JAY POV — MANILA (DAYS AFTER)
Manila didn't let me pretend.
That was the cruel part.
The city didn't rush me. Didn't confront me outright. It just existed—unchanged, patient—like it knew I'd eventually trip over memory no matter how carefully I walked.
The villa was too quiet.
Not peaceful. Not restful.
Just… hollow.
Work filled the days. Calls. Meetings. Numbers that behaved the way emotions never did. Cole kept things moving with ruthless efficiency. Celeste shielded me without hovering—bringing coffee, changing topics, intercepting questions before they could land too close to the bone.
They didn't push.
They didn't ask.
They waited.
I slept in fragments.
Three hours here. Forty minutes there. Always waking up convinced I'd heard laughter—Cin's laugh, Felix's bark of amusement, the way Blaster shouted like the world was hard of hearing.
Once, I woke up with my heart racing because I was sure I'd heard Keifer say my name.
I sat up in bed, sheets twisted around my legs, breathing hard, staring at the dark ceiling until logic clawed its way back in.
He hadn't been there.
He wasn't here.
That didn't stop my body from reacting like he was.
On the fourth day, Cole found me in the kitchen at dawn, standing barefoot on cold tile, staring at nothing while the kettle screamed itself hoarse.
"Jay," he said gently.
I blinked. "It's… boiling, isn't it."
"Yes," he said. He turned it off, poured the water, handed me a mug like it was a lifeline. "You don't have to be okay."
"I know."
But knowing didn't change the fact that I wanted to be.
The fifth day, Celeste finally said what we were all thinking.
"Grace texted," she said carefully, sliding her phone across the table.
My stomach tightened.
She hadn't reached out again after that night. Not because she didn't want to—because she was giving me space. Grace had always been good at that. Knowing when presence helped and when it suffocated.
I stared at the screen.
Grace:
No pressure. Just… if you want coffee. Or quiet. Or to meet Grazel properly. We're here.
I closed my eyes.
"She deserves more than a ghost," I said quietly.
Celeste smiled softly. "So do you."
---
JAY POV — CAFÉ IN QUIAPO (MIDDAY)
Grace chose the café.
Not trendy. Not corporate. Just old wood tables, plants that leaned toward the light like they trusted it, and a corner where sound softened instead of sharpened.
Grazel wasn't with her.
"That was intentional," Grace said as we hugged. "I wanted this to be just you and me first."
"Thank you."
We sat. Ordered. Waited for the drinks to arrive like that was the thing holding us upright.
Grace studied me openly now.
Not critically.
Lovingly.
"You look tired," she said.
I huffed a weak laugh. "You should've seen me six years ago."
Her smile faded—not entirely, but enough. "You disappeared."
"I know."
"I didn't blame you."
I met her eyes. "I blamed myself."
She reached across the table and took my hand without asking. "Then let me fix that."
The coffee came. Steam curled between us.
For a while, we talked about safe things.
Grazel's school. How Denzel still forgot to buy milk. How Manila traffic had somehow gotten worse. How Grace never thought she'd be the kind of woman who ran a household and still had dreams of her own—but here she was, doing both badly and bravely.
"She has your eyes," I said quietly.
Grace smiled. "And your spine."
That landed harder than she probably meant it to.
"She knows about you," Grace added. "Not the complicated parts. Just that you helped her dad grow up and that her godmother is the strongest woman her mamma knows..."
I swallowed. "That's generous."
"It's accurate."
Silence settled—not awkward, but weighted.
I stared down at my cup.
"Grace," I said finally. "Can I ask you something… selfish?"
She didn't hesitate. "Always."
I drew in a breath. Let it out slowly.
"What happened after I left?"
Her expression shifted—not defensive, not secretive. Just honest.
"Everything," she said. "And nothing."
I frowned.
"Section E didn't explode," she explained. "They didn't have some dramatic fallout. They just… frayed."
I closed my eyes.
"Cin tried to hold everyone together," Grace continued. "But he was hurting too much. Felix started pretending everything was fine. Yuri became quieter. Sharper. Denzel—" She smiled sadly. "Denzel got his act together, but it came with guilt he still doesn't know how to put down."
"And Keifer?" The name slipped out before I could stop it.
Grace paused.
Not long.
But long enough.
"I don't know him the way you do," she said carefully. "Or did."
My chest tightened.
"All I know," she went on, "is that after you left, he stopped being present even when he was physically there."
That felt… accurate.
"He took responsibility where he could," she said. "Money. Logistics. Protection. But emotionally?" She shook her head. "He shut doors instead of opening them."
I stared at the table. "Did he ever talk about me?"
Grace's answer was immediate.
"No."
I flinched anyway.
"But," she added quickly, "he didn't need to. You were everywhere."
I looked up.
"In the way he avoided places," Grace said. "In how he never let anyone mention your name. In how he showed up when it mattered and disappeared when it didn't."
My hands curled into fists.
"He helped when Grazel was born," Grace continued softly. "Paid the hospital bills anonymously. Arranged security when things got messy. Made sure Denzel didn't screw up again."
"That sounds like him," I whispered.
Grace nodded. "But he never came inside the room. Never held her. Never stayed."
I swallowed hard. "Why?"
Grace shook her head. "I don't know. And I won't pretend I do."
The café noise faded again.
"Grace," I said, barely trusting my voice. "Did I… break him?"
She didn't answer right away.
When she did, her voice was firm.
"No."
I let out a shaky breath.
"You leaving hurt him," she said. "But pain isn't the same as being broken."
Then she leaned forward.
"What broke him," she continued, "is that he never learned how to want something without trying to own it—or protect it—or sacrifice himself for it."
That hit too close to truth.
"I don't know exactly what happened in London," Grace admitted. "I don't know what happened with his father. I don't know why he takes medication or why he lives like someone waiting for consequences."
My heart started pounding.
"But," she said gently, "if you want answers about Keifer… you won't get them from me."
I nodded slowly. "I figured."
Grace squeezed my hand.
"You'll have to ask him."
The words settled between us like a dare.
"I don't know if I can," I admitted.
Grace's smile was sad but kind. "You don't have to forgive him to ask."
I laughed bitterly. "That sounds like something you learned the hard way."
She shrugged. "Motherhood forces honesty."
I sat back, staring out the window at Manila moving the way it always had—messy, loud, alive.
"What if I don't like the answers?" I asked quietly.
Grace followed my gaze. "Then you'll still be free. Truth doesn't trap people. Silence does."
I nodded.
She then asked me "Jay do you forgive section e boys now? "
I smiled warmly
"Yes, I did because even after six years of me becoming strong and independent the one place that always felt empty screams only there name till date... "
She smilled like she knew this, that us we were inevitable...
She stood, gathering her bag. "Come meet Grazel properly," she said. "Soon. No pressure."
"I'd like that."
As she walked away, she paused.
"Jay?"
"Yes?"
She smiled—soft, knowing. "He saw you holding my daughter like you belonged there."
My chest tightened.
"He's going to feel that for a long time."
--later that night...
I didn't sleep.
I sat on the balcony instead, wrapped in a blanket, watching the city breathe.
Keifer didn't apologize that night.
Didn't kneel.
Didn't chase.
At the time, it felt like rejection.
Now?
It felt like restraint.
The ring.
The medication.
March. London. Silence.
Grace was right.
If I wanted answers—
Real ones—
There was only one place to get them.
My phone rested in my hand.
I didn't unlock it.
Not yet.
Because some conversations didn't begin with a message.
They began with readiness.
And I wasn't there yet.
But I was closer than I'd been in six years.
Manila watched quietly.
Waiting...
Then I did it...
I didn't overthink the text.
If I did, I wouldn't have sent it.
Jay:
Can you meet me. Now.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
My heart slammed so hard it felt like punishment.
Keifer:
Where.
I swallowed.
Jay:
The park near Rizal Avenue. The one with the old lights.
Seconds passed.
I imagined him saying no.
I imagined relief.
Instead—
Keifer:
Okay.
That was it.
No questions.
No excuses.
No armor.