A LOVE WE LEFT BEHIND

Chapter 5 — The Parents Who Never Forgot

A love we left behind

Chapter 5 — The Parents Who Never Forgot

The evening after the inspection in Batangas, Zielle sat alone inside her office.

The city lights outside the glass windows blurred slightly against the darkness. Her desk was covered with legal documents, relocation proposals, photographs of damaged houses, and reports from the engineers.

Normally, this kind of workload would have been enough to keep her mind occupied.

Tonight, it wasn't.

Because every time she tried to read the same paragraph, she remembered one thing.

“Then I’ll wait.”

Clert's voice.

Calm.

Patient.

Painfully familiar.

Zielle leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“Why are you still like that?” she whispered.

She hated that she knew the answer.

Because Clert had always been patient with her.

Even when they were younger.

Even when she was stubborn.

Even when she got angry over the smallest things.

He would simply smile, wait for her to calm down, and then say, “Okay ka na, Zai?”

She opened her eyes immediately.

“Don't.”

Her voice was barely audible.

She reached for another folder.

But before she could open it, her phone vibrated.

A message.

From her mother.

Mom: Are you still at the office?

Zielle smiled faintly.

She typed.

Zielle: Yes. I still have work.

Another message came almost immediately.

Mom: Come home. Dinner is ready.

Zielle stared at the screen.

She knew her mother.

That wasn't really an invitation.

It was an order disguised as affection.

She sighed.

Zielle: I'll be there in twenty minutes.

She stood and began gathering her things.

But before leaving, her eyes moved toward the small vase on the corner of her desk.

The flower Clert had given her earlier was still there.

She stared at it for a few seconds.

Then she looked away.

“It's just a flower.”

She picked up her bag.

“Nothing more.”

But she didn't throw it away.

---

At the same time, across town, Clert sat inside his father's old study.

Marco Del Rosso was sitting behind the large wooden desk while Beatrice sat comfortably on the sofa across from him.

Clert had just finished explaining everything about the latest developments in Batangas.

“The temporary accommodations have already been arranged,” Clert said. “The six families whose houses have structural concerns will be moved temporarily until the engineers finish the assessment.”

Marco nodded.

“And the relocation proposal?”

“Still under negotiation.”

Beatrice looked at her son carefully.

“And Zielle?”

Clert became quiet.

His mother noticed.

Of course she did.

She had known her son his entire life.

“You saw her again.”

Clert looked down.

“Yes.”

Beatrice's expression softened.

“After all these years.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Marco leaned back.

“What does she think of you?”

Clert gave a small, humorless smile.

“She doesn't.”

Beatrice frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“She doesn't want anything to do with me.”

Silence filled the room.

Beatrice exchanged a glance with Marco.

Neither of them looked surprised.

They had expected this.

They had talked about Zielle many times through the years.

More than Clert knew.

Beatrice slowly stood and walked toward her son.

“Did she ask about what happened?”

Clert nodded.

“She asked why I left.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I'll tell her when she's ready.”

Marco sighed.

“Good.”

Clert looked at his father.

“Dad?”

“You can't force her to hear you.”

“I know.”

“You can't ask her to forget.”

“I know.”

“And you can't expect her to forgive you simply because you're sorry.”

Clert nodded.

“I know that too.”

Beatrice reached for his hand.

“Then what will you do?”

Clert looked at his mother.

“I'll wait.”

Beatrice smiled sadly.

“Your father and I knew you would say that.”

Clert looked between them.

“Mom...”

She squeezed his hand.

“We never stopped caring about her.”

Clert's expression changed.

He hadn't expected that.

Marco looked toward the window.

“Your mother and I wanted to visit the Villamors before.”

Clert stared at him.

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“But you never did.”

Marco was quiet for a moment.

“Because we were ashamed.”

Clert's brows furrowed.

“Of what?”

“Of everything.”

Beatrice sat beside him.

“We knew how close you and Zielle were. We knew what happened when you left. We knew her family must have had questions.”

She paused.

“But we didn't have the courage to knock on their door.”

Clert swallowed.

“Mom...”

“We were embarrassed,” Beatrice continued softly. “Hindi namin alam kung paano kami haharap sa pamilya niya.”

Marco nodded.

“Your mother and I thought about it many times. We wanted to ask how Zielle was. We wanted to know if she was okay.”

“But you didn't.”

“We didn't,” Marco admitted.

Clert looked down at his hands.

For years, he had believed he was the only one carrying the weight of the past.

He hadn't realized his parents carried their own.

“You still want her for me?”

Beatrice smiled.

“Clert.”

“What?”

“Of course.”

His mother gently touched his cheek.

“Matagal na.”

Marco chuckled softly.

“Your mother was already calling her our daughter before you even understood what that meant.”

Beatrice laughed.

“Because she was.”

Clert smiled for the first time that evening.

“She doesn't want to hear that.”

“I know.”

“She's angry.”

“She has every right to be.”

“And she doesn't trust me.”

Beatrice looked at him seriously.

“Then earn it.”

Clert nodded.

“I will.”

---

Meanwhile, at the Rivera residence, Zielle was sitting at the dining table with her family.

Zane was discussing something about the company with their father while Zafra was teasing him about a meeting he supposedly handled badly.

“I didn't handle it badly,” Zane protested.

“You forgot the presentation.”

“I didn't forget it.”

“You left it in your car.”

“That is not forgetting.”

Zafra raised an eyebrow.

“That is literally forgetting.”

Their father laughed.

Zielle smiled quietly.

This was familiar.

Safe.

Home.

Then her mother looked at her.

“Zielle.”

She immediately knew that tone.

“Yes, Mom?”

“Are you okay?”

Zielle stopped eating.

“I'm fine.”

Zafra looked at her.

Zane did too.

Their father remained silent.

Celestine gently placed her fork down.

“You're seeing Clert again.”

It wasn't a question.

Zielle sighed.

“Yes.”

“Because of the case?”

“Yes.”

“And outside the case?”

Zielle didn't answer.

Her mother didn't pressure her.

She simply nodded.

“Okay.”

Zielle looked at her.

“Mom?”

Celestine smiled.

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“That you don't have to explain everything tonight.”

Zielle looked down.

Her mother's words somehow made her chest feel heavier.

“Mom...”

Celestine reached across the table and held her hand.

“Whatever happened between you and Clert, you don't have to decide today what he means to you.”

Zielle remained silent.

“You have time.”

That sentence stayed with her.

You have time.

---

Later that night, while the family was still gathered in the living room, Celestine received a call.

She glanced at the screen.

Her expression changed slightly.

Zielle noticed.

“Who is it?”

Her mother hesitated.

“Beatrice.”

Zielle froze.

The name was enough.

Beatrice Del Rosso.

Clert's mother.

Her mother's old friend.

They had once been close.

Not as close as Celestine's other friendships, but close enough to understand each other.

Zielle looked away.

“Answer it, Mom.”

Celestine nodded.

She walked toward the veranda.

“Hello?”

“Celestine.”

Beatrice's voice sounded older than Zielle remembered.

But still warm.

Still familiar.

They spoke quietly for several minutes.

Zielle wasn't trying to listen.

But the veranda doors were open.

She could hear pieces of the conversation.

“How are you?”

“I'm okay.”

“How is Zielle?”

Zielle's fingers tightened around the cushion in her lap.

Celestine glanced inside.

Her eyes met Zielle's.

Then she looked away.

“She is strong.”

Beatrice sighed.

“I know.”

“She is working hard.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Beatrice,” Celestine said softly, “you don't have to be afraid to ask about her.”

“I know.”

“But?”

Beatrice's voice cracked slightly.

“We were ashamed.”

Celestine closed her eyes.

“I understand.”

“We wanted to come to you before.”

“I know.”

“But we didn't know what to say.”

“You didn't have to say anything.”

“We were afraid you would hate us.”

Celestine shook her head.

“I never hated you.”

There was silence.

Then Beatrice whispered.

“Thank you.”

Celestine smiled faintly.

“Beatrice, I know what happened hurt Zielle.”

“I know.”

“And I know Clert hurt her.”

“I know.”

“But I also know there are things we don't understand yet.”

Beatrice was quiet.

Celestine looked toward the living room.

At Zielle.

At the woman who had once been a little girl running around their house.

A girl who used to smile whenever Clert came through their gate.

A girl who had once believed that forever was easy.

“Mahaba pa ang panahon,” Celestine said gently.

Beatrice breathed in.

“Marami pang bagay ang mangyayari.”

“Yes.”

“And maybe...”

Celestine smiled sadly.

“Para na rin itong isang pagsubok na dapat nilang pagdaanan.”

Beatrice was silent.

Then she softly replied,

“Siguro nga.”

Celestine continued.

“Hindi natin kailangang pilitin.”

“I know.”

“Hindi natin kailangang ayusin para sa kanila.”

“I know.”

“Kung may babalik man sa kanila, dapat sila mismo.”

Beatrice's voice softened.

“I hope someday.”

Celestine looked at Zielle again.

“So do I.”

---

Zielle didn't hear the rest.

She quietly stood and went upstairs.

Inside her bedroom, she closed the door.

She sat on the edge of her bed.

For some reason, her mother's words echoed in her mind.

Mahaba pa ang panahon.

She looked at the old wooden box hidden inside her closet.

She pulled it out.

She opened it.

Inside were memories she had spent years refusing to throw away.

Old photographs.

Letters.

Small things.

And the dried flowers Clert had given her.

She touched one carefully.

Then she remembered something.

His parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Del Rosso.

They had always been kind to her.

When she was younger, Beatrice would always ask if she had eaten.

Marco would sometimes joke with her father about their children.

They had never treated her like an outsider.

And suddenly she wondered—

Did they know?

Did they know why Clert left?

Did they ever ask about her?

Did they ever wonder what happened to her?

She closed the box.

Then opened it again.

She laughed softly at herself.

“Why am I even thinking about this?”

She placed the box back inside the closet.

Her phone vibrated.

She picked it up.

A message from Clert.

Clert: Good night, Zielle. Tomorrow, I'll send the updated relocation documents to your office. Please don't forget to eat dinner.

Zielle stared at the message.

She almost smiled.

Almost.

She typed.

Zielle: Good night. I already ate.

She hesitated.

Then added:

Zielle: Thank you.

She stared at the two words.

Her finger hovered over the screen.

Then she sent them.

Across town, Clert's phone lit up.

He immediately looked at it.

When he saw her message, his entire expression softened.

Beatrice, who happened to be walking past the room, stopped.

She looked at her son.

“You're smiling.”

Clert quickly straightened.

“No.”

“You are.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

Marco looked over from the sofa.

“What happened?”

Beatrice pointed at Clert.

“Zielle replied.”

Marco smiled.

Clert shook his head.

“You two are impossible.”

Beatrice laughed.

“We're your parents.”

Clert looked down at the message again.

Two simple words.

Thank you.

To anyone else, they meant almost nothing.

To him, they meant everything.

Because Zielle had answered.

She hadn't ignored him.

She hadn't told him to stop.

She hadn't returned his flowers.

She had simply said thank you.

And for tonight, that was enough.

---

The next morning, Zielle arrived at her law chamber early.

On her desk was another bouquet.

She stopped.

White roses.

Simple.

Elegant.

No extravagant wrapping.

Only a small card.

She picked it up.

“For today. No reason needed.”

Zielle stared at it.

“Seriously?”

Her secretary appeared at the door.

“Ma'am?”

Zielle pointed at the flowers.

“Did he send these?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

Zielle sighed.

“Tell him to stop.”

Her secretary nodded.

“Okay, ma'am.”

Zielle waited.

Then she added quietly,

“Actually...”

Her secretary looked back.

Zielle cleared her throat.

“Never mind.”

The secretary smiled knowingly.

Zielle narrowed her eyes.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

The secretary laughed and left.

Zielle looked at the flowers again.

She carefully lifted the bouquet.

For a moment, she considered throwing them away.

Instead, she placed them in the vase.

Then she sat down.

She opened the first legal document.

But before reading it, she looked at the roses one more time.

And somewhere inside her heart, a small, dangerous thought appeared.

Maybe Mom is right.

Maybe there is still time.

Not to forgive.

Not yet.

Not to forget.

Definitely not.

But maybe...

There was still time to understand.

And for the first time since Clert returned, Zielle allowed herself to consider something she had been terrified to admit.

Maybe the story between them wasn't finished.

Maybe they had simply reached the part where both of them had to decide whether their past deserved another chance.

And somewhere across Batangas, Clert was already preparing for another meeting with her.

Patiently.

Quietly.

Without asking for anything.

Because he had promised himself one thing.

He would never rush Zielle again.

If she needed time—

he would give her time.

If she needed distance—

he would respect it.

And if she needed proof—

he would spend however long it took showing her.

Because this time, he wasn't going to leave.

Not without saying goodbye.

Not without fighting for the woman he had loved since they were young.

Not without finally telling her the truth.

And when that day came, he only hoped she would be ready to hear it.