Second Chance? Part 2

Pwede ba tayong magsimula ulit?

The words kept echoing in my mind as I groped for words. I could not help but recall what our relationship's rather uneventful denouement was.

I was about 28 weeks heavy with my baby girl when I finally decided to move out of the apartment Mike and I had been renting. That I did, unmindful of the objections of his mom (who by the way, lived with us in the apartment) and his sister. His sister and her family lived in the next block and had been very open in telling me that she had hoped we will stay together. In truth, his whole family seemed to like me, I guess.

If that’s the case, why did I leave at all? you may wonder.


Back to the future

Mike and I lived together in January of 2004, for reasons I could no longer remember. What I vividly recall is the fact that my parents hate him. Okay, let’s say, they do not want me to get married to him—ever. But then, they did not stop me when, during the weekdays, I stayed at the apartment and spent the weekends in our house. I did not hear anything from my parents. I thought they were content because, at least, they get to see me on a regular basis.

Mike worked for at his tito’s bar/resto back then, and since he works in the evening, and I worked in the daytime, we would only catch each other around 3 am. I would leave the apartment 3 hours later. As you see, we did not have time to talk at all, because even during the weekends, I would go home to my family.

This situation went on for 12 more weeks when suddenly, one weekend, I decided not to go back to the apartment for the meantime.

My office phone rang on a Wednesday night. It was him.

Ba’t di ka umuwi? May problema ba?

Wala naman. Ayoko lang muna.

Bakit nga?

Basta…ayoko muna, ok?

But he refused to give in.

Umuwi ka bukas. Kailangan natin mag-usap.

The next day, I told my boss I will have my check-up so I will be able to report in the afternoon. Before lunch, I went to the apartment and there, I saw him alone in the house, still sleeping.

He woke up as I sat by the bed.

Kumusta ? Anong problema?

I could not speak. I did not know how or where to start. He got impatient after a few minutes of silence.

Hay… hindi ka na naman ba magsasalita?

I felt uncomfortable so I tried to excuse myself.

Punta muna ako sa doktor. Schedule ko kasi ng check-up ngayon. Tsaka nagmamadali kasi ako ngayon.

My OB’s clinic is only twenty or so steps away. But for one reason or another, I didn’t know why I could not stand up and leave.

O kala ko ba, nagmamadali ka?

I told myself, okay, I’ll stay first and talk to him.

I sat closer to him and mustered enough courage to express what has been bottled up for days, or weeks maybe. I told him how I felt about the very little time we have together each week. How I felt about the two of us na parang walang nangyayari. How I felt about our baby not having to bear his name. How I felt about having to deliver our child without a legal union—oh yes, the wedding that never took place. And a few more rantings I could no longer recall.

He told me a few other things but the next few lines hit right smack into a bruised ego:

Umuwi ka na muna sa inyo. Hindi pa ako handa. Dalhin mo na muna mga damit mo.

Ouch.

As if nothing happened, he got up, took his towel and darted towards the door, leaving me stunned, too shocked to even move a limb.

That night, I stayed at the apartment.

And the next night.

Even during weekends.

Little did I know, he had no plans of going home, at least for the next few weeks.

For the nights and weeks that followed, he didn’t show up in the apartment. Instead, he stayed in at the resto, where his tito provided a room for him. Every morning at 3 am, I would wake up, and wait for him. When I finally see the sun peeking through our window, I would cry. I would cry because I know he would never come home again that morning.

Already 26 weeks heavy with my Nikki, I shunned the risks of emotional trauma.

[to be continued]