It had rained heavily yesterday — the first real downpour in weeks in Metro Manila.
I was driving back home from Makati when I saw her — my ex-wife, Amaris — standing under the small shelter of a jeepney stop, completely drenched. She held an old bayong close to her chest, her thin body shivering from the cold.
Something inside me broke. It had been five years since our divorce, yet seeing her again stirred a quiet ache within me — one I couldn’t ignore.
Without thinking, I stopped the car, rolled down the window, and said softly: “Amaris… Pasok na (Get in). I’ll drop you home.”
She turned around, startled at first, then gave a faint smile and nodded.
When we reached her place in Sampaloc, she said softly, “This is where I live.”
The building was old — cracked walls, rusted railings, and broken windows patched with cardboard. My heart sank.
I followed her inside, just to escape the rain. Her small room was dark, damp, and smelled of loneliness.
And then my eyes fell on a photo — our wedding picture.
It had turned yellow with time but still hung neatly on the wall, as if it still meant something.
I asked quietly, “Why do you still keep it?”
She smiled faintly. “Hindi naman sa umaasa pa ako (It’s not that I still have hope)… I just couldn’t throw it away.”
Later, as I drove home, her words kept echoing in my head.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The small room, her lonely eyes, and that old photograph wouldn’t leave my mind.
The next day, without planning to, I found myself standing outside her door again.
I hesitated — and then the door opened.
She looked surprised. “You? What are you doing here?”
I said softly, “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
She was silent for a moment, then stepped aside. “Pasok (Come in).”
The sound of rain tapped against the window. Silence filled the room between us.
I looked at the photo again, then at her. Memories flooded back.
I reached out, touched her face… and pulled her into my arms.
She didn’t pull away.
We just stood there — holding onto a love we had once lost, as if the rain outside was washing away all our pain.
When morning came, the storm had passed.
She was sleeping peacefully beside me, her hand resting lightly on the sheet.
I knew what had happened was wrong… yet it felt like kapatawaran (forgiveness) — for both of us.
Before leaving, I left a note on her table: “I don’t know what the future holds, but if you ever need me — I’ll be here.”
A few weeks later, a letter arrived at my office — in her handwriting: “Wala akong pinagsisisihan (I have no regrets) about that rainy night. I just want you to be happy. Let it remain our most beautiful alaala (memory).”
Even now, sometimes I pass by that old building. The little window with the flower pot is still there. I don’t go in — I just look up and smile, knowing that some loves never truly end… they simply find a quiet corner in your heart — and stay there forever.