Lighthouse

Where Love and Fate Crossed Paths

Chapter Nine

ANSELMO rose before dawn, long before the sun could break through the eastern sky. It was his habit to begin each day with the same quiet routine, but that morning, he reached not for the broom that usually greeted his hands. Instead, he prepared himself for a trip to town, intent on buying the food that would be served for Elaine’s arrival the following day.

Even before the first light of morning stretched across the horizon, Anselmo was already making his way down the road with a quiet eagerness in his step. He could feel the cool breath of the dawn brushing against his skin, the soft mist clinging to him like whispers of the waking earth.

The sharp screech of brakes cut through the stillness.

Erik’s car came to an abrupt halt the moment he caught sight of Anselmo walking along the road.

“May I ask something?” Erik called out, leaning slightly from the car window.

Anselmo stopped mid-step, his eyes narrowing with silent curiosity.

“Where is the district hospital around here?”

Anselmo lifted a hand and pointed ahead.

“Go straight down that road. When you reach the corner, turn left.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The car moved forward once more, disappearing down the road, while Anselmo resumed his walk toward town, unaware that fate had just brushed past him in the simplest of encounters.

Morgue.

As the sheet was gently pulled back, Elaine’s beautiful face was revealed.

Gaspar, the young woman’s father, clenched his jaw so tightly it trembled with restrained fury and grief. This was not the life he had dreamed for his only daughter. Before her mother passed away, he had made a solemn promise—that no matter the cost, he would give Elaine a beautiful life, one worthy of the love they had both poured into her.

A fist slammed hard against the wall as Erik’s anguish broke free.

He could not bring himself to look at Elaine’s face. Should he blame himself for failing to protect her? Or was it his own suffocating strictness that had driven her to slip away from his grasp? The guilt gnawed at him mercilessly, leaving no room for peace.

They had already spoken with the hospital administrator about how to bring Elaine back to Manila. Through the comfort of a proper private vehicle, she would be taken home with dignity. No expense was too great—Erik was prepared to spend whatever was necessary, so long as everything could be settled before the day surrendered to nightfall.

Nearly two hours later, Anselmo was also on his way home from town.

As he walked along the dusty road, he passed an elegant vehicle heading toward the district hospital—the same one that would arrange Elaine’s transfer and escort her back to Manila.

Anselmo glanced at the car as it moved past him, but only for a fleeting moment. Soon enough, he paid it no further mind. He had long grown accustomed to vehicles arriving now and then—some entering their quiet town, others leaving it behind.

He set aside the groceries he had bought, just enough for two people.

After the day’s labor was done, he would return to them again, preparing everything for the arrival of his “guest” from Manila.

Anselmo drifted into a brief sleep, and when he awoke, he immediately began preparing the meal.

While the food simmered quietly over the fire, he went about his duties at the lighthouse, attending to the responsibilities that had long become part of his solitary rhythm. He told himself he would simply reheat the meal once his “guest” arrived.

Yet beneath that calm routine, his heart betrayed him.

It pounded far too quickly, and a restless nervousness settled deep in his chest. Perhaps it was the trembling excitement of knowing that the woman he loved was drawing nearer with every passing hour—or perhaps it was the quiet ache of knowing that, at that very same moment, she was already preparing to leave the place that had unknowingly kept them so close.

At the District Hospital, everything had been arranged

The vehicle that would bring Elaine back to Manila stood ready, waiting only for the final departure. Soon, she would leave behind the quiet province, the dusty roads, the sea wind, and the place where fate had briefly allowed their paths to cross.

And that morning, an unfamiliar emotion ruled Anselmo’s heart.

Was it sorrow?

Or was it longing—the painful, beautiful kind born from the thought that they would finally see each other, only for destiny to remind him that some meetings were never meant to be?

Four o’clock in the afternoon—the usual hour when the bus from Manila arrived.

Anselmo stepped out toward the small bus terminal not far away, the very place where travelers and tourists would descend upon reaching the town. It had become a familiar scene, yet that day, everything felt strangely heavier, as though even the air carried the weight of expectation.

He walked a few steps farther, enough to give himself a clearer view of the people arriving in the distance from where he stood.

From afar, he could see them—figures moving, luggage in hand, voices rising and falling like distant waves. Their gestures were visible, their faces faintly recognizable, yet their words never reached him. He could only watch in silence, standing between hope and uncertainty, searching among strangers for the one soul his heart had already chosen.

Anselmo slipped Ellaine’s photograph from his pocket, the small, worn image serving as his only certainty—his guide to her face, her bearing, even the dress she might wear when they finally met. He studied it once more, as though the paper itself could steady the restless beat of his heart. Yet among the young women who arrived, not one bore even the faintest resemblance to the beauty he held so dearly in his memory.

He stepped closer, hope urging him forward despite the quiet doubt beginning to stir within. There were only a few maidens in sight, and most of the crowd was made up of men and children, gathered beside their parents. The place felt ordinary, almost indifferent to the longing that filled his chest—so far removed from the moment he had imagined, where the world would seem to pause at the sight of her.

Still, Anselmo lingered, eyes searching, unwilling to surrender the fragile promise that somewhere in that modest gathering, fate might yet reveal the woman who had already claimed his heart.