Second Chance? Part 3

The turning point

One morning, in between sobs, I heard knocks from our room. Nanay, his mom, entered the room.

O Neng* bakit ka umiiyak?

In between sobs, too, I told her how it feels to wait up for someone who isn’t coming home. She assured me she would talk to him. She advised me to stop crying because, “nakakasama yan sa bata.”

But I couldn’t help it. For the nights that followed, I would be lucky if there was a night that I would not cry. If by chance I did not cry, I would wake up at 3am, wait up for no one then fall back to sleep with a heavy heart.

One night, he went home. Nanay and I was sitting by the porch when he came and muttered not a single word. He did not even look at me, not even a single moment. As if I was inexistent. Nanay followed him inside. I sensed he came to get a few necessary items and left immediately. I looked at him as he walked away.

A week later, I decided I’m fed up. In between tears, I packed half of my clothes into one bag and left. Nanay was adamant. She didn’t want me to leave. But I stood firm and said I could no longer handle this. I left just a few minutes before midnight, oblivious of the dangers that a confused, pregnant woman like me could face at a suburban, dimly lit area.

A couple of weeks later, I came back. I had small chat with Nanay. She told me Mike had been going home lately, after I left. I looked around the room, and indeed, there were signs that he had been coming home. Used clothes hung by the wall, his drawers were unruly unlike the last time when I personally fixed his clothes.

I came back, not to stay, but to fetch the rest of my things. Symbolically, leaving half of my clothes in our common drawer meant I had hope in my heart that things could work out. Now that I took all of them, it meant I had stopped hoping.


Last call

Here we are, two and a half years later. He cut my thoughts.

Hindi mo ba ako babatiin?

Babatiin? Bakit? Ano’ng meron?

Kitamo, Nakalimutan mo na. Kinalimutan mo na naman talaga eh.

I remembered the date—today, September 7, is his birthday.

Gusto ko lang naman marinig ulit yung boses mo. Tsaka… ang tagal na nating di nag-usap ng ganito, di ba?

Yeah, I said.

True enough, we never had a serious talk since that fateful day when he asked me to pack my things. So from his perspective, there was no closure. From his perspective, we were not over yet. He held on to a tiny bit of hope on whatever was left of our relationship.

Be… he muttered.

I could not recall the last time he called me "Be," his term of endearment to me. Maybe last New Year when I agreed to show Nikki to him after his long pleadings. I sighed. It didn’t matter to me anymore.

Be… ganito na lang ba tayo? Kuntento ka na ba sa ganyan?

I heaved another sigh.

I never deprived him of his chance to prove himself worthy of being called a dad. When I gave birth to Nikki, I told myself that I’d give him a year to actually prove himself. Alas, a year passed and nothing happened. He was there during her christening, but did not attend her first birthday. During the party, the party host asked me where the celebrant’s dad was, I just shrugged. I wasn't ready for a response. Other than his presence at her baptism, he could pass as an absentee dad.

While it is true that I discourage him from asking me to bring him our child (he would, from time to time, text me asking to see Nikki at an agreed place, just like what happened in New Year), I would always tell him to come and see her at home instead. Since my parents dislike him because of the many, many things that happened and because he is "paternally incapacitated" (I am sure you understand that), he never had the courage to show his face at home. And since I refuse to bring her to him again, he’d be lucky to spend time with Nikki the second time this year. As a result, Nikki does not recognize him. The last time, she would cry unstoppably when he carried her.

Finally, I was able to speak up, in a rather trembling voice.

Ang alam ko kasi, matagal na tayong tapos e. Okay lang sa akin ang ganito. Sinabi ko sa sarili ko na kaya kong mag-isa to. Nagawa ko na yon ng dalawang taon, Mike. Gagawin ko yon hangga’t kaya ko.

I myself was surprised with what I said. But, I know in my heart that it didn't come with far-fetched reasons.

Ah ganon ba…

I could sense intense sadness, hurt and deep regret in his voice.

I’m sorry… I am very, very, very sorry…

He hung up.

I stared at my phone for a few minutes.

I knew prior to his call I was so sleepy. Now, an hour later after that call, sleep has totally eluded me.


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*Neng (short for Nineng) is my real nick at home. Nineng (or sometimes, Naneng) is an Ilocano endearment for “little girl.”