Lahat ng Kabanata ng He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge: Kabanata 241 - Kabanata 250

I knocked lightly on the door before I stepped inside. My mother was already seated at the kitchen table, a small pot of tea steaming between us and a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth that smelled faintly of warmth and home. She looked up, and her face softened as if she had been expecting me all along.I set my bag by the counter and slid into the chair across from her. The table was worn in the middle from years of elbows, knives, and plates, yet to me it felt almost sacred. She poured the tea, steady as ever, and pushed a cup toward me without saying a word.The quiet stretched, not heavy, just full. For the first time in what felt like forever, I did not feel the need to rush into explanations or defenses. I simply wrapped my hands around the cup, inhaled the steam, and allowed the moment to be what it was.“You look tired, Juliana,” she said after a while. Her voice was gentle, not accusatory, more observation than judgment. “But it is not the kind of tired I am used to seeing in

woke early, sunlight slipping between the blinds and touching the floor in thin, golden stripes. The quiet in the apartment felt almost sacred. I drank my coffee slowly, listening to Julian stirring in the kitchen. “You’re nervous,” he said, appearing in the doorway with his cup in hand. His voice was calm, steady, the way it always pulled me back when my mind raced. “I’m not sure I’m nervous,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I just… want it to feel right.” Julian smiled and leaned against the counter. “It will. You’ve poured everything into this. It doesn’t need to be perfect for anyone but you.” I set down my cup and ran my fingers over the sketches on the table. Every line, every fold of fabric, every stitch had a story I had carried alone for years. “You’ve done so much,” Julian said quietly. “I’ve seen what you built when no one else did.” I looked up at him and felt the weight of his words. He didn’t say it for praise. He said it because he believed it. By the time we

I stepped back from the last rack, letting the room settle around us. The fabrics hung softly, bathed in light, and for a moment it felt as if time itself had paused. Everyone was quiet, breathing in the moment, letting it land. Simone spoke first. “You’ve done more than I imagined,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “This isn’t just your project. It’s your voice, your story, finally seen.” Claudia nodded. “Every piece tells something we couldn’t hear before. It’s alive because you are alive, Juliana. Nothing else matters.” I looked at my mother, who had moved closer to me. Her hand rested lightly on mine. “I wish I could have been here sooner,” she said. “I kept looking at her, always thinking she needed me more. I see now that I should have been with you too.” I squeezed her hand gently. “Mom, you’re here now,” I said softly. “That’s all that matters.” Her eyes glistened. “I am sorry for all the times I didn’t notice. For always putting her first. I see now that I hurt you

The sky deepened into twilight, soft purples and blues stretching across the horizon. The river mirrored it, gentle ripples scattering the fading light across our faces. We lay back for a moment, shoulders touching, simply watching the world turn quietly around us. “I keep thinking about all the nights we survived,” Julian said after a pause, his voice low. “Not just the big battles, but the quiet ones, the ones nobody knew about.” I turned my head toward him, letting the last light catch his eyes. “I remember,” I said. “Every sleepless night, every worry, every moment I thought I couldn’t do it. But I did.” “You were never alone,” he said softly. “Even when it felt like it. I was always there, even if just in the background, waiting for you to see me.” I squeezed his hand, a small gesture, full of everything I couldn’t put into words. “And you stayed,” I whispered. “You stayed, even when I didn’t notice, even when I didn’t think anyone could.” Julian smiled, leaning closer. “I p

The night deepened around us, quiet and steady, and I realized I hadn’t felt this kind of peace in years. The gentle lapping of the river seemed to echo all the moments we had survived—the fights, the betrayals, the sleepless nights—and now it carried something lighter, something ours. Julian reached over and pulled out a small bag, simple and unassuming. He opened it to reveal a few photographs, some of us over the years—laughter caught in midair, small victories, quiet moments nobody else had seen. “I kept these,” he said softly. “So we would never forget how far we’ve come, together.” I smiled, touched more than words could hold. “I can’t believe you saved these,” I whispered. “I never imagined someone would hold onto the small things so carefully.” “They were always the big things,” he said, smiling. “The things that mattered, even if no one else noticed.” We looked through the photographs slowly, remembering nights when the boutique was our only world, mornings when exhaustio