Morning heat pushed through the apartment windows. The Nokia in my pocket was useless—no load.
Joaquin ate last night's rice, head low over his bowl. Lissette hummed, legs swinging under the table.
"I'll be back."
Joaquin looked up, searching my face. I smiled and slipped out before he could ask anything.
The hallway smelled of fried fish and laundry soap. Mrs. Santos' radio blasted the news—another bombing in Mindanao, EDSA choking before breakfast. I took the stairs slow, each step familiar.
Lucy's sari-sari store sat in the corner, grills half-open. Cigarette packs lined the wall, shampoo and coffee sachets hanging like plastic curtains. Lucy slouched on her stool, mascara smudged from a long call center shift.
"Ate Lucy."
"Ally. You're early today.."
"Can I borrow your phone? Mine has no load."
A quick flicker in her eyes—curious, not nosy. She pulled out a cracked 3310 from under the counter.
"Here. Just don't take too long. I need to sleep."
The phone was warm from her hand. "Thank you, Ate Lucy."
She went back to counting coins. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Jeepneys rumbled past the doorway, diesel mixing with humid air.
My thumb hovered over the keypad. The number lived in my muscles—dialed too many times, too many years.
Not this time.
I pressed each digit. The phone seemed to get heavier with every click.
Lucy yawned. "Bad news call?"
"Ending something."
She nodded once. "Those are always the hardest."
I finished the number. My thumb hung over the call button.
One press.
I pressed it.
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The phone rang once. Twice.
"Hello?"
That voice. In the first life, enough to pull me back every time.
"Celso." My throat tightened. "We're done. Don't contact me again."
Silence. A jeepney honked outside.
"Ally? What are you talking about?"
"I'm ending this. Us."
"Wait—baby. Did something happen? Did I do something? Let's talk before—"
"No.There's nothing to talk about."
"You're upset. I get it. I haven't visited much lately, but work's been—"
"You have a wife. And kids. You belong to them."
"Ally, listen—"
"I'm done listening."
His tone sharpened. "You need me. Who will take care of the kids? You think you can do this alone?"
My jaw tightened. In my First Life, this part always broke me.
"We'll manage."
"Goodbye, Celso."
"Ally, wait—"
I hit the red button. The call ended with a soft beep.
I stared at the cracked screen, waiting for the ring that didn't come. Outside, vendors called out breakfast, someone's radio played a tinny love song, jeepneys groaned through traffic.
Lucy watched from behind the grills. One small nod.
"Salamat, Ate." I handed back the phone.
"Mag-load ka next time," she said. "So you don't need to borrow for those kinds of calls."
"I will."
As I climbed the stairs. My legs felt strange—lighter, maybe. Or just unsure.
Inside, Joaquin sat at the table, math homework spread across the scarred wood.
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"Ma." His pencil kept moving across the paper. "Where'd you go?"
"Lucy's Store. I needed to make a call."
The pencil paused. "To Tito Celso?"
The glass tightened in my hand. He never called him Papa. Not once in eight years.
"Yes."
Joaquin set the pencil down and met my eyes. That neutral mask—bracing for bad news.
"He's not coming anymore. We don't need him."
Lissette's humming drifted from the bedroom.
"Okay." He picked up the pencil again.
I stood. The chair scraped softly. I placed my hand on his head. He stiffened, then eased under the touch.
"My chest tightened. Those walls—I'd watched them go up, brick by brick, in another timeline. Not again."
"Finish your homework. I'll cook lunch."
"Okay."
Cutting off Celso was one thing. Undoing what he taught Joaquin—that would take longer.
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Mama Diane stepped out of her room as I chopped garlic, the sharp scent filling the kitchen.
"Lucy said you made a call this morning."
"I ended it with Celso."
Her knife stilled. "Really?"
"Yes, Ma."
Something shifted on her face. A tiny tremble of her chin before she caught it.
"Good." She reached for tomatoes. "Your father always said you deserved better."
The garlic blurred. I blinked until it steadied.
Mama sliced the tomatoes, hands firm despite the shake. "Your father, he showed me what real love looks like. Partner, not just a provider." A short glance at me. "That's not what you had with Celso."
I nodded.
"Now prove it wasn't just words."
"I will."
The garlic sizzled when it hit the pan. This time, I'd keep that promise.