جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 10

At 2:17 in the morning, Mark Villanueva was losing money he did not have.The room was dark except for the blue light of his monitor. An electric fan rattled in the corner, pushing warm air around the cramped bedroom. Beside his keyboard stood an empty cup of instant coffee, a half-eaten packet of chips, and a phone whose screen kept lighting up with notifications he had no intention of reading.On the monitor, his character lay dead.“Putangina. Bobo naman ng teammate ko!”Mark slammed his palm against the desk.It was never his fault when he lost. His teammates were idiots. The internet connection was trash. The matchmaking system was unfair. Sometimes, he suspected that the entire game was designed to keep talented players like him from reaching the rank they deserved.He had been playing for six hours.Six hours that could have been spent sleeping before work, answering Mika's messages, or looking for a better-paying job. But those were ordinary things, and Mark had never liked th

By Friday morning, Mark Villanueva had developed a plan.It was, in his opinion, an excellent plan.He would borrow three thousand pesos, place a carefully calculated bet, recover the money he had lost earlier in the week, pay the electricity bill, and put the remaining amount toward his next salary advance. Once everything was settled, he would stop gambling for a while.Not forever. He was not foolish enough to make promises he could not keep.Just for a while.He had learned something from his mistakes, and he considered that progress.The only problem was that he needed three thousand pesos.He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, mentally reviewing the people he could approach. His father had already lent him money last month. His mother would ask too many questions. Jethro was equally short on cash, and his other friends had grown suspicious of his habit of borrowing money shortly before payday.There was, however, one person who might help.His older cousin, Paolo.Paolo wor

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 grocer

Mark used to wonder why Mika had become so stupid.Not stupid in the way people used the word when someone failed an exam or made a careless mistake. He meant the kind of stupid that made a woman stay after being lied to, forgive a man who embarrassed her, and keep offering chances to someone who had already wasted too many.If she knew he was irresponsible, why did she keep expecting him to change?If she knew he was broke, why did she keep asking about money?And if she was so unhappy, why didn't she just leave?To Mark, it was simple. Mika could have walked away at any time.He never considered how many little things he had done to make staying feel easier than leaving.He certainly never considered how many things she had given up along the way.Three years earlier, Mika had been different.She was twenty-three, working her first stable office job, saving a little money every payday, and making plans that extended beyond the next month's bills. She had a notebook filled with ideas

There were nights when Mika hated herself for missing him while he was still lying beside her.Not because Mark had gone anywhere. He was right there, his back turned toward her, one hand resting near his phone, the faint light from the screen illuminating the edge of his face.He was close enough for her to touch.Yet she missed him.She missed the version of him who used to pull her toward him without being asked. The man who kissed her forehead while she was talking, who noticed when she was cold, who could make her laugh in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday. The man who once made her feel that, no matter how exhausting the world became, she had somewhere to rest.She missed the way he used to look at her.And, if she was honest with herself, she missed the intimacy.That was the part she found hardest to explain to herself.How could a man make her feel so loved in one moment and so insignificant in the next?How could the same hands that held her so tenderly also reach for his ph