CHAPTER 13
1962 Words
The first few days were hard. The days that followed? Even harder.
I tried to keep track of time, but the sun barely reached the small window of my room. Morning and night felt the same. I would wake up on the same bed, with the same white walls, and the same locked door. I would press my ear against it every hour or so, hoping to hear footsteps, anything. But silence was the usual visitor.
I tried the windows—locked. Tried throwing things at the wall—no response. One time, I screamed until my throat hurt, but no one came. Walang sumagot. No one cared.
I was alone.
At first, I thought maybe this was temporary. Maybe Mr. Manriquiz was just mad and needed time. Maybe he'd come to his senses and realize that I wasn't the only one to blame. But every day that passed, I began to understand: I wasn’t just in hiding.
I was a prisoner.
The only person who visited me consistently was Susan, the maid. She came quietly around meal times, usually with a tray of food, a glass of water, and the same tired smile.
“Ma’am Callie,” she would whisper, sometimes looking over her shoulder like she wasn't even supposed to speak to me. “Here’s your food. You should eat even just a little.”
“Thanks, Susan,” I’d say, even when I didn’t touch the food.
Some days, I’d ask her, “Please, tell me something. What’s happening out there? How’s Lexi? Where’s Darious?”
But her answers were always soft and careful.
“I don't actually know ma'am. What I know is that Mr. Darious is really mad at you. Obviously he did everything he could to hide you away from the world.” She took a deep sigh as she spoke again. “ But you know what, ma'am, Sir Darious will be okay. He's not that bad anyway…”
I wanted to believe her. But how could I? How could a man not be “bad” when he literally locked me away from the world like some shameful secret?
I tried escaping—multiple times. The first time, I waited until Susan came, and I pretended to be asleep. The moment she set the tray down, I lunged for the door.
I didn’t even get it open.
It was locked from the outside. Always.
The second time, I managed to grab a fork and tried picking the lock. I scraped the inside of the keyhole for hours, bruised my fingers, and cried out of frustration. No luck. Just a broken fork and a reminder of how powerless I was.
I started pacing the room. Then I started talking to myself.
At first, I was just thinking out loud. Then I realized I needed to hear something—anything—just to remind myself I was still human.
"You messed up," I’d mutter while sitting on the edge of the bed. “Everything’s gone. All of it.”
The boutique. My career. My freedom. My peace.
All gone.
Some nights, I’d curl into a ball, knees pressed to my chest, and whisper about my dreams—the ones I used to believe in so fiercely.
My boutique… a dream from scratch. All those nights working overtime, saving every centavo, creating designs by candlelight, staying up late just to meet deadlines. And now? Wala na.
And the worst part? I did this. I did this. If I hadn’t broken up with Troy… if I hadn’t gone drinking that night… none of this would've happened.
Lexi wouldn’t have been hurt. I wouldn’t be stuck here. Mr. Manriquiz wouldn’t look at me like I’m poison. The world wouldn't hate me. Or was the world even know what really happened?
And now, the world thinks I ran away—like a coward.
I started to hate my reflection. My own face became unfamiliar. Pale. Tired. Weak.
“Who even are you now, Callie?” I whispered once, staring into the mirror that hung above the dresser.
Susan caught me crying one afternoon. She stopped in the doorway, unsure if she should leave or comfort me. I tried to wipe the tears away quickly, but it was too late.
“Do you want someone to talk to?” she asked gently, setting down the tray. “ Mr. Darious is a cold, dominant, and heartless CEO. His life is a total chaos not until… not until Lexi came into his life.”
I sniffled. “Why are you telling me all of these?”
“Because I know… he’s hurting too. I am not saying this is the right thing to do– imprison you here. But, maybe he just needed more time to think.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
What was I supposed to say? That I understood? That I forgave him for treating me like this? For stripping away every ounce of dignity I had left?
No. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But that night, when I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I wondered—was he really just angry? Or was this who he always was, deep down?
Days passed. Or weeks. I couldn’t tell anymore.
I stopped trying to escape.
Instead, I started writing. Susan had slipped me a notebook and a pen, maybe out of pity. Or maybe she still believed in me, somehow.
So I wrote.
Wrote everything I felt. Every regret. Every dream. Every apology I wished I could give—to Lexi, to the public, to myself.
Writing became the only thing that kept me sane.
I would stare at the door sometimes and wonder if he was behind it, listening. I wanted him to open it. To face me. To yell, or cry, or tell me what he really felt.
But he never did.
Only Susan.
Always Susan.
Every now and then, she’d leave a flower on the tray. Just a small one. A touch of color in my gray little world. I never asked her to, but I appreciated it.
“Ill keep in touch…" she whispered once, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “This is just temporary for sure.”
I nodded slowly. But deep inside, I wasn't so sure.
Because in this place, time didn’t feel real. And hope felt like another luxury I could no longer afford.
The sunlight slipped through the tall windows, mocking me with its freedom. Another day. Another meal tray.
I was curled up on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling when the door creaked open. It was the usual soft knock, then the slow, cautious entry—Susan.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted gently, setting the tray on the small table near the bed. I didn’t respond right away. Most days, I didn’t have the energy.
She glanced at me and gave a tight smile. “I brought champorado today. Something warm. It’s raining outside.”
I sat up slowly, the ache in my body a combination of restlessness and emotional fatigue. “Thanks,” I mumbled, my voice still hoarse from all the silent crying last night.
Susan stood beside the tray for a while, fidgeting with her fingers. She always looked like she wanted to say more but didn’t know if she was allowed.
Then she exhaled softly. “Miss Lexi… she’s been discharged,” she said.
I blinked.
“What?” I asked, not sure if I heard her right.
“She got out of the hospital yesterday,” Susan added, now whispering as if the walls might be listening. “She’ll be here soon. Mr. Manriquiz said she plans to visit you.”
My chest tightened. My mouth felt dry.
Lexi. Here.
The image of her haunted eyes in my dreams suddenly felt too close to reality.
“Is she… okay?” I asked, my voice small.
Susan hesitated. “She’s alive. But she’s… not the same anymore.”
I knew what she meant. I didn’t need the details. I’d been hearing the same line echo in my head for days now: You took everything from her.
I pushed the tray slightly away. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
“I don’t think she’s coming to forgive me,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Susan looked at me with a kind of pity I was starting to recognize in her. She had those eyes that made you want to cry more, the ones that didn’t look down on you but still broke your heart.
“She’s angry. Hurt. But Mr. Manriquiz… he’s angrier,” she whispered.
I nodded. “I noticed,” I said bitterly.
Susan reached out and gently pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, like an older sister would.
“Just eat a little. You’ll need strength,” she said softly. “You never know how things will turn out.”
I gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m locked in a room like a prisoner, Susan. What else is there to expect?”
“You’re not a prisoner,” she replied quickly, but even she didn’t believe her own words. “You’re just being… protected. Mr. Manriquiz is just trying to process everything.”
“By locking me up?” I snapped, not angry at her, but at the whole situation.
Susan looked down. “I’m just saying… I’ve seen him before all of this. He wasn’t like this. He used to be… decent. Humane even. This is not the man I used to serve. It’s like something inside him snapped.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the coldness in his voice. The threat. The way he told me that the world believed I had disappeared—and that I’d remain a ghost unless he decided otherwise.
“Well, I guess we both snapped,” I whispered. “Me, with that stupid night. Him, with all this madness.”
Susan placed a spoon next to the bowl and stood up. “I’ll come back later. Maybe with some extra fruit.”
I nodded, not even sure if I’d touch the food.
She paused at the door, looking over her shoulder. “You still have a chance, Callie. Maybe not to erase what happened, but to make something better. Don’t lose hope.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered.
“I’ve seen worse turn into better,” she said, then closed the door behind her.
The silence came back.
But this time, it felt heavier—like it was prepping me for something. Lexi. Her name alone made my stomach turn.
I pulled the blanket over me, curling into a ball. I hated that I looked forward to Susan’s visits. It was the only piece of kindness I had in this place. The rest of the day, I just sat. I stared. I planned my escape even though I knew there was none. I considered screaming again—but no one would answer. I’d tried that three days ago. Got a warning. Not from Susan, but from one of the male guards posted outside the hallway.
I thought of my boutique. Of the sewing machine I used to love. Of the quiet buzz of fabric scissors, the smell of fresh coffee during early morning fittings, and my staff laughing in the backroom. I used to be someone.
Now I didn’t even have the luxury of choosing what I wore.
I glanced at the wardrobe in the corner—full of clothes that weren’t mine, chosen by someone else, probably meant to fit an image Darious thought I deserved. Everything now felt like a costume in a play I never auditioned for.
I sighed. I missed being free.
But most of all—I missed feeling human.
- Writer
