Some Kind of Love

CHAPTER 14

When I arrived, Mama and Tito Ernest were already waiting on the porch.

Mama spotted me first.

“Zia, my baby!” she cried, rushing down the steps like she couldn't get to me fast enough.

Her arms wrapped around me tightly, and I held on just as hard. The moment her warmth surrounded me, the ache in my chest softened. Not completely. But enough.

I shut my eyes, breathed her in—the scent of fabric softener and kitchen spices—and for a second, I let myself lean into the comfort.

We stayed like that a few more seconds, hearts quietly syncing, before she finally pulled back.

Tito Ernest stepped in, pulling me into a firm, fatherly hug.

“Zia,” he said with a soft smile.

“Tito,” I murmured, managing a grateful nod.

Mama took my hand as we walked inside together, her grip gentle but grounding. Like she could feel I needed the tether.

“Come, let’s eat. I made all your favorites,” she said cheerfully. “Sinigang, mango float, lumpia—the works!”

I smiled, or tried to. My heart was still raw, tender where Atlas had left it bleeding, but I willed myself to be present. For them. For me.

I sat down at the dining table, surrounded by food and warmth, and fought to keep my mind from wandering back to him.

He hadn’t called. Not even a text.

He just… let me go.

“So, hija—how’s work?” Tito Ernest asked, slicing a piece of roast and placing it gently on his plate.

“It’s okay, Tito,” I said with as much brightness as I could fake. “I’m really enjoying it there.”

He nodded thoughtfully, chewing slowly. “Good, good. And your apartment? You know, you can always move into one of our properties. Just so you’re more comfortable. You don’t have to worry about… Atlas.”

At his name, something sharp flickered in my chest. I forced a smile, swallowing the bitterness that tried to surface.

“I’m fine there, Tito. I promise. It’s comfortable.”

Technically true. If you could ignore the fact that Atlas bought the building and I hadn’t seen it the same way since.

Tito Ernest gave me a long look, trying—maybe—to read between the lines. But he didn’t press.

I picked at the rice on my plate, then gathered the courage to ask, “Where’s Artemis?”

Silence fell for a beat. Mama sighed.

“He’s been busy. Working too much, if you ask me. He only comes home on weekends now.” Her voice lowered. “I don’t know what happened. One day, he just… shut down. The house feels so empty with you all gone.”

Guilt punched through my stomach.

So they didn’t know. About what happened between me and Artemis. The fallout. The silence.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I said softly. “You don’t have to feel alone. We can always visit.”

She gave me a tired but grateful smile. “That would mean a lot.”

Tito Ernest reached across the table and gently held her hand. “Marcela, it’s alright. They’re grown now. We have to let them go. But yes… let’s see each other more often. While we can.”

Mama nodded, exhaling as though she were finally letting herself release the sadness.

I watched the way their fingers intertwined, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The love between them was soft, steady—deep in a way that didn’t need words.

It made something inside me ache.

Because I wanted that. Desperately. And yet, somehow, I knew… it wasn’t in the cards for me. Not with Atlas.

Not with someone who only saw me as a temporary escape.

We stayed in the living room, talking about anything and everything—from Mama’s latest kitchen experiments to Tito Ernest’s obsession with vintage motorcycles. Laughter came easier than I expected, warm and unfiltered, and for a few precious hours, I forgot the heaviness lodged in my chest.

It was almost 10 p.m. when we finally said our goodnights and retired to our rooms.

I took a quick shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of the day—of Atlas, of heartbreak, of confusion. Then I slipped into a silk nightie, one I hadn’t really thought twice about when I packed it, and towel-dried my hair before crawling into bed.

The lights were off except for the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. I curled beneath the sheets, tossing and turning, trying to find that one perfect position that would lull me into sleep.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

My body ached—not from exhaustion, but from thoughts I couldn’t quiet. His voice, his touch, the way he made me feel like I mattered, even for a moment. And then made me feel like I didn’t.

I was just starting to drift when the door creaked open.

My eyes flew open. I scrambled upright, heart pounding. The dim light caught a familiar silhouette stepping inside. I was about to scream—until my vision adjusted.

Atlas.

He silently shut the door behind him, then started toward me.

I jumped out of bed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He raised a finger to his lips. “You might want to keep your voice down if you don’t want to wake them up,” he murmured, almost too calmly.

My chest rose and fell in sharp breaths as I tried to make sense of his presence. “You have to leave,” I said, barely keeping my voice steady.

“Why?” His gaze was locked on me—and then it dropped lower, sweeping over me slowly. That was when I remembered what I was wearing. I instinctively crossed my arms in front of me, hugging my body.

He frowned slightly, like the gesture offended him.

“W-what do you mean, why? We’re in your house. Our parents are here,” I hissed.

He took a slow step toward me. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have walked away from me.”

My toes curled against the hardwood floor, the tension in my body coiling tight. “Atlas, we have to stop whatever this is.”

“Okay,” he said simply—right before his hand slid around my waist.

I gasped, my heart skittering. “I’m serious,” I said, pushing at his chest. His muscles didn’t even budge.

“So am I.” His voice was low, smooth, too damn calm for what he was doing.

Then he leaned in and brushed his lips against the side of my neck.

I turned my head away, fighting the pull of him. “A-Atlas… please…”

“Please what?” he whispered, teasing. His breath was warm against my skin.

My knees weakened. My thoughts scrambled. I hated how easily he unraveled me. How a single touch from him made all my boundaries blur.

I tried to resist—but he was still him. Still the man who shattered me, and somehow still the one I couldn’t stop aching for.

“Please,” I whispered, voice trembling, “don’t make this harder.”

For a moment, he stilled. His hand didn’t drop, but he wasn’t pulling me closer either.

“Then tell me to go,” he said quietly, his voice no longer mocking. “Look me in the eyes, Zia, and tell me you don’t want me here.”

I swallowed hard. My mouth opened.

But nothing came out.