All Chapters of My marriage was for money, his for vengeance: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

5:41 AM – Penthouse, BedroomThe morning light was gray-blue, sifting gently through gauzy curtains. Elira sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pages she had finalized last night. The Clause lay open on the desk, its handwritten lines faintly glowing in the dawn.Behind her, Caelan stirred under the covers."You’re up early.""Couldn't sleep," she said softly. "Not after putting it on paper. I kept remembering that sign under the kalachuchi tree."Caelan smiled lazily. "It's already more understandable than most government signs."She laughed. "Because it was born out of care, not compulsion."----7:02 AM – Foundation Main Floor, Entryway Exhibit SpaceA table had been cleared of papers and equipment, and the first set of pathway tracings was being mounted on corkboard panels. A digital projector hummed with animated overlays—routes pulsing, converging, rerouting. They moved like breath.Rosa from the site of relocation came, with a roll of plastic sheeting inscribed with

5:39 AM – Penthouse, BalconyLow-flying mist veiled the skyline, city lights blinking lazily as morning crept in. Elira was barefoot beside the railing, cradling a re-warmed salabat in her hands. Down below, stillness moved quietly—vendors preparing, a tricycle spluttering to life, the slow breath of an awakening space.Behind her, Caelan emerged, raising one arm above her head, the other cradling a notebook full of doodled diagrams."Anything yet from the board?""Not yet," she whispered. "But I believe they're waiting to hear how the world would react before they can name it."He rested against the railing next to her. "The naming sometimes happens last."---7:02 AM – Covered Court, Barangay 3The courtroom hummed with pre-court activity—chairs being arranged by teachers, laminated maps being taped up by volunteers, and small children drawing arrows on manila."It doesn't look like a real road.""It's real if you walk it enough," he said. "And if somebody remembers it."Elira stood

5:42 AM – Penthouse, Kitchen TableRain drummed softly on the glass, constant and without flourish. Elira leaned over the table, her fingers carefully thumbing through a collection of community-submitted route sketches. Some were crayon-scrawled, others scribbled with worn pencil. Each one, a tale.Caelan came in with a pair of mugs, steam rolling off both. He put one next to her and asked, "Which one's your favorite?"She pushed a drawing across. It indicated a zigzag course between three mango trees, and then a rough X over what was marked "Mama's Singing Spot."He grinned. "That's not on any official map.""It is now," she replied.---7:06 AM – Foundation, Side EntranceA van pulled up with folded tarps, sign boards, additional community feedback logs. Interns scrambled, unloading, cataloging, sorting.Near the ramp, Elira met with two barangay liaisons. One held up a laminated walking map, the same one from last week—but now with child-drawn icons added in color. “They updated it

5:42 AM – Penthouse, KitchenThe kettle clicked off. Steam curled like ancient handwriting into the dark morning air.Elira stood in bare feet, measuring salabat into two mugs. Her fingers shook a little—exhaustion or emotion, she couldn't say. By the counter across the room, Caelan leaned back, eyes half-closed, face etched by the type of weariness sleep wasn't enough to fix."You wrote late," he said softly.She gave him a mug. "I couldn't keep thinking about how memory is kept. Not just recalled. Kept."He didn't respond right away. Just slowly took a sip, let the warmth rouse him."Then we create holders," he said at last. "Not maps. Not archives. Spaces in people."She nodded. "Clause Thirty-One must provide for that. Not documentation. Relationship."---7:03 AM – Barangay Tricentennial, Covered WalkwayTarps continued to ripple from damaged areas. Underneath them, residents gathered—some to hear about relief aid news, others for no real reason except the fact that the visibilit

5:41 AM – Penthouse, HallwayElira brushed her hair in front of the mirror in the hallway, the strokes slow and long. The light was poor, a reflection from the kitchen where Caelan was boiling turmeric and ginger in a pot. Her eyes were cast down, not from sleep deprivation, but from the heaviness of something that had never truly departed.She tied her hair back and slipped on her jacket. The clause draft was saved, its layers now complete enough to leave their mark. But the echoes—it was those she carried with her now. The kind that pressed on the ribs from the inside.Caelan passed her the travel flask wordlessly. Their fingertips touched just long enough to say, Today again.---7:03 AM – Municipal Transport Hub, Relief DepotLines of commuters faded into volunteers faded into displaced families carrying crates of supplies. A huge clear tarp flapped at the periphery of the depot—the latest version of the interactive clause map, now featuring QR nodes and weave-slim threadwork to m