Echoes of Freedom

Chapter 2

The ride to the hospital felt endless. Ang bawat segundo, parang oras. Ang bawat tunog ng makina, parang hampas sa puso ko. Mr. Calloway drove in silence, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking to me every so often as if making sure I was still breathing.

I clutched my phone, replaying the words over and over: “It’s about your parents.” Hindi pa man buo ang paliwanag, ramdam ko na ang bigat ng katotohanan.

Pagdating sa ospital, malamig ang hangin na sumalubong sa akin. The sterile smell of antiseptic mixed with the faint echo of hurried footsteps. My knees almost gave out, but Mr. Calloway’s hand steadied me.

"Miss Ysallero?" tanong ng nurse na lumapit, hawak ang clipboard. “Please, this way.”

I followed, each step heavier than the last. My heart pounded, my breath shallow. Sa bawat hakbang, naririnig ko pa rin ang boses ng nanay ko: “Anak, huwag mong kalimutan… ang tanging hiling namin ay makita kang masaya.”

But standing at the edge of the unknown, I wondered—paano pa ako magiging masaya kung ang lahat ng dahilan ng pangarap ko ay maaaring mawala ngayong gabi?

Mr. Calloway stayed close, his hand hovering near my shoulder, as if ready to catch me if I fell apart.

Pagpasok namin sa isang maliit na consultation room, naroon ang doktor, nakasuot ng puting coat, hawak ang clipboard na parang mabigat na pasanin. He looked at me with eyes that carried both sympathy and dread.

"Ma’am Yera… I’m sorry to inform you…"

The words blurred, drowned by the pounding in my ears. My chest tightened, my breath caught. I wanted to scream, but all I could hear was my mother’s voice.

And in that moment, I realized—happiness was the one thing slipping furthest away.

The words never fully reached me. Parang huminto ang oras sa loob ng silid. Ang doktor, ang nurse, si Mr. Calloway—lahat nakatingin, pero ang mundo ko ay parang gumuho sa isang iglap.

My knees buckled, and before I could hit the floor, Mr. Calloway caught me. His arms were firm, steady, but I was trembling too hard to feel safe.

"No… no, please…" bulong ko, halos hindi lumalabas ang boses. Ang luha ko, tuloy-tuloy, parang hindi na mauubos.

The doctor’s lips kept moving, but I couldn’t hear a single word.

Happiness felt like a cruel joke now.

Mr. Calloway tightened his grip, whispering, “Yera, breathe. I’m here. Hindi kita iiwan.”

And in that moment, as the walls of the hospital closed in, I realized this night was not just about loss—it was the beginning of something darker, something that would demand more of me than I ever thought I had to give.

The doctor’s voice finally broke through the haze. “Your parents… they were in a car accident. Critical condition. We did everything we could…”

My breath caught, the words slicing through me like glass. “No… no, please tell me they’re alive,” I whispered, my voice trembling, desperate.

The doctor lowered his eyes, and that silence was louder than any answer.

I collapsed into the chair, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The world around me blurred—the sterile walls, the buzzing lights, the nurse shifting nervously.

The doctor hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the nurse before settling back on me. “There were… unusual circumstances,” he said carefully. “The police are looking into it.”

My stomach twisted. “Unusual? What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he closed the folder in his hands, as if sealing away the truth. “For now, ma’am, what matters is that you stay safe.”

Safe. The word echoed in my mind, heavy and strange. Why would I need to be safe if this was just an accident?

Beside me, Mr. Calloway’s grip tightened. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw something in him I’d never seen before—fear, mixed with anger.

"Yera," he said quietly, almost like a warning, “there are things you don’t know yet. And maybe… it’s better if you don’t. At least for now.”

The room fell silent. The doctor avoided my gaze, the nurse shifted nervously, and Mr. Calloway’s words lingered like a shadow.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The funeral ended under a sky heavy with clouds. Black umbrellas dotted the cemetery, but I barely noticed the rain. My world already felt drowned.

I stood by the grave, numb, staring at the flowers wilting against the cold stone. My parents were gone, and with them, the life I thought I knew.

Sa likod ko, may marahang yabag. Si Mr. Calloway. Hindi siya agad nagsalita, basta tumayo lang sa tabi ko. Tahimik, ngunit ramdam ko ang bigat ng presensya niya—parang pader na humaharang sa unos.

"Yera," mahina niyang sambit, halos nag-aalangan. “Alam kong walang salitang makakapag-ayos ng sakit na ito. But I want you to know… you don’t have to carry it alone.”

I turned to him, surprised. My boss—stern, demanding, always distant—now looked at me with something I hadn’t seen before: sincerity.

"Sir… why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice breaking.

He paused, then sighed. “Because sometimes, the people we least expect… are the ones meant to stay.”

Tahimik kaming naglakad ni Mr. Calloway palabas ng sementeryo. Ang ulan ay humupa na, ngunit ang bigat sa dibdib ko ay nanatili.

"You should rest, Yera," mahina niyang sabi habang binuksan ang payong para sa akin. “Grief takes time… and strength.”

Napatingin ako sa kanya, nagtataka. “Sir… bakit niyo po ako tinutulungan nang ganito? You don’t have to.”

Huminto siya, tumingin sa akin nang diretso. “Maybe I don’t have to. But I want to. Hindi ko kayang makita kang mag-isa sa ganitong oras.”

Natahimik ako. Ang boss kong laging matigas, ngayon ay parang ibang tao—may lambing, may malasakit.

Pagdating namin sa kotse, binigyan niya ako ng maliit na envelope. “This was found with your parents’ belongings,” sabi niya. “I think… you should see it.”

Kinabahan ako. Binuksan ko ang sobre, at nakita ko ang isang papel na may mga pangalan at numero. Hindi ko maintindihan, pero may isang salita na tumama agad sa akin: “Syndicate.”

Napatingin ako kay Mr. Calloway, at sa mga mata niya nakita ko ang parehong takot at galit.

"Yera," bulong niya, “this isn’t just about loss anymore. It’s about something bigger. And whether you like it or not… you’re part of it now.”

Nakatitig ako sa papel na nasa loob ng sobre. Mga pangalan, mga numero, at isang salitang nakasulat nang malinaw: “Syndicate.”

Parang biglang lumamig ang paligid. “Sir… what is this? Bakit nasa gamit ng parents ko?”

Mr. Calloway’s eyes darkened. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back, his jaw tight. “Yera… sometimes, the people we love carry secrets we’re not ready to face.”

Napakagat ako ng labi, nanginginig ang kamay habang hawak ang papel. “Are you saying… my parents were involved?”

"I’m saying… they were connected. And now, so are you," sagot niya, mabigat ang boses.

Tumulo ang luha ko, hindi ko alam kung dahil sa galit o takot. “Hindi ko maintindihan… all my life, they just wanted me to be happy. Why would they be tied to something like this?”

Mr. Calloway reached out, gently taking the envelope from my trembling hands. “That’s what we need to find out. But Yera… you have to be careful. The syndicate doesn’t forgive. And they don’t forget.”