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Joy was always soft-spoken.
Pretty. Quiet. Unassuming.
The kind of girl teachers liked. The kind people forgot in a crowd.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwsLFRW7MUY
But on Wednesday morning, she collapsed on the floor of Room 3A, shaking and gasping for air.
“Miss Joy? JOY?!”17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiXyeQ8yFvL
Chaos followed.
By lunchtime, the news spread:
Joy had a panic attack. Taken to the hospital. Hooked up to oxygen.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTEpx5Qgqfd
Marian visited.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7xLytwSEQm
She didn’t stay long.
Ruthie watched the posts with a blank face.
Jay stood beside her.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“She’s not the villain,” Ruthie said. “But she helped them bury me.”
Three years ago, Joy sat beside Ruthie in the guidance office.
They were fourteen.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡICOMWgYXXf
And Ruthie had just said something dangerous.
“Sir Arnold touches girls. Me. Others.”
Joy had gone pale.
“Can you tell them too?” Ruthie whispered.
But Joy just shook her head.
And never looked Ruthie in the eye again.
Now Joy was the one in the hospital bed.
Strapped to monitors.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡANea5FsQZR
Eyes wide with guilt.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRDoM2JmpSs
Mouth repeating words no one understood.
Jay took a step further.
He wasn’t just observing anymore.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm07euyt0ol
He was connecting.
He visited Joy’s older sister that same evening.
“I’m a student assistant,” Jay began, “but also an intern from the Office of Student Protection.”
“You think my sister’s… part of all this?”
“I think she saw things. And was told to forget them.”
Joy’s sister sighed, handing over a torn notebook.
Inside were shaky writings:
"Ruthie knew. I knew. We all knew. But silence is safer."
"Marian said she'd destroy her."
"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry."
"She was my best friend."
Jay sat in silence.
It was finally coming together.
Ruthie was never alone.
She was just… abandoned.
Back in her room, Ruthie stared at her ceiling.
“Naawa ako sa kanya,” she murmured. “Pero galit pa rin ako.”
Her mother entered quietly.
“Joy’s mom called me. Gusto ka raw kausapin ni Joy pag nabisita mo siya.”
Ruthie didn’t respond.
Jay messaged her that night:
Jay: “Joy wrote about you. She never stopped thinking about what she didn’t do.”
Ruthie: “Guilt doesn’t undo silence.”
Jay: “But it explains it, maybe. Even if it doesn't fix it.”
The next day, Ruthie went.
Room 407. East Wing. White curtains. Sterile light.
Joy was thinner, paler, eyes hollow.
“Ruthie…”
“Joy.”
Silence.
Then shaking hands reached for hers.
“I should’ve stood up for you.”
Ruthie stared at her—at the same girl who once turned away when it mattered most.
“You should’ve,” Ruthie said. “Pero hindi mo ginawa.”
Joy sobbed.
“Takot ako… Akala ko walang maniniwala. Akala ko kaya mo naman mag-isa. Akala ko si Marian—”
“Alam mo bang muntik na akong mamatay sa guilt n’yo?” Ruthie’s voice cracked. “Lahat kayo, pinanood akong masira.”
Joy couldn’t speak. Only cry.
Ruthie took a long breath.
“Hindi ko pa kaya patawarin ka. Pero hindi rin ako galit sa’yo habambuhay.”
She stood.
Walked out.
And for the first time, Joy didn’t chase her.
Jay waited outside the hospital gates.
“You went.”
“She broke. But I’m not whole either.”
“You’re still here though,” Jay said.
“For now.”
Later that evening, Joy wrote in her notes app:
"I broke because I waited too long to do what was right."
"Ruthie survived. But I didn’t walk with her. I watched her bleed."
She saved the note.
She didn’t post it.
But she read it every night.
In Jay’s journal, he underlined one sentence:
“Every silence has a consequence. And this school built an empire out of quiet.”
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