Before You Let Go
“Good evening po. Lyra po. Classmate ni Caelan.”
“Marisol,” she said, giving me a small smile. “His mom.”
His mom.
I swallowed.
In another timeline, this woman had already lost him.
Here, she was standing in front of me with medicine in one hand and grocery bags in the other, not knowing how close the world was to breaking.
“Nice to meet you po,” I managed.
Marisol looked at Caelan. “You brought a friend?”
“We’re not—”
“She returned something,” he cut himself off, like even explaining was exhausting.