SHATTERED VOWS, UNBROKEN HEART

“Intindihin mo na lang muna, anak,” my mother-in-law gently pleaded, her eyes filled with concern. I could see the exhaustion in her face, as if she, too, was struggling with how everything turned out. I sat quietly in the grand living room of the Lewis mansion, the air cold not just from the air conditioner but from the distance that had grown between me and my husband, Brylle. The mansion was as elegant as ever — high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and expensive paintings — but somehow, it felt empty. Brylle Lewis — the only child of the powerful Lewis family — was now the one in charge of their company, after his father decided to step down to rest and enjoy life away from corporate stress. And me? I am Ayla. Ayla Martez-Lewis. His wife for almost five years now. The woman who used to mean the world to him. The woman he once called his everything. Brylle was my first love, my first boyfriend, and the man I believed I’d spend forever with. But forever started to feel like a lie the moment he took over the company. It’s like the weight of the position changed him — or maybe, revealed a part of him I never knew existed. I was no ordinary housewife. I worked hard to earn my place in the company, not because I was his wife, but because I was capable. I’m good at planning and strategy, which is why I now serve as the Vice President of Lewis Group. My parents, simple and kind-hearted, chose to live quietly in our province. They never craved this kind of life — the life I have now. And yet here I am, trapped between my responsibilities and my heart’s silent cry. I can’t leave my post because the Lewis family trusts me deeply. They see me as Brylle’s support, his strength. They love me — I know that. And I also know they would never agree to a divorce. To them, I am family. To them, this marriage must endure, no matter what. But what about me? Every day I see Brylle, and every day it hurts a little more. He changes secretaries like changing clothes, and I can’t help but notice how these women receive the kind of attention, the kind of kindness, that he used to show me — and me alone. I try to convince myself it’s just business, just his way of coping with stress. But no matter how I reason, the ache remains. Brylle was once the sweetest man I knew. Loving. Caring. Always making sure I felt safe and cherished. His small gestures — the coffee on my desk every morning, the surprise lunches, the warm hugs when I least expected them — they all seem like memories from a different lifetime now. We don’t even share the same room anymore. The distance between our beds has grown into the distance between our hearts. I hate this. I hate what we’ve become. But I love him. I love my husband, and that love is the only thing keeping me from falling apart. So here I am, pretending everything is fine. Smiling in board meetings. Nodding at decisions. Acting like the perfect wife in front of his family. But deep inside, I’m breaking. And I don’t know how long I can keep this up.