STARS' DON'T GLOW ALONE

CHAPTER 4

Time did not move the way it used to. Before, days stretched out soft and predictable, marked by the ringing of school bells, the rhythm of Gavin’s motorcycle engine, the slow shift of stars across the evening sky. Now time felt heavy, uneven, measured in the dull ache in my lower back, the tight pull of skin across my belly, the quiet count of kicks I felt while I scrubbed clothes or sorted goods at the market. Every week brought new changes, new fears, new moments where I had to dig deeper than I ever thought possible just to keep breathing.

By my fifth month, my body was no longer mine alone. I had grown round and soft, my stomach pushing out steadily no matter how loose my clothes were. My feet swelled so badly some mornings I could barely slip into my worn sneakers, and simple things like climbing stairs or carrying a bucket of water left me breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The doctor had been right: carrying twins was twice as hard on my body, twice as demanding, twice as unforgiving when I could not afford enough food or proper rest.

But with every difficulty came something that made it all worth bearing.

One afternoon, I sat on the wooden steps outside Aling Nena’s room, peeling vegetables we had gotten cheap from the market stall. The sun was warm on my face, and I had just finished humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me as a small child. Then, low and clear beneath my palm, I felt it: a small, firm nudge, followed almost immediately by another from a different spot. Not the flutter I had felt before, but something solid, something deliberate.

My breath caught. I froze, my hands hovering over the bowl of squash, and waited. A moment later, they moved again—one strong kick upward, one gentle roll to the side. They were bigger now. They were growing stronger. They knew I was there.

“Hello, little ones,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes as I pressed both hands gently over the curve of my belly. “I feel you. I feel both of you.”

For a long time I just sat there, letting them move against my hands, talking to them quietly about everything and nothing. I told them about the clouds drifting slowly overhead, about how the old mango tree at the market was blooming, about how Aling Nena had shared her last piece of candy with me that morning. I told them about the stars, about how even when the sky looks empty, there are millions of lights burning far away. I told them they were my lights now, too.

But those quiet moments of peace were rare. Most days were a struggle from the moment I opened my eyes until I fell into bed exhausted long after midnight.

I took every job I could find, no matter how hard or how small the pay. Three times a week, I woke at three o’clock in the morning to help unload trucks at the public market—crates of fish that smelled sharp and briny, sacks of rice that weighed more than I did, piles of vegetables still damp with soil. My back would scream within the first hour, and by sunrise my hands would be raw and chapped, stained with dirt and fish scales. But every peso I earned went straight to what we needed: extra rice, fresh milk, the iron and folic acid tablets the doctor said were critical for twins.

On other days, I washed and ironed clothes for families living in the nicer part of the neighborhood. I would carry heavy bundles of wet laundry up narrow stairs, my balance shifting awkwardly as my center of gravity changed, terrified I would slip or drop everything. Once, while bending to hang sheets on a line, a sharp cramp seized my abdomen so suddenly I almost doubled over. I gripped the clothesline until my vision stopped swimming, gasping for air, and when the pain faded I sank onto the floor, pressing my face to my knees and crying quietly.

What if I can’t do this? What if my body gives out before they arrive? What if I fail them?

Aling Nena found me there, an hour later, still sitting in the shadow of the building. She did not say anything at first—just sat beside me, wrapped her shawl around my shoulders, and handed me a glass of warm water with honey.

“You’re carrying two lives, Elara,” she said gently, after I had wiped my eyes and sat up straighter. “Nature does not make that easy. But look at how far you have come already. You walked through a storm with nowhere to go. You work until your bones ache. You go hungry so they can eat. That is not weakness—that is the kind of strength most people never find in their whole lives.”

Her words helped, but the fear lingered. It lived in the back of my mind every time I felt a strange twinge, every time I could not afford another check-up, every time I passed a school and remembered the future I had lost.

Sometimes, loneliness would hit me so hard it felt like physical pain. I missed my old life more than I could say. I missed waking up without worrying about money. I missed laughing with Mia until my sides hurt. I missed the way my mother’s voice sounded when she called me for dinner, the way my father would ruffle my hair before I went to study. I missed the way Gavin used to look at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

But I also remembered how quickly that look had vanished. How my parents had chosen their pride over their own daughter. And I knew—no matter how heavy this loneliness felt—I would never trade my children for a place in that version of their world again.

There were moments when the cruelty of others made it even harder. Once, when I was buying medicine at the small neighborhood drugstore, two girls from my old high school walked in. They recognized me immediately, and I heard their whispers cut through the air like tiny knives:

“Look at her… isn’t that Elara? The one who got pregnant?”

“I heard her parents kicked her out. Serves her right, throwing everything away.”

“And Gavin? He stopped going out almost entirely. It’s ruined him too.”

I kept my head down, paid for my things quickly, and hurried back to the alley. But their words stayed with me. Ruined him too? How was I the one ruining things, when he was the one who had turned his back? How was I the one at fault, when I was the one working myself to exhaustion just to keep two babies alive?

That night, I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling of Aling Nena’s small room. I thought about Gavin often, even though I tried not to. I wondered if he ever thought of me, if he ever felt regret, if he ever looked at his empty hands and remembered what he had let go. I wondered if he knew how much I was suffering, how much harder it was without him. But then I would feel Lance or Lyra move, and my anger would soften into something quieter, something sadder. He had made his choice. I had made mine. And I would not waste my energy wishing he had been different.

By my seventh month, the doctor told me I needed to slow down.

“Your blood pressure is too high, Elara,” she said, frowning as she wrote notes on my file. “You’re anemic, you’re carrying twins, and you’re working like you’re still a healthy teenage girl with no extra weight to carry. If you keep this up, you could go into labor too early. That would be dangerous for you—and very dangerous for them.”

I nodded, but my chest tightened with panic. Slow down? How could I slow down? If I stopped working, where would we get money for food? For the hospital fees we would need when the time came? For the clothes and blankets they would need when they were born?

“I don’t have a choice,” I told her quietly. “I have no one else to help me.”

She reached across the small table and covered my hand with hers. “I know it feels that way. But listen to me: your health is their health. If you collapse, who will take care of them? Rest when you can. Eat more greens and beans, even if they are cheap. Come back every two weeks, no matter what. And… there is a small organization that helps single mothers. I can give you their address. They give out supplies, and sometimes help with hospital costs.”

I took the scrap of paper she handed me, folded it carefully into my pocket, and thanked her until my voice cracked. It was the first ray of real hope I had felt in months.

Visiting that organization was one of the hardest things I ever did. I stood outside their office building for nearly forty-five minutes, too ashamed to walk in, too afraid of being judged again. But when I finally stepped through the door, no one stared. No one whispered. The women there welcomed me like I belonged, listened to my story without interrupting, and gave me a bag filled with vitamins, baby clothes, cloth diapers, and a small blanket patterned with stars. They also gave me a list of charities that helped with hospital bills for low-income families.

That evening, I spread the tiny clothes out on Aling Nena’s bed and cried—happy tears this time, tears of relief that someone, somewhere, saw us and cared.

But even with this help, the last months were grueling. My ankles swelled so much I could barely walk. Heartburn kept me up until dawn. I ached from my shoulders to my heels, and there were nights I curled into a ball and sobbed from exhaustion alone. Yet every time I felt a tiny foot press against my ribs, or a little hand brush my palm from inside, I found the strength to keep going. They were fighting too. I could not be weaker than them.

One evening, just as I was turning onto our alley after buying bread, I heard someone call my name.

I froze. I knew that voice.

I turned slowly. Gavin stood ten meters away, holding a plastic bag in one hand, his face pale and drawn. He looked thinner than I remembered, dark circles under his eyes, like he had not slept properly in weeks. We stood there for a long moment, just staring at each other—the boy who had once been my whole world, and the girl he had left behind.

He took a hesitant step forward. “Elara… I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I only just found out you’re here.”

I instinctively shifted my weight, one hand resting protectively on my stomach. “Why? What do you want, Gavin?”

His voice broke. “I… I was wrong. So wrong. I panicked, I was selfish, I thought only of myself. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About… about them. I heard you’re having twins. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I said simply. “Lance and Lyra.”

He let out a shaky breath, tears welling in his eyes. “Lance and Lyra… Elara, please. Let me help. I’ve been working part-time after school. I saved up some money. I can come to check-ups. I can—”

“You can what?” I cut in, my voice steady even though my heart was pounding. “You can help now? After I walked through the rain with nowhere to go? After I carried heavy sacks until I almost fainted? After I cried myself to sleep every night wondering if we would survive? You want to step back in now that it’s getting close to the end?”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he whispered, looking at his feet. “I know I messed up everything. But I love you, Elara. I never stopped loving you. I just didn’t know how to be brave enough.”

I looked at him properly then—really looked. I saw regret, yes. I saw pain. But I also saw fear still lingering in his eyes, uncertainty that he would not run again when things got hard. And I realized something: I did not need him to save me anymore. I had already saved myself. I had already fought through the worst of it.

“I appreciate you saying that,” I told him gently. “But Lance and Lyra and I—we built our strength without you. We learned how to stand on our own. I don’t know if I can trust you not to leave again. And until I know for sure… please don’t look for us. Let us prepare for their arrival in peace.”

I turned and walked away before he could say anything else. I did not look back. For the first time, walking away from him did not hurt. It felt like freedom.

That night, I sat by the window as usual, watching the sky turn dark and fill with stars. I thought about everything that had happened since that terrible night outside his gate. I thought about the cold rain, the closed doors, the endless work, the tears I had shed. I thought about Aling Nena’s kindness, Mia’s secret visits, the women at the organization who held my hand. I thought about how much stronger I had become, how much more I understood about love and courage and what it really means to be a family.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

“Almost there, my little stars,” I whispered. “We are almost there. And when you come out… you will never know how much your mama fought to bring you here. But you will always know how much you are loved.”

Somewhere far above, the North Star burned steady and bright. But I did not need it to guide me anymore. I had my own light now. Two small, brilliant lights waiting to shine.