CHAPTER 11: The Way Back
1341 Words
I stared at the back of the photograph.
Not her daughter.
Three words.
Three stupid words that somehow managed to ruin everything I thought I knew about myself.
“Maybe it's not what we think.”
Dave's voice was quiet.
I looked at him.
“Then what is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Exactly.”
I put the photograph back on the table.
“Ang daming bagay na hindi ko alam.”
Dave didn't say anything.
For once, he didn't try to make a joke.
I appreciated that.
“Let's go home,” I said.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
---
The jeep ride back was unusually quiet.
I sat beside the window.
Dave sat beside me.
There were people between us, so technically, we weren't sitting next to each other.
But somehow, I still felt him there.
Maybe because every few minutes, he'd glance at me.
I finally looked at him.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“Okay.”
He looked out the window.
Ten seconds later—
he looked again.
“Dave.”
“Sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You're annoying.”
“I know.”
A few minutes passed.
Then he reached into his bag.
“Here.”
He handed me something.
A plastic bag.
I looked inside.
Pandesal.
I stared at him.
“Seriously?”
“You haven't eaten.”
“How do you know?”
“You didn't eat lunch.”
“I did.”
“When?”
I paused.
“…I had coffee.”
“That's not food.”
“It has calories.”
He laughed.
“That's the saddest defense I've ever heard.”
I took one piece.
“Happy?”
“Yes.”
I took a bite.
He smiled.
“Good.”
For some reason, the simple gesture made my chest feel lighter.
Not because of the bread.
Because he remembered.
---
When we reached my street, I noticed something strange.
Dave stopped walking.
“What?”
He was looking at the other side of the road.
“Nothing.”
“Dave.”
He shook his head.
“Let's go.”
I followed his gaze.
There was a black car parked across the street.
Tinted windows.
I frowned.
“May kilala ka?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
We continued walking.
But I noticed he kept looking back.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
He looked at me.
“Maybe.”
I stopped.
“Dave.”
He sighed.
“Someone has been following me.”
My stomach dropped.
“Since when?”
“A few days.”
“And you're just telling me now?”
“I didn't want you to worry.”
“I'm already worried.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled slightly.
“See?”
“See what?”
“You care.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don't make this weird.”
He laughed.
“Okay.”
---
That night, I received a message.
Not from Dave.
An unknown number.
«Unknown: Stop asking questions.»
I stared at the screen.
Another message came.
«Unknown: Your family has already lost enough.»
I felt a chill.
I immediately called Dave.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Dave.”
“What happened?”
“I got a message.”
“What message?”
I sent him a screenshot.
He went silent.
“Dave?”
“Lock your doors.”
“What?”
“Now.”
I stood up.
“Why?”
“Because I know that number.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Whose number?”
He didn't answer.
“Dave.”
Finally—
“It's my father's.”
---
The next morning, Dave didn't show up.
I called him.
No answer.
I messaged him.
No response.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Something was wrong.
I knew it.
By lunch, I couldn't concentrate anymore.
I left school.
I went to the Navarro grocery.
Tita Marissa was there.
“Where's Dave?”
Her expression changed.
“Hindi mo alam?”
“Ano?”
“He left early this morning.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“May sinabi ba?”
She hesitated.
“Your father called him.”
I froze.
“Victor?”
She nodded.
“Your father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
She looked at me.
“Dave's father.”
---
I found Dave at the old basketball court behind their house.
He was sitting alone on the bleachers.
I walked toward him.
“You disappeared.”
He looked at me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I don't care.”
He sighed.
“Why?”
“Because you stopped answering.”
“I needed time.”
“Time for what?”
He looked at the ground.
“My father knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That I'm helping you.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“He told me to stay away from you.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
“Dave.”
“He said your family is dangerous.”
I almost laughed.
“My family?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you listening to him?”
“I'm not.”
He looked at me.
“That's why I'm here.”
I sat beside him.
For a while, we said nothing.
Then he spoke.
“I've spent my whole life believing my father was a good man.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe he isn't.”
“Maybe.”
He took a deep breath.
“But there's something else.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“I found my mother's old diary.”
My heart skipped.
“What did it say?”
He hesitated.
“She knew your father.”
“Maria?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He looked down.
“They weren't just friends.”
I waited.
“They were planning to run away together.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Before she disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because she was pregnant.”
I already knew that.
“But there's something in the diary that I didn't understand.”
“What?”
He pulled out his phone.
He showed me a photograph of a diary page.
There was one sentence.
“If anything happens to me, find the girl.”
I frowned.
“What girl?”
Dave looked at me.
“I thought it meant you.”
I swallowed.
“But?”
He zoomed in on the photograph.
At the bottom of the page was a name.
Lara.
I stared.
“What?”
“Lara?”
He nodded.
“My mother knew Lara's mother.”
I shook my head.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Lara was born years after your mother disappeared.”
Dave looked at me.
“I know.”
We stared at each other.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
Then a man's voice came through.
Cold.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Dave.”
His face changed.
“Dad?”
I couldn't hear the other end.
But I saw Dave's expression.
Fear.
Then anger.
Then disbelief.
“What did you say?”
Silence.
Dave slowly lowered the phone.
I stood.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“Thea…”
“What?”
“My father said something.”
“What?”
He swallowed.
“He said…”
Dave looked at the photograph of his mother's diary.
Then at me.
“Your mother isn't the only person who knows what happened to Maria.”
I frowned.
“Who else?”
His eyes shifted toward me.
“Lara.”
And suddenly, the girl I thought was just part of an old misunderstanding—
might have been connected to our story from the very beginning.
- Writer
