It was only five in the afternoon when I began preparing the ingredients for dinner. The house was quiet, filled only with the soft rhythm of a knife against the chopping board and the faint crackle of oil in the pan.
Cooking had become my refuge. The one thing that helped me piece myself back together after everything. With every slice, every stir, the weight inside me seemed to lessen, even just a little.
Now… I was finally okay. Even if Matilda’s name came up, it no longer hurt the way it used to.
“Ma’am, do you need some help?” Manang asked gently.
I glanced around. Three house helpers stood nearby, waiting patiently for my instructions.
I paused and offered a small smile. “Do you really want to help me?”
They nodded in unison. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Alright, you can help me peel the ve
