang anak mo.”

My chest tightened. I wanted to move closer, but my feet felt heavy. What would I even say? How could I bridge the years of silence between us?

Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open. They were weaker now, but still sharp enough to find me standing there. For a moment, he just stared at me with confusion, disbelief, and something else flickered in his gaze.

“Tha… liya…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Hearing him say my name after so long made my knees buckle. I bit my lip, fighting the sob that threatened to escape.

“Pa…” My voice trembled. I finally took a step closer, then another, until I was standing by his bedside.

His hand moved slightly, weakly lifting from the sheets as if reaching for me. Without thinking, I took it, holding his rough, calloused hand in both of mine.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I’m here, Papa. I’m here.”

For the first time in years, I wasn’t the stubborn daughter running away, or the independent woman proving herself abroad. I was just his little girl again…..scared, hurting, and desperate for him to stay.

His grip on my hand was weak, but steady enough to make my heart ache. I sat carefully on the chair beside the bed, never letting go.

For a long moment, Papa just looked at me, his eyes glassy as if memorizing my face. Then his lips parted, his voice raspy.

“Anak… buti… dumating ka.”

I nodded quickly, tears still streaming down my cheeks. “Oo, Pa. I’m here. I’m sorry… sorry kung ngayon lang.”

He shook his head slightly, though even that small movement seemed to drain his strength. His breathing was uneven, but his gaze never left mine.

“Tha… the company…”

My chest tightened. “Pa, huwag na muna ‘yan. You need to rest.”

But his fingers tightened weakly around mine, his eyes firm despite the frailty of his body. That look…I knew it too well. It was the same look he gave whenever he wanted me to listen, when his word was law in our household.

“The company… hindi… maganda ang kalagayan,” he whispered, his voice breaking in between breaths. “Rosales Group… kailangan ng… magpapatuloy.”

I froze. The very words I had dreaded for years. Magpapatuloy.

“Papa…” I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “You know I’m not… I’m not meant for this. Hindi ko kaya.”

A faint frown appeared on his tired face, his chest rising and falling with effort. “Anak… wala nang iba. Ikaw lang…” His grip trembled against my hand. “Kung… kung mawawala ako… sino pa?”

His words cut deep, sharper than any of our past arguments. He wasn’t asking as a CEO now, but as a father desperate to secure what he had built his entire life.

Tears blurred my vision again. “Pa, please… let’s not talk about this now. You’ll get better. You’ll see—you’ll recover.”

But deep inside, I knew. He wouldn’t be saying these things unless he already felt the time slipping away.

I bowed my head, clutching his hand tighter, torn between my life in Spain and the legacy I had abandoned. Between the freedom I fought so hard for, and the family I could never really escape.

Behind me, Mama’s quiet sobs filled the room, her hands clasped together as though in prayer.

Papa’s eyes began to close again, exhaustion pulling him back into sleep. But before he drifted off completely, his lips parted once more, and in a voice barely audible, he whispered—

“Save the company… Thaliya…”

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence that followed, each sound pounding against my chest like a heavy reminder.

I sat there, staring at him, my hand still wrapped around his, my heart drowning in questions I wasn’t ready to answer.