Connected Blood

2 - Second Life

Three months have passed since the accident, yet it feels like yesterday. The world refuses to let me move on. The relentless media coverage is a constant reminder of the trauma I desperately want to leave behind. “Sync survived a terrible accident three months ago, and her fans are still waiting for her reco—” The newscaster’s voice droned on until I grabbed the remote and switched off the TV, flinging it onto the bed.

“It’s been three months! Why am I still in the news?” I muttered under my breath, running my hands through my hair in frustration.

“Because you’re Sync Velasco, a household name and a top-billing actress.” Max, my best friend and self-proclaimed reality check, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed. “Your fans are worried about you, and the media? They thrive on every detail of your life.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I snapped, pacing the room. “But can’t they let me breathe? I need time to recover—away from cameras and prying eyes.”

Max chuckled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Recover? Sweetie, you’ve been lying in this hospital bed for months, watching sappy dramas and eating hospital food. You're perfectly fine physically. What you need is to get back out there before people start forgetting your name.”

“Can you just stop?” I shot back, feeling my temples throb. “You’re not helping.”

Max rolled her eyes and walked further into the room. “I’m not here to sugarcoat things, Sync. You’ve been avoiding the world for too long. Your fans are waiting, your career’s on the line, and yet here you are, hiding.”

“I’m not hiding!” I retorted, but even I wasn’t convinced by my words.

“You’re leaving this hospital tomorrow, whether you like it or not,” Max declared firmly. “Mark my words.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

She’s right, I thought with a heavy sigh. I couldn’t stay hidden forever.

-

That night, a chilling noise woke me from my restless sleep. The room felt unnaturally cold, like an icy wind had swept through. I shivered, fumbling for the remote to turn off the air conditioning, but even with it off, the temperature continued to drop.

Fear clawed at my chest as I grabbed my phone and called the nurse. When she arrived, the warmth returned almost instantly.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Velasco?” she asked, scanning the room.

“There was… someone here,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

She gave me a concerned look and checked every corner of the room but found nothing. “Perhaps it was just a bad dream,” she suggested gently.

I shook my head. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Her reassuring words did little to calm me. I knew what I felt, what I heard. Something—or someone—had been there.

-

The next morning, Max stormed into my room, carrying a box of my belongings. “What’s up with your face? And those eyebags—yikes.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” I muttered, still shaken from the night’s events.

“Whatever. Get dressed. We’re leaving this hospital today.” She began packing my things with practiced efficiency, her movements brisk and decisive.

I hesitated, but Max wasn’t giving me a choice. With a resigned sigh, I got up and started to change.

As we pulled up to my parents’ house, nostalgia hit me like a wave. The old gate, the familiar scent of mom’s garden—it should have felt like home, but it didn’t.

“Honey, am I dreaming, or is that our daughter?” Mom squinted from the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.

Dad glanced up from washing the dog. “Looks like her to me.”

“Can you open the gate already?” I called out, exasperated.

“The gate’s been open the whole time,” Dad said with a chuckle.

“What?! I’ve been standing here for ten minutes!” I fumed, pushing the gate open with a huff and storming inside.

The kitchen smelled of freshly baked bread, but my attention was drawn to a piece of paper taped to the refrigerator. My hospital bill.

“Two million pesos?!” I screeched, snatching the paper.

Mom appeared in the doorway, nonchalant. “We used your money to pay for it. You’re welcome.”

“You what?!” My voice cracked in disbelief.

“You were enjoying yourself there, so we didn’t want to bother you,” she replied with a smug smile.

Frustration boiled over. “I’m going back to my house,” I declared, tossing the paper aside and storming out.

“Take care, honey!” they called out, unfazed.

-

Arriving at my place, I sighed in relief, eager to be alone. But as I approached the front door, my heart stopped. There he was—Win. The man who broke my heart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked coldly, my voice sharper than I intended.

He stepped closer, his expression soft. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

I took a step back, glaring at him. “After everything you’ve done, you think you can just show up?”

“Sync, I know I messed up,” he began, his voice heavy with regret. “But I’ve been worried about you. I just—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to act like you care now. You left me when I needed you most.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I feel like it’s my fault you had that accident. I—”

“Stop!” I shouted, my emotions boiling over. “We’re done, Win. You don’t get to apologize and make everything okay. Just… leave.”

He stood there for a moment, his eyes filled with pain, before turning and walking away.

Once the door clicked shut behind me, the tears came. I sank to the floor, hugging my knees as sobs wracked my body. Why did he have to come back? Why now, when I was finally starting to heal?

That night, I sat on my bed, hugging my knees. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions. I had survived a car crash, yet the wounds Win left felt far deeper. How could someone so close become a stranger in an instant?

But as Max’s words echoed in my mind, I knew I couldn’t let this break me. I was Sync, a rising star, a woman who had faced adversity before. If I could survive the crash, I could survive a broken heart.

This wasn’t the end of my story—it was just the beginning of a new chapter.