CHAPTER 14: The Yellow House
1265 Words
I didn't sleep.
Not even for a minute.
I kept replaying the voice in my head.
“It's Maria.”
Maybe it was a prank.
Maybe someone was pretending.
Maybe—
I checked my phone again.
The message from Dave was still there.
«Dave: Thea, don't go there alone.»
I typed.
«Me: I'm not going alone.»
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
«Dave: Good.»
Then—
«Dave: Wait for me.»
I frowned.
«Me: Why?»
«Dave: Because apparently you have a talent for walking directly into dangerous situations.»
«Me: I do not.»
«Dave: You literally went to a stranger's house because she said she knew your father.»
I stared at the message.
«Me: Fair.»
His reply:
«Dave: I'll pick you up at 8.»
«Me: How?»
«Dave: Motorcycle.»
«Me: I don't trust your driving.»
«Dave: That's offensive.»
«Me: It's accurate.»
«Dave: 8 AM. Don't be late.»
I smiled.
Then immediately stopped.
Why am I smiling?
---
At exactly eight, I heard a motorcycle outside.
I grabbed my bag.
“Ma, alis lang ako.”
Mama looked up from the kitchen.
“Saan?”
“May pupuntahan lang.”
“With who?”
I hesitated.
“Friend.”
She looked at me.
“Si Dave?”
I froze.
“How did you—”
“Anak.”
She sighed.
“Mag-ingat ka.”
I nodded.
“Promise.”
As I opened the door, she called after me.
“Althea.”
I turned.
“Wag kang basta magtiwala.”
I looked at her.
“Okay.”
She smiled sadly.
“Pero wag ka rin matakot sa lahat.”
I nodded.
Then I stepped outside.
Dave was waiting beside his motorcycle.
He was wearing a helmet.
He handed me another one.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“You look nervous.”
“I'm not.”
“Liar.”
I put on the helmet.
“Let's go.”
He smiled.
“Yes, boss.”
---
The ride was quiet.
I sat behind him, keeping my hands on the metal handle.
Not him.
Definitely not him.
The road stretched ahead.
Buildings became houses.
Houses became quieter streets.
Until eventually—
we reached Rosario.
“Here?”
I checked the address.
“Yes.”
Dave slowed down.
We passed an old chapel.
Then three houses.
Then—
a yellow house.
The paint was faded.
The windows were old.
There were plants growing along the front fence.
It looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
I got off the motorcycle.
Dave removed his helmet.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Same.”
We walked toward the gate.
I raised my hand.
Before I could knock—
the door opened.
A woman stood there.
Older.
Maybe in her forties.
Her hair was tied loosely.
She looked tired.
But her eyes—
I knew those eyes.
I had seen them in the photograph.
Dave stopped breathing.
“Maria?”
The woman looked at him.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Dave…”
He didn't move.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Then whispered—
“Althea.”
My chest tightened.
“It's really you.”
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
---
The house smelled like old wood and coffee.
There were photographs everywhere.
Most of them were covered with cloth.
Dave noticed.
“Why are the pictures covered?”
Maria didn't answer.
Instead, she walked toward the kitchen.
“Sit.”
We sat.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Dave asked—
“Why did you disappear?”
Maria looked down.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Victor?”
She nodded.
“He wanted something.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
My heart stopped.
“Me?”
Maria nodded.
“Your father discovered that Victor was stealing from the company.”
Dave leaned forward.
“And Maria?”
“I found out too.”
She took a deep breath.
“We planned to expose him.”
“What happened?”
“Victor found out.”
I looked at her.
“And my father?”
“He tried to protect us.”
“Then why did he disappear?”
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
“He didn't disappear.”
Dave froze.
“What?”
Maria looked at me.
“He was killed.”
Silence.
I couldn't breathe.
“No.”
Maria nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
I stood.
“No, my mother would've known.”
“She didn't.”
“Then how?”
“Because Victor made it look like he left.”
Dave stood too.
“You're saying my father killed him?”
Maria shook her head.
“No.”
She looked terrified.
“Victor didn't kill him.”
“Then who did?”
She looked toward the window.
“He was killed by someone who wanted Victor to take the blame.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Maria looked at me.
“And that person…”
She swallowed.
“…was your mother.”
The room went completely silent.
I stared at her.
“My mother?”
Maria nodded.
“She was the one who gave Victor the documents.”
“No.”
“She believed she was protecting you.”
I shook my head.
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Dave looked between us.
“Why would Thea's mother help Victor?”
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
“Because she thought your father was going to take Althea away.”
I couldn't speak.
My entire life suddenly felt like a story someone else had written.
Every memory.
Every sacrifice.
Every night Mama told me everything would be okay.
All of it—
had another side.
Then Maria stood.
She walked toward an old cabinet.
She opened it.
Inside was a small wooden box.
She took it out.
Placed it on the table.
“This belonged to your father.”
I stared at it.
“What's inside?”
“Something I should have given you years ago.”
She opened the box.
Inside was a small silver necklace.
I recognized it immediately.
I had seen it before.
Around my mother's neck.
My whole life.
My hands trembled.
“That's Mama's.”
Maria nodded.
“Your father gave it to her.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she took out a folded photograph.
She placed it beside the necklace.
I opened it.
My father.
My mother.
Maria.
And—
a baby.
But this time, the baby wasn't me.
I stared at the photograph.
Then at Maria.
“Who is that?”
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
“That…”
She looked at Dave.
Then at me.
“…is the child Victor has been searching for.”
Dave frowned.
“But you said the child died.”
Maria shook her head.
“I lied.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because if Victor ever finds out the child is alive…”
She looked directly at me.
“…he will come for her.”
I swallowed.
“Who is she?”
Maria reached for the photograph.
Turned it over.
There was a name written at the back.
I read it.
And everything inside me went still.
Because the name wasn't unfamiliar.
It belonged to someone I had known for years.
Someone I had never once suspected.
Lara.
I looked at Dave.
He looked just as shocked.
“No…”
Maria whispered.
“Lara is my daughter.”
And suddenly, the girl who had spent the entire story standing beside our secrets—
was no longer just part of the mystery.
She was at the center of it.
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