Miggy's POV
We decided to eat dinner first before diving into the real reason for our meeting—the waiter was hovering close by. The clinking of silverware and murmurs of other diners filled the room, but our table was silent. The waiter stood nearby, probably wondering if we were about to fire him or propose a business deal. I avoided eye contact.
Once he took all our orders and retreated, silence fell over the four of us like a heavy curtain.
I didn't know where to begin. My mind raced.
Am I really ready for this? What should I say first? Why didn't I think about all this earlier? Damn it, Miggy, you idiot.
Someone cleared their throat. I looked up. It was the private investigator Uncle Rick had brought with him. I still didn't catch the man's name—maybe I wasn't listening closely enough earlier.
Uncle Rick spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "In short, we need your services. That's why you're here. But I'm speaking not just as a client now, but as someone who considers Miggy, Gabriel's son, like my own. Everything discussed tonight stays between the four of us. Do you understand?"
The investigator nodded.
Uncle Rick turned to me next. "Miggy?"
"Right," I said, turning to Meynard. "Nard, the card?"
Meynard quickly pulled the card from his sling bag. It was still inside the brown envelope. He handed it to me, and I explained how I had found it, how it had been with me all this time. It wasn't easy—I choked up several times, especially when I talked about my final day with Dad. I didn't even get to finish. The food arrived midway through.
Nobody spoke as we ate. Meynard and I were probably being watched, maybe evaluated. They knew me well enough to expect I wouldn't talk much when emotions were running high.
Nothing about this is easy. If it weren't for Dad's request, I don't think I'd be here. I'm still grappling with everything—his death, the discovery, the guilt. But there's no going back. All I can do now is honor his last wish: find his other child.
Once the plates were cleared, Uncle Rick leaned forward.
"Let's pick up where we left off. That birthday card is the only real lead we have. We need you to track down the mother and daughter."
"I'll do my best," the investigator replied. "But… is that the only clue? Nothing else to go on? "
He looked uncertain. I could understand that. He was being asked to find someone with barely anything to go on—a needle in a haystack.
"I'm not sure if Gabriel gave more details," Uncle Rick admitted. "He was terrified to bring this up with his wife. Miggy's mom doesn't know anything."
The investigator went quiet, and we all watched as Uncle Rick swirled the wine in his glass, staring into it like it held answers.
Finally, he cleared his throat.
"Gabriel and I went to a producers' event years ago—preparation for the Manila Film Festival. He'd asked me to co-produce a film with him, so I went. After dinner, we hit a bar to keep drinking. We weren't drunk—not yet."
My stomach knotted. I didn't know why I was anxious, but I was.
"It was a good night," Uncle Rick went on. "Lots of talk about dreams and future projects. Some companions brought along models—friends of theirs. Gabriel left with one of them. I ended up talking to another, but she stepped away to greet someone and never came back. Eventually, I went home alone."
He paused, taking another drink before continuing.
"The next morning, Gabriel showed up at my place, waking me up himself. My wife didn't even flinch—he'd done it before. He wanted to talk privately. He was shaken. Told me what happened that night. He wasn't like that—not impulsive. He'd loved Barbara since college. But he was panicked. The girl was just nineteen. If she had reported him, it could've ruined everything. But she didn't."
My chest tightened. I held my breath.
"We tried finding her afterward—her name was Teresa. She was a ramp model, a working student. She'd come to Manila to pay for college through modeling. Her father had passed, and she'd clashed with her stepfather. She worked as a waitress before being discovered by a talent scout."
"She was in her third year when she met Gabriel," he added. "And Gabriel… he didn't mean for any of it to happen. He regretted it. Deeply. He couldn't forgive himself, especially after realizing she'd dropped out of college. He believed it was his fault."
I felt cold. Hollow.
"She wasn't like the others," Uncle Rick said softly. "There was something... grounded about her. She laughed easily, but she didn't flirt. Gabriel said she talked about her hometown a lot. About a little sister she missed. She had this quiet sadness about her—like she knew life wasn't fair but smiled anyway."
"We tried finding her again when Gabriel received that birthday card," Uncle Rick said. "But she'd moved. The agency said she left for the province. Gabriel went after her, but she wasn't there either."
The investigator finally asked, "Did you try contacting her friends?"
"We did. Nothing. It was like she vanished. Gabriel was haunted by guilt. He brought it up again only recently. Said his conscience never let him rest."
I was frozen in my seat.
"If only I had let Dad finish his story. If only I hadn't judged him right away. I killed him with my anger. I'm so stupid. He was my father. I should've trusted him."
I couldn't speak. I could feel the shame on my face. Maybe they saw it too. I just kept drinking.
When the wine bottle emptied, I signaled Meynard to order another. I wanted to numb everything. The shame. The guilt. The storm inside.
"Are you okay?" Meynard asked, voice low as he poured me another glass.
I gave a tight nod. "Y-Yeah."
He didn't believe me. I could tell. But he didn't push. He just kept the glass full.
The investigator continued, asking, "So, you do know her full name?"
"Yes," Uncle Rick replied.
I saw the investigator scribbling something into his notebook.
"Maybe that's all he needs," I thought.
They kept talking. Meynard joined in with a few questions. I didn't. I just sat there, quiet, drowning in thoughts I couldn't control. Thoughts that refused to leave me alone.
I remembered Dad's tired eyes the night before he left. The way he hugged me—longer than usual, like he was trying to say something he couldn't bring himself to say. That was the night when he visited me in my condo, a week before our confrontation in his office. I brushed it off back then. Now I wonder if that was him asking for forgiveness in silence. And I ignored him.
I came here to start something, but I didn't realize how much I'd have to lose in the process. Whoever this girl is—my sister—she deserves better than this silence. And I owe her more than just my guilt.