Months passed quietly.
Not in the boring sense.
But in the kind of quiet that made you grateful.
Where mornings weren't panic alarms or hospital ceilings—but the soft shuffle of socks against wooden floors, the scent of garlic rice from the kitchen, and the occasional sleepy whisper of "Tito Dad, can we have pancakes?"
Max had adjusted beautifully.
To me.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLKWQ6vug9E
To the condo.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtB4rmRQ3Br
To us.
He even started calling me "Mom Jae."
The first time, it was accidental. He was retelling a story to Tedd while we were all eating dinner and said, "Tapos sabi ni Mom Jae, bawal daw soft drinks..." and my fork paused midair.
Tedd looked at me. I looked at Max.
"You called her what?" he asked gently.
Max blinked, chewing a piece of longganisa. "Mom Jae. Kasi parang mommy siya pero si Jaimie siya, diba?"
My eyes watered so fast I couldn't even hide it. I stood and kissed the top of his head before whispering: "Thank you, baby."
Jaimie's family adored Max.
They would ask to borrow him every other Sunday.
"Pahiram si Max, ha. May birthday sa pamilya. Gusto namin siya isama."
"Siya na ang bunso namin ngayon," my grandma teased during one of her afternoon merienda sessions.
My mother, the once perfectionist titan of judgment, had softened—maybe not completely, but beautifully. She saw Tedd's consistency. His patience. His quiet loyalty.
She saw how he never once tried to control me, and how Max lit up whenever his father came home from a shift at Makati Med.
One evening, over dinner, my mother leaned closer to me and said in Spanish,14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSsaHSHYVWh
"Tu abuelo estaría orgulloso."14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7kV4XqU6pC
(Your grandfather would be proud.)
Tedd still worked at Makati Med.
He didn't want to transfer. Said he liked routine. And said the place reminded him of where everything started—where I collapsed. Where he found me.
But now, it was different.
Sometimes I'd surprise him at the hospital during his breaks. I'd bring him pandesal and iced coffee. Sometimes Max tagged along, waving at nurses, pretending he was going to be a doctor someday.
We'd sit outside in the garden, waiting for him to come down.
Tedd would appear in his scrubs, exhausted but happy, and lean down to kiss me softly while Max shouted, "Daddy, bilisan mo, gusto ko na ng kwek-kwek!"
The condo in Makati was a gift from my father.
A two-bedroom corner unit with windows that bathed everything in gold every late afternoon.
"It's a place you three can call home," my father said.
He didn't apologize for the past.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTPwDGOyoKL
But he made peace with the present.
Tedd and I had a rhythm now.
He'd wake up at 4:30 for his shift. I'd pack his snacks, kiss his forehead, and go back to sleep beside Max.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQWGyX3aYi2
On weekends, we'd do laundry together. Grocery runs. Mass on Sundays.
And at night, when Max was asleep and the city outside turned quiet, Tedd would hold me in bed like the storm had passed and all that was left was the shelter we built ourselves.
Not perfect. But peaceful.
And for someone like me who had survived the chaos of broken men, broken expectations, and broken health...
Peace felt like the most beautiful rebellion.
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