He's been quiet.
Henry, I mean.
Ever since that day Ryan pulled him aside and told him not to talk to me, he's been... ghost-like. Present, but distant. His eyes shift away when we pass in the halls. He doesn't even breathe in my direction.
And I liked it that way.
Until today.
It starts with a knock.
Saturday afternoon. Angelique is napping on the couch, clutching her stuffed rabbit, cheeks flushed from the heat.
I open the door expecting a delivery.
Instead, I see them.
Henry.31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSHZ9qYxSRb
His parents.31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4d6EsPYOPH
My own mother and father—tight-lipped, standing just behind them with folded arms and guarded expressions.
The silence is immediate. Heavy.
"Sam," Henry says stiffly, not quite looking at me. "My parents... they're here. They want to meet Angelique."
His mother, Tita Liza, steps forward with a hopeful smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"We didn't know, anak. If we had known about her sooner—"
I raise a hand. "You didn't. I understand. That's not your fault."
My voice is calm. Too calm.
But inside, I'm a firecracker in reverse—sparking inward.
Henry's father clears his throat. "We would like to visit regularly. Be part of her life. Make up for lost time."
That's when my father steps in, arms crossed like a brick wall.
"You want visitation rights," he says, flatly. "As if this is a custody negotiation."
Tita Liza tries to speak. "She's our granddaughter—"
"And she's our daughter," my mom cuts in, sharp and quiet. "The one your son left to carry shame and responsibility alone."
Everyone falls silent.
Henry's shoulders cave just slightly.
"I was wrong," he says. "I was scared. Selfish. I know that now."
I finally speak again.
"She's not a photo you missed. She's a person. She's three. And she already has a life, a rhythm, and a sense of safety. I won't disrupt that for people who only came around once the shame wore off."
Tita Liza's lip trembles. "Please... just once?"
I swallow. My throat is tight.
"You can write. Send something. A letter. A toy. I'll decide from there. But you don't just walk in after years of silence and expect access to the child I bled for alone."
I didn't shout. I didn't cry.
But my voice is steel.
Henry nods. "I understand."
I meet his eyes then—for the first time in a long time.
And he looks like a man finally choking on the consequences he once forced me to swallow alone.
After they left, my dad rests a hand on my shoulder.
"You did good, anak," he says.
And when I sit down beside Angelique and brush the hair from her sleeping face, I realize something:
I no longer feel like a victim.
I feel like a mother.
And I'm finally living in a world where I make the rules.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPKxThHcTSe
