The morning after was quiet, warm, and real.
Tedd made breakfast. He insisted. I tried to help, but he waved me away and said something about how "a woman who just survived near-death shouldn't be frying eggs."
I just sat at the table, watching him hum under his breath—barefoot, sleepy-eyed, and somehow glowing.
We didn't say what last night meant.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcf62gDZnTK
We didn't have to.
But when he set the tray down and looked at me with that quiet gaze of his, I knew we were no longer playing nurse and patient. We were two people choosing each other, even with scars unhealed.
After a few more weeks of clearance and final treatments, we flew back to the Philippines.
To Isabela.
Tedd's hometown.
I expected resistance. An awkward lunch. Maybe a judgmental lola hiding in the kitchen waiting to interrogate me.
But what I got was open arms.
His parents had heard stories—not just of my illness, but of how Tedd spoke about me. They knew. They saw it in his eyes long before he said anything.
His mother hugged me first, not like a stranger, but like a daughter coming home.
"You saved my son too," she whispered in Tagalog.
And then I met Max.
His son. Eight years old.
Big, curious eyes and a shy smile that melted me the moment he hid behind his dad's leg, then peeked out and whispered, "Hi po."
I knelt to greet him, and to my surprise, he hugged me right away.
From then on, he was glued to me.
"Alam mo po, si Daddy lagi ako pinapatulog ng may kwento," he told me one night while holding my hand.
"Anong kwento?" I asked, confused by the Ilocano words sprinkled in.
He giggled. "Yung kwento ni Mommy dati. Pero ngayon, kwento ni 'yo na."
I looked at Tedd, and he translated softly, "He said he used to hear stories about his mom... but now it's stories about you."
I choked up a little.
Because that kind of acceptance from a child was more powerful than any "I love you."
Isabela was quiet. Gentle. Breathing.
The opposite of everything I'd known in the city.
One afternoon, Tedd took me to their family farm, where carabaos grazed and the sky never ran out of space.
We sat inside a small nipa hut, wooden and familiar, with woven mats laid out on the floor and the sound of bamboo creaking with the breeze.
It started to rain again. Just like in Singapore.
But this time, we weren't hiding pain.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ1LQVmXKDQ
We were basking in peace.
He laid beside me, one hand under his head, the other slowly finding mine.
"You feel safe here?" he asked, watching the rain slide down the thatched roof.
I nodded. "With you, I do."
Then, he kissed me.
Slow at first. Almost reverent.
As if reliving every moment that led to this one. The hospital. The fear. The violin. The first kiss under rain. The first shared breath in bed.
I crawled into his lap, straddling him gently, as he sat up and pulled me closer.
The rain was heavier now, drowning out the world.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeSDve0afen
All I could hear was his breathing and mine.
He untied the sash of my sundress with steady fingers, brushing his knuckles over my bare skin like I was something he hadn't yet earned.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, lips pressing gently along the curve of my collarbone. "Still healing. Still strong."
I unbuttoned his shirt slowly, revealing skin kissed by sun, by labor, by life.
We lay down, our bodies aligning like puzzle pieces that had waited too long to meet again.
His hands explored, not rushed but curious.
Soft over my hips. Firm at the back of my neck.
My body responded without fear this time—no doubts, no inner alarms, only yes in every nerve ending, every sigh.
We moved together gently, the woven mat beneath us shifting slightly with our rhythm.
His lips moved from my mouth to my throat, my chest, worshiping each inch like a prayer whispered into skin.
Our hips moved in tandem, rain tapping rhythmically above us, our breath syncing until nothing else mattered.
"Jaimie..." he murmured, voice trembling as he sank deeper into me. "I didn't know I could feel this again."
"You can," I whispered back. "With me... you can."
We didn't rush to finish.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd7E7I1v2Ll
It wasn't about climax.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa9VCOR9HdY
It was about being held in a world that had once only held expectations and wounds.
When we finally reached it—together—it was quiet, full, and sacred.
And after, when we laid tangled in each other's arms, wrapped in sweat and the scent of earth and rain...
We both understood:
This was more than love.
It was home.
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqNByZp8aaY
