LOGIN"Clara, if we divorce I promise that you will never see Luke again!" A cold smile ran from ear to the other, curling my scarlet lips, "Who says I'm fighting for custody anyways? I'm kicking both you and your son out of my life." In a former life cut short, Clara Winston had been the perfect wife-obedience and selflessness wrapped with a ribbon of loyalty. But after eight years her husband's first love, her twin sister Cassie returns because she needed a kidney donor, both him and her stepson pressured Clara to offer hers. Then after she saved Cassie's life she bled to death losing her own. She opens her eyes to a second chance, a second shot at life and this time she will be no one's doormat.
View MoreLIMANG TAON.
Ganoon katagal ang inaksaya ni Selene Flores sa lalaking akala niya ay magiging "forever" niya. Pero sa gabing ito, sa mismong gabi na dapat ay ipinagdiriwang nila ang kanilang fifth anniversary—nalaman niyang limang taon lang pala siyang nagpakatanga. Limang taon siyang nag-aksaya ng oras sa maling tao. Nakatayo si Selene sa harap ng pinto ng condo ni Tristan. Hawak-hawak niya ang paper bag na puno ng surprises—may wine, may pagkaing paborito nito, at isang maliit na box na naglalaman ng limited edition cufflinks na matagal niyang pinag-ipunan. Isama mo pa ang kase-set up lang niyang lingerie sa ilalim ng suot niya. Akala niya, ngayong gabi na magpo-propose si Tristan. Limang taon na sila. Tangina, sobrang tagal na niyon. Lahat ng kakilala nila, kung hindi kasal ay engage na. Sila lang ni Tristan ang parang stuck sa limbo. Boyfriend-girlfriend lang. Walang usad. Walang upgrade. Pero okay lang, bulong niya sa sarili noon. Mahal naman niya si Tristan, eh. At mahal din siya nito. O baka sadyang pinanganak lang siyang tanga. Binuksan niya ang pinto gamit ang kaniyang spare key. Tahimik siyang pumasok; gusto niyang mapatalon sa gulat at kilig ang boyfriend niya. In-imagine na niya ang magiging reaction nito—yung effort niya, yung ngiti nito, yung yakap... Pero narinig niya ang ingay mula sa living room. Noong una, akala niya TV lang iyon. Baka nanonood si Tristan ng action movie. Pero habang papalapit siya, mas lumilinaw ang tunog. Ungol. Daing. Yung tipong... yung tipong hindi mo dapat naririnig sa national television. Napatigil si Selene sa gilid ng hallway. Parang may kumulong asido sa dibdib niya. Alam na niya kung ano ang makikita niya, pero ang tanga-tangang utak niya, ayaw pa ring maniwala. ‘Please, huwag naman sana...’ dasal niya sa sarili. ‘Please, please, please—’ Pero nang sumilip siya sa living room... CRASH. Nahulog ang paper bag na hawak niya. Nabasag ang wine bottle sa marble floor. Red wine everywhere. Pero mas "red flag" pa ang nakita niya sa couch. Si Tristan. At si Ashley. N*******d. Nakapatong si Ashley sa boyfriend niya. Tangina. Nakapatong ang babae kay Tristan, mga mukha nilang halos magkadikit, mga katawan nilang magkasalikop, at— Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sabay na napatingin ang dalawa kay Selene. Nanlaki ang mga mata ni Ashley at agad itong sumigaw sabay hablot ng throw blanket para itakip sa katawan niya. Yung blanket na regalo ni Selene kay Tristan noong nakaraang Pasko. Tangina talaga. Tumayo si Tristan. N*******d pa rin ito—walang kahihiyan. Nag-panic lang ito nang kaunti, pero ang mas nakakasulasok? Mukha siyang inis. Inis dahil na-disturbo ang "session" nila. "Selene—" panimula ni Tristan habang naglalakad palapit sa kaniya. Agad na umurong si Selene. Hindi niya kayang tingnan ang lalaki nang diretso. Alam niya, kapag tiningnan niya ito, iiyak siya. At ayaw niyang mangyari 'yun. Ayaw niyang makita ni Tristan na wasak na wasak siya. Dahil tangina, sobrang sakit na parang binibiyak ang puso niya. "Baby, wait!" sigaw ni Tristan. "It's not what it looks like!" Napatigil si Selene. Hindi dahil naniwala siya, kundi dahil... natawa siya. Natawa siya dahil, tangina, ganoon ba talaga? Ganoon ba ka-cliché ang buhay niya? Parang pelikula lang? Parang sa mga napapanuod niya sa mga teleserye sa TV? ‘It's not what it looks like.’ Bitch, huwag ako. Nakita niya lahat. Kitang-kita ng dalawang mata niya. Kaya tumalikod na si Selene. Naglakad siya pabalik sa pinto nang hindi lumilingon. Iniwan niya ang basag na wine bottle, ang pagkain, ang cufflinks. Iniwan niya ang lahat. Kasama na ang limang taon nila ni Tristan. "Sel, please! Let me explain!" pahabol na sigaw ni Tristan sa likuran niya. Pero hindi na siya tumigil. Lumabas siya ng condo at isinara ang pinto nang pagkalakas-lakas. Halos tumakbo siya patungong elevator dahil nararamdaman niyang anumang sandali ay guguho na siya. Pagpindot niya ng button, nanginginig ang kaniyang kamay. Pagbukas ng elevator, blurred na ang paningin niya. At pagpasok niya sa loob... doon na pumatak ang traydor na luha. Tangina. Limang taon. Limang taon niyang ibinigay ang lahat kay Tristan. Oras, effort, tiwala—ubos. Limang taon niyang ipinagtanggol ang lalaki sa mga kaibigan niyang nagsasabing babaero ito at hindi kailanman magiging faithful. Limang taon niyang niloloko ang sarili niya na, "No, si Tristan, special. Si Tristan, magbabago para sa akin." Pero gago lang pala talaga siya. Pagdating niya sa parking lot, patakbo siyang pumunta sa kotse niya. Pagkasakay ay ni-lock niya agad ang pinto bago hinayaang bumuhos ang lahat. Umiyak si Selene nang malakas—yung tipong halos hindi na siya makahinga, yung tipong gusto na niyang mamatay sa sobrang sakit. Pero hindi. Dahil mas nangingibabaw na ang galit kaysa sa pait. Galit kay Tristan na niloko siya. Galit kay Ashley na kumabit sa kaniya. Pero mas galit siya sa sarili niya. Bakit niya hinayaan? Bakit pinilit niya pa ring maniwala? Alam naman niya, eh. Alam niyang may mga ibang babae si Tristan. Marami. Ilang beses na niyang nahuli. Pero pinapatawad niya. Paulit-ulit. Kasi ang mantra niya: "Mahal niya ako. Magbabago siya." Pero hindi. Hindi nga. Ilang minuto siyang nakasubsob sa steering wheel bago niya napansin ang phone niya. Walang tigil ang pag-vibrate nito. Maraming missed calls. Tristan. Ashley. Mika. Ang iba pa nilang kaibigan. Madiing pinindot ni Selene ang power button at ini-off ang phone. Ayaw niyang may kumausap sa kaniya ngayon. Pinaandar niya ang kotse. Nag-drive siya nang walang patutunguhan. Gusto lang niyang lumayo. Dumaan siya sa EDSA, sa Makati, sa BGC. Ang daming tao, ang daming kotse. Lahat sila, parang normal lang ang buhay—parang walang mundong gumuho. Naiinggit siya. Huminto siya sa isang red light nang mapansin niya ang isang neon sign sa kanan. Eclipse. Ang club na palagi niyang nadadaanan pero hinding-hindi niya kailanman pinasok. Bakit? Dahil expensive. Sosyal. Hindi iyon ang tipo ng lugar na pupuntahan ng isang "good girl" na tulad niya. Pero ngayong gabi... Ngayong gabi, wala na siyang pakialam. Gusto niyang makalimot. Gusto niyang lunurin ang sarili sa alak. Gusto niyang maging ibang tao. Hindi na ang "Selene na good girl," ang "Selene na laging mauunawain," o ang "Selene na laging talo." Gusto niyang maging ang Selene na walang pakialam sa mundo. Kaya pumasok siya.Clara's POVThis is how it ends.Not with a dramatic reversal or a final revelation. Not with justice arriving in a thunderclap or love declared in a doorway. Those things had their moments earlier in the story and they were real and they mattered. But the end of a life, even a life that contains a death and a rebirth and all the specific architecture of everything I have told you, does not arrive as a single moment.It arrives in the morning.This morning.I am in the hills.It is early autumn and the light is doing the thing it does in early autumn here, low and sideways and more beautiful for the angle of it. The stone wall is cold under my palm. The hills are the hills.Behind me: Silas in the library reading something he has been meaning to read all summer. Eleanor at her desk in the room that is always hers when she is here, working on a design for a flood-resilient school in a coastal town that came to the centre through the infrastructure authority's new community referral pro
Clara's POVI found a letter from Silas on the kitchen table.Not a dramatic letter. A white envelope with my name on it in his handwriting, which was the handwriting of a man who had been making considered decisions in ink for thirty years. Measured. Unhurried. Every letter is fully formed.He had gone to the city for a morning meeting and had left it there before he went, which I had not noticed because I had been at the hills and came in through the back door and only passed the kitchen table on my way to make coffee.I stood at the table with the envelope in my hand for a moment before I opened it.Inside was a single page. Folded in thirds. And on the page, in that same handwriting, were two paragraphs.The first said: "I have been trying to write this for six months. Every version I wrote was either too formal or too much like a speech. This is the version that says only what needs to be said."The second said: "Twenty-six years ago you walked into a building I was running and
Silas's POVI found the notebook.Not Edmund's notebooks. Clara's.She had left it open on the desk in the study at the family home and I came in to leave something for her and it was open and I did not read it deliberately but the first line was visible and I read it before I understood I was reading it.It said: I am not afraid of what comes next.I stopped.Then I read the line again.I am not afraid of what comes next.I left the room without touching anything else.I went to the garden.Edmund was at the wall doing his regular check. He looked up when I came out.“Dad," he said.“Yes," I said.“You look like you have been thinking about something difficult," he said."No," I said. "Something simple."He looked at me."Is it good or bad?" he said."Good," I said. "Entirely good."He nodded and went back to his probe.I stood in the garden and thought about the line I had read.I am not afraid of what comes next.She had written it in a notebook she did not know I would see. Which
Clara's POVNick wrote me a second letter.Not by hand this time. An email. Brief and carefully worded.It said: "Clara. Luke tells me the centre opening went exactly right. He described the ceremony and what you said and Ellie's voice from the front row. He was moved by all of it. So was I, hearing it second-hand." A pause in the writing, I could feel the pause even in an email. "I want to say something I have been thinking about for a while. Femi and I have been together for several years now and we are genuinely happy. Luke is genuinely happy. The life we have is genuinely the right life." Another pause. "None of that would have been possible if you had not left. If you had not had the strength to build what you built after leaving. The version of all of us that exists now is better than any version that would have existed if things had continued the way they were going." He had signed it simply: Nick.”I read the email three times.The version of all of us that exists now is bet






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