Objection

Chapter Two

Four years ago.

The UE Law student lounge was a mix of stress, caffeine, and the faint smell of pancit canton. On the cracked red couch sat Mariella, second-year Juris Doctor student and future advocate for justice, currently in emotional ruins, holding her phone like it was evidence in a murder trial.

Across from her sat her best friend Nancy, milk tea in hand, visibly dying to spill something explosive. Beside her was Elliot, gender-fluid, fabulous, and allergic to silence. Jasmine, the group’s resident voice of reason, hovered nearby with the expression of someone about to perform emotional triage.

Nancy’s face was serious, which was rare. Usually, she only looked that intense when her Shopee parcel got delayed. “Mars,” she began, lowering her voice dramatically, “Elliot and I saw something. About Jonas.”

Mariella blinked, exhausted. “Okay? You see Jonas every day. He’s literally in our class.”

Elliot cleared his throat, eyes darting around. “Yeah, well… he was picking someone else up.”

Mariella frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Nancy took a deep breath, like she was about to deliver a legal bombshell. “We saw him, Mars. We saw Jonas Fuente walking out of Sogo.”

Mariella froze. “Sogo? As in… the motel?”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Do you know another Sogo that offers ‘short-time rates’? Maybe the one for community service?”

Nancy leaned in. “And he wasn’t alone. He was with a girl. A freshman. From Political Science.”

The silence that followed was biblical.

Mariella’s mouth opened, then closed. “A freshman? Are you sure?”

Elliot nodded solemnly. “Uniform and all. Ponytail so tight it could cut circulation. She looked like she still calls her professors ‘Sir’ and uses glitter pens for case digests.”

Nancy groaned. “And he was holding her hand! Like they just survived a life-changing experience inside that motel. The audacity, Mars. The lack of shame.”

Mariella just sat there, frozen. Then her eyes welled up. Then came the flood.

Her eyeliner ran, her mascara smudged, and the snot joined in, an unholy trinity of heartbreak. She cried so hard, even the freshmen manning the org booth outside probably heard her misery echo.

Nancy panicked, shoving tissues into her hands. “Oh, babe, no! Don’t cry! He’s not worth the waterproof mascara!”

Elliot crossed his legs, unimpressed. “Honestly, why are you crying over Jonas Fuente? You act like he’s Paul Marcus Razon from Beda.”

Nancy gasped. “True! I mean, Paul Razon could ruin lives with just a closing argument. Jonas can’t even ruin an Excel file properly.”

Elliot gestured dramatically. “Exactly! Jonas Fuente has the confidence of a man who peaked during NSTP orientation. He looks like the human embodiment of a ‘before’ photo.”

Nancy snorted. “He’s the kind of guy who calls himself ‘mysterious,’ but the only mystery is why you ever dated him.”

Jasmine winced but smiled. “Okay, guys, maybe tone it down a little—”

Mariella sobbed harder, voice cracking. “I loved him! Why would he do this to me?”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Babe, please. Do not cry over the Temu version of Daniel Padilla. He’s not worth your tears. You can do better, and you will do better.”

Jasmine spoke softly, her tone calm but kind. “Mariella, remember who you are. You’re smart, passionate, and beautiful. One day, you’ll meet someone who deserves you.”

Elliot leaned in, flicking invisible lint from his sleeve. “Of course. I don’t even understand why you settled for Jonas. I mean, duh—” He rolled his eyes so hard they nearly left orbit.

Nancy sighed, finally realizing Mariella was actually broken this time. Her tone softened. “Honey, you’ll get over him. Honestly, I still don’t know how you lasted that long. You literally once said your kissing sessions were disgusting.”

Elliot patted Mariella’s arm dramatically. “Exactly! If there was no spark, you were basically just in it for companionship. Girl, if you were really into him, you’d have been climbing him like a statute book. But you weren’t, so…” He left the sentence hanging, eyebrows raised.

Mariella sniffled, shoulders trembling. “He was a safe bet. I thought if I dated someone who wasn’t ridiculously good-looking, he wouldn’t cheat on me.”

Elliot smirked. “Honey, there’s no such thing as safe. Even the average ones cheat, it’s equality at its worst. Look at Skusta Clee. The man looks like a tax evasion case, and he still cheated.”

Nancy nearly choked laughing. “And don’t even start on Jonas. He looks like someone who’d cheat and still ask you to pay for his Grab ride home.”

Mariella sniffed again, her voice trembling. “You’re all making sense, but it still hurts.”

She wasn’t wrong. There was nothing worse than finding out that your average-looking, 5 feet four inches tall, medium-potential boyfriend, the one you’d been with for three years, had just cheated. She’d dedicated time, loyalty, and emotions, only to get betrayed by someone who looked like he failed the audition for “mediocre men with confidence.”

Sure, she found him physically repulsive whenever things got intimate. But that was just her, even picking her nose grossed her out. Still, she knew Jonas had grown insecure over her lack of enthusiasm whenever he kissed or touched her. And yes, maybe that was part of the reason he strayed, but still, nothing justified cheating.

What made it worse was that she’d been planning to fix it. She’d literally been practicing how to give him head, on a banana and a dildo, to make up for their lack of intimacy. She’d planned to surprise him on his birthday, two months away.

She read somewhere that men loved it, and her friends had confirmed it, so she figured, why not? Maybe it would help. Maybe it would remind him that she was trying.

But now? All that effort, all that awkward practice, for a man who was probably still sweating from Sogo.

She didn’t even have hard proof aside from her friends’ story. But she knew Nancy and Elliot. Sure, they didn’t like Jonas, they tolerated him for her, but they’d never lie to hurt her.

So she cried harder. Loud, ugly, mascara-streaked sobs that made everyone in the lounge uncomfortable.

All her friends could do was tap her shoulder awkwardly, like she was a toddler who’d dropped her ice cream.

Elliot sighed. “Men are truly the worst species. Even amoebas evolve.”

Nancy nodded solemnly. “Exactly. And Jonas Fuente? He’s not even the worst man, he’s just the most disappointing kind.”

Mariella cried harder, and Nancy and Elliot exchanged a look, the kind only best friends share when it’s time to roast the ex into oblivion.