Miggy's POV
When I stepped out of the cab, I immediately spotted Carla, Mommy's helper. She was definitely waiting for me, but her attention was glued to her smartphone. Her eyes looked swollen.
Maybe Mommy scolded her again. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I really feel sorry for her.
This wasn't the first time. Carla often bores the brunt of Mommy's frustrations—whether because things didn't go smoothly or when tragedy struck. I once asked Carla why she put up with Mommy's scolding when it wasn't even her fault.
"Your mom is kind," she said quietly. "This is a chance I can't miss." She explained that tensions only got worse when Mommy was stressed from work.
"Carla!" I called, hoping to get her attention.
"Sir Miggy, it's good to see you," she said, but the moment she looked up at me, it was as if she saw a ghost. Her face went pale, and confusion clouded her eyes. Something was wrong.
"What happened? How is Mommy? And Daddy?" I asked quickly.
Carla swallowed hard. She returned to the person on the phone, told them she'd call back, and then hung up.
"Come with me," she said simply, leading the way. I felt a growing knot in my stomach because Carla wasn't usually like this. She was always the one to update me about Mommy's work or the family's schedule. She'd been with us for over a decade, after all. Despite her round figure, Carla darted from one task to another like a seasoned multitasker. When she was around Mommy, she was like Meynard—always knowing what Mommy needed: food, vitamins, clothes, and schedules.
I used to envy how much time Carla got to spend with Mommy—more than I did.
We walked down a quiet corridor, the kind with no patient rooms, which made me even more uneasy.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Your mom is there with your dad," she said, pointing to a door with the word MORGUE written above it.
My legs turned to jelly. I dropped to my knees, feeling frozen in place. That word felt like a curse. My body went cold, my chest pounded, and my throat dried up. I couldn't move. I was overwhelmed by fear and dread.
Carla noticed and stopped. When she saw how hard it was for me to breathe, how my chest hammered and my throat felt parched, she lowered her voice.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't know everything yet. We only got a call from Sir G's office. Apparently, your father collapsed in the elevator this afternoon. Staff rushed to help and took him to the hospital, but the doctor declared him dead on arrival." Her voice cracked as she sobbed. But my mind wasn't on her words anymore—it went back to the fight I had with Daddy earlier.
FLASHBACK
"When is this, Dad? How could you do this to us?" I had asked, my voice shaking after the initial shock wore off.
"That's why I called you here. We need to talk," he said quietly.
"Dad?" I barely recognized the man walking towards me.
"Miggy, I never meant to hurt you or Mommy. It was a mistake—one night, and I never repeated it," his voice was full of remorse, but I couldn't accept it.
I thought Mommy and Dad's relationship was perfect. I was such a fool. I respected him so much; he was my idol.
"But why? Why, Dad? Why did this happen?" I stammered, confusion slowly giving way to anger.
"It was two years after you were born. We were both busy—the Manila Film Festival, filming, and meetings. We barely saw each other. One night, I was at an after-party with colleagues. I drank too much. Then, Teresa came over with her model friends. We talked, and... One thing led to another. It was a mistake, and I tried to forget her," he confessed.
"Months later, I got a birthday card—after my birthday—that changed everything. I never thought one night could ruin a family. I'm sorry. I want to find my daughter, but I'm not leaving you or Mommy. I want to do the right thing now, take responsibility." I could see the pain in his eyes.
"Are we not enough? You fooled us, Mommy and me! I idolize you, but you lied!" I shouted.
"I'm happy to have you in my life," he said, tears streaming.
"I can't forgive you for betraying us. You're not the perfect father I thought you were. You were selfish. You destroyed our trust!" I sobbed.
"I regret it every day. Since that morning beside that woman, I swore it wouldn't happen again," he whispered.
"You should! But it's too late," I cried.
END FLASHBACK
The words echoed in my mind as Carla's sobs brought me back.
I don't know. No matter how much I regret what I said, I can't take it back. I can't take his life back. What will Mommy say? Will she blame me? Will Dad still be angry even though he's gone?
I felt arms wrap around me. Even with my eyes closed, I recognized Mommy's touch. Her sobs mixed with mine.
"Your daddy is gone, son. He's left us," she cried.
I couldn't respond. I hated myself for what I'd said to Dad. I never thought it would be our last conversation. Now, it was final.
We knelt together near the morgue door, the cold air biting through me.
"Ma'am, Heritage Park staff are here to speak with you," Carla said gently.
Mommy hesitated, then looked at me. Carla helped us both up, and Meynard appeared, having just arrived.
Carla said she needed to help Mommy gather Dad's things and that Meynard and I would follow shortly.
Mommy hugged me tightly before they left.
Meynard and I stayed in the car, the silence thick between us. He handled my calls and texts while I tried to make sense of everything.
As we followed Dad's remains to Heritage Park, the radio announced the news: a well-known film producer and senior filmmaker has passed away.
I couldn't believe it.
Our relatives and friends began arriving. Uncle Manuel, Dad's older brother, came and hugged me without words. His sorrow mirrored mine.
"Be strong, son. This is unexpected. But we must accept the truth," he whispered.
We clung to each other, crying openly. Aunt Beth joined, wrapping me in her arms.
I didn't care who saw. I just wanted to cry.
Some of my high school and college friends, as well as our corporate colleagues, arrived. One of my officemates told me that the owner of the firm where Meynard and I work had expressed his sorrow and would try to come another day.
I was talking to an old college classmate when I felt a light touch on my back. Turning around, I saw Uncle Rick — Daddy's greatest buddy.
"I'm sorry for your loss, son," he said, pulling me into a brief hug. As I've grown older, I've realized Uncle Rick was always near Daddy, a constant presence.
As we parted, a thought struck me: Uncle Rick was probably the one person I could talk to about what Dad confessed to me earlier today. Maybe Dad told him years ago.
The only thing I could manage to say was, "Uncle..." My mind was still tangled with everything Dad had just revealed.
I let go of the hug first and looked him directly in the eyes.
"Thank you for coming. But... I would appreciate it even more if you could answer some questions that have been bothering me. I knew you and Daddy were close, so I think you might know something about these things," I said quietly, careful that no one else could overhear.
Uncle Rick's brow furrowed.
"About what, son?" he asked, clearly puzzled.
I pulled him a few meters away from the crowd, just enough to keep us private but still close enough to hear the low murmur of the gathering.
"Is it really that important we move away?" he pressed, but I didn't answer.
"Uncle, tell me the truth about Daddy's one-night fling a few years ago... and about that woman's child," I said, voice steady but low.
Surprise flashed across Uncle Rick's face. Yet, in that moment, I sensed he knew far more than he was letting on.