Miggy's POV
Meynard and I went home, but my mind was still a whirlwind of thoughts. What I had learned about my parents' marriage before I came into their lives kept troubling me. Gradually, I realized that maybe my dad didn't really mean the mistakes I'd heard about from the past. It was enviable to think that they had found each other, and their marriage had been so wonderful. But then I asked myself—when would I be able to recognize my parents' love story as my own?
What can I do to help Mom ease the pain she's carrying? I wondered. We're both struggling with what happened, and I know neither of us has fully accepted that Dad is gone. But I don't even know how deep the wound is in Mom's heart from Daddy leaving us. Sure, we were both hurt, but the impact was different for each of us.
For Dad, maybe I was right to do what I did—taking on the things he couldn't. But what about Mom? How will she deal with it when she finds out what I did? What does Dad think of Mom and me now?
I was drowning in these thoughts when Meynard's hand suddenly patted my shoulder.
"Bro, you've been really quiet. Do you want me to come with you, or should I just head home?" he asked, worry in his voice.
"Sorry. Can you spend the night here?" I replied, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the car door.
I didn't hear Meynard's answer, but footsteps behind me told me he was following.
"Bro, I'm not just worried about Ma'am Barbs. I'm worried about you too—you've been so distant the past few days," he said softly as we waited for the elevator.
"I'm sorry. I'm struggling. Everything happened so fast, and I don't know what to think. My conscience keeps bothering me about what I found out. I judged my own dad so harshly. I blamed myself for why it was him. It shouldn't be like that. It's like I didn't recognize him when I read that card. I never gave him a chance to explain. I was overwhelmed by emotions that afternoon. I didn't even consider how Dad might be feeling," I admitted, frustration tightening my chest.
"From what I know of Sir G, he wouldn't be angry at you, even with everything that happened between you two. He might've been hurt by what you said, but he wouldn't hold a grudge against you for it," Meynard reassured me.
"No matter how I look at it, I was wrong. I had no right to judge or speak to Dad like that. If I hadn't heard Uncle Manuel's story, I might never have realized how inappropriate my behavior was. The hardest part? I feel like I caused Dad's heart attack—that I killed him. My conscience is eating me alive. I can't tell Mom because she'd despise me, even though she needs me now, more than ever. I just don't know how to fix this," I said, my voice breaking as tears streamed down.
I sank onto the sofa, unable to meet Meynard's eyes, embarrassed by my own pain. "I don't even know who I am anymore. This isn't the life I dreamed of. Why do I have to go through all this? It's like I'm slowly giving up. I can't sleep; when I do, I wake up haunted by the biggest mistake of my life. No matter how much I regret it, I can't undo what happened. I can't bring Dad back. Our family is broken—my life and Mom's. I don't know how to fix this. Is there even a way? "
"Bro, have some water and get some rest," Meynard said gently, handing me a glass.
"Thanks," I murmured, sipping the water.
"Bro, you're losing weight. Your eyes look heavy, and those bags aren't small. Who'd want to be around a guy looking like a zombie?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Tsss, you're impossible!" I said, half-smiling.
"Hey, you have to fix yourself if you want girls to flock to you," he joked.
"Don't make me tell the nanny you said that! You'll regret it," I threatened like a kid.
"Bro, you're going to make Mom upset if you keep looking like a panda. Hey, why don't I invite her over here?" he teased again.
"You'd get hurt for sure," I laughed, remembering how afraid I was of my nanny—Meynard's mom. She was the only one who could get me to eat bitter food I hated, just by scolding me. Even when I didn't like a dish, I ate it out of fear she'd send Meynard away and I'd lose my only playmate.
"Are you smiling now? You looked so down a while ago. Are you crazy?" Meynard teased as I threw a pillow at him.
"You're the crazy one!" I said, laughing.
Then we both laughed harder, remembering our childhood.
"That's the Miggy I know," Meynard said, smiling. "I haven't seen that smile in a while."
I sighed deeply. "I want to be happy, but right now, it feels impossible. After all this chaos… it's hard to laugh or feel joy. But at least you're here. You always make me smile or laugh, even in the darkest moments. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Whoa, getting all emotional! Should I cry now?" He acted dramatically.
"You're nuts!" I said, chuckling.
"Seriously though, you're the only crazy one in the family. How did Nanny raise you? Your sisters are normal," I joked.
"Yeah, right," he said, his goofy smile still on his face.
Because of Meynard's jokes, my mood lightened. I was lucky—though I didn't have a brother, Meynard became one for me. He's my confidant, my partner in everything, even since we were kids. Even when I'm the only child of Mom and Dad, I don't feel alone because Meynard was with me and is still here. I always took him home during school breaks so I wouldn't feel lonely. Mom and Dad treat him like family too. On special occasions, he always gets gifts from them, just like me.
If only I could go back to those childhood days. No worries, no problems—just happiness. Our family was whole then, even if Mom and Dad were busy at work. They were still there. But now… everything is broken. Dad is gone, and Mom still doesn't know everything. I don't know how to help her, how to bring her back to the way she was. I just want to see her happy again—even if it's just the two of us now.
"Bro, snap out of it!" Meynard shook me, pulling me back to the present.
"I'm drowning in these thoughts again," I admitted.
"Bro, you're really not okay. Why not take leave? Take Ma'am Barbs somewhere; let her rest. Don't worry about work—I got your back, except when you need to sign papers or come in for something urgent. I can handle the rest," he offered.
"I'll think about it. I want to finish this project first. It's my responsibility as manager to make sure everything's in order. I can't just leave it hanging," I said.
"Thanks for being strong. Just promise me you'll rest soon. We both need it."
We sat side by side on the sofa, neither of us dressed yet, just talking late into the night.
"Alright, let's get some sleep. Early day tomorrow," I said.
"Good night, bro. Rest well," Meynard replied.
A few minutes after showering and changing, I lay in bed—but sleep didn't come. The dark thoughts still circled.
I got up and went to the kitchen, looking for something to help me sleep. No beer left, but I found a little Jack Daniel's—the one Dad liked. I poured a glass, then sat on the veranda with the sliding door open, staring out at the city lights.
"How are you, Dad? What do you think of Mom and me now?" I whispered to the night. "Did you tell Mom about that one night—the mistake? If she knows, why hasn't she told me? But maybe she doesn't know. If she did, she'd call me right away. So maybe they just don't understand each other yet."
Can I find them? If I do, will she know who her father is? How do I tell her why her daddy died? Would she hate me for what I did? Even if she never had a chance to be with Dad, I took that away from her.
I didn't notice when sleep finally took me, sitting there on the chair.
Meynard woke me the next morning. "Bro, did you drink last night again? You were a bit tipsy at the hotel, and then I found you asleep out here. At least you didn't try to jump, right?" he said, half-serious, half-joking.
I just stayed quiet, knowing he was only teasing, but thankful he was there.
A few minutes later, I got up, gathered the wine glass and the empty bottle, and carried them to the kitchen. I tossed the bottle in the trash and rinsed the glass. Meynard was already there, cooking breakfast. He didn't say a word or even look at me. I didn't push it. I just quietly went to get ready for work.
Even when we were both in the car, heading to the office, the silence between us lingered. Meynard kept his eyes on the road, his mouth a tight line. He still wouldn't talk to me.
I knew it was my fault. I knew why he was upset. He didn't want me doing things I'd regret later. And he was right—what I did was wrong. I hadn't meant to fall asleep out there on the veranda. I just wanted a drink to help me sleep. I hadn't realized how tired I really was.
"Nard, I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean to sleep out there. I just had a little wine because I couldn't sleep. I didn't mean to overdo it—I know I already drank at the hotel. But even then, I could hardly sleep. I'm not making excuses. I'm just… trying to explain. I won't promise anything, but I'll try to stop. It's hard, though. The stress won't let me rest. I've tried skipping the drinks, even beer, but I end up staring at the ceiling until dawn."
I didn't know if he was listening. I couldn't tell if he believed me. He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he said in a flat tone, "Just a reminder—the audition starts at nine in the conference room. Everything's already set. I checked it before we left for the hotel yesterday. I'll come back when it's about to start."
And that was it.
When we got to the office, he walked me to my door, said nothing more, and left without looking back.