SECOND CHANCE:FIRST BLUEPRINT

Her breath came in short, broken gasps. Too fast. Too shallow. My eight-month-old daughter burned in my arms, her skin scalding, her lips turning blue. I ran to Mark. He was sprawled on the sofa, whiskey bottle in one hand, laptop glowing in front of him. Drunk. Numb. The room reeked of alcohol and neglect. I fell to my knees at his feet, my voice breaking. “Mark, please… ang anak natin.” I lifted our baby closer, her tiny chest struggling for air. “Dinala ko na siya sa clinic. Kailangan niya sa ospital. Hindi na siya makahinga. Please… kahit pamasahe lang. Kahit pang-deposit lang.” He didn’t look up. He took another swig, wiped his mouth, and finally glanced down. His eyes were cold. Dismissive. “OA ka masyado,” he spat. “Ubo at lagnat lang ‘yan.” He shoved my hands away. “Wala tayong pera! Said na lahat! Ikaw gumawa ng paraan! Huwag mo akong bwisitin!” His words hit harder than any slap. He turned back to his laptop, earphones on, shutting us out like we didn’t exist. I could only sob. The next hour felt like drowning. I held her tighter, rocking her, whispering prayers I didn’t know if anyone heard. Her body grew colder. Lighter. Then—nothing. No breath. No heartbeat. Only silence. “Anak ko, huwag mo akong iwan!!” My scream tore through the empty room. Mark didn’t move. He just cursed under his breath and turned the music louder. Grief crashed over me like an anchor, dragging me down, down, down. My chest burned. My vision blurred. My knees gave out. I collapsed on the floor, clutching her lifeless body one last time. And in the darkness, a vow clawed its way out of my broken soul. _If there is a God. If there is a second chance…_ _I will never let them step on my dignity again._ _I will make them bleed._ Then, everything went black.