It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind that wrapped the small neighborhood in a blanket of calm. The sun, soft and golden, hung lazily in the sky, casting warm light on the rooftops and narrow streets. At around nine o'clock, the world was still gently waking up—some radios were already playing old love songs in the distance, a few children's laughter echoed faintly from inside their homes, and the smell of fried garlic and rice lingered in the breeze.
Callista walked with an easy pace down the slightly cracked sidewalk, her slippers making soft, familiar sounds against the concrete. She clutched a small coin purse in one hand, swinging it lightly as she moved, her other hand tucked into the pocket of her loose pambahay shorts. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, still a bit messy from sleep, but she didn't mind. This was her kind of morning—simple, slow, and almost peaceful.
As she passed by the row of houses, she nodded at a few early risers: a lola watering her plants, a man sweeping the front of his sari-sari store, and a group of tambays already gathered near the tricycle terminal, laughing over stories from the night before.
Ahead, she spotted Aling Merna's tindahan—a small, well-worn mini grocery tucked at the corner of the street, shaded by a faded green tarp and surrounded by crates of eggs, sacks of rice, and shelves of canned goods. The familiar jingle of the bell above the door chimed softly as someone stepped out, holding a plastic bag of pancit canton and sachets of coffee.
Callista smiled to herself. Same old Sunday, same old store—but somehow, there was a comfort in that. As she neared the entrance, she could already hear Aling Merna's voice inside, chatting loudly with a customer about the latest tsismis, and Callista knew she'd be greeted with the usual, "O, Callista! Glad you're here early in the morning.."
"Good morning to you too, Aling Merna," Calli greeted politely as she stepped into the small shop. "My father called me earlier. He said he was able to send money yesterday."
"Oh, dear girl—keep your voice down!" Aling Merna quickly hushed her in a low whisper, eyes wide with panic as she stepped out from behind the counter and gently pulled Calli inside, past the shelves lined with canned sardines and instant noodles. "Your mother is in the back, getting her nails done by my daughter. Good heavens, you nearly gave me a heart attack. If she hears you, I'm dead!"
Startled, Calli's heart skipped. She hadn't seen her mother at home earlier that morning and just assumed she'd gone to church or made an early trip to the market—it was Sunday, after all. She never imagined her mother would be here, of all places, unwinding in the back of Aling Merna's store.
Aling Merna carefully peeked out through the curtain that separated the storefront from the backroom, checking to see if her daughter's client—Calli's mother—was within earshot. Once satisfied, she turned back to Calli and lowered her voice.
"Here," she said, retrieving an envelope from beneath the cash register. "Your father sent more this time. We talked last night. He added another five thousand—so that's twenty thousand in total. The question is, are you taking all of it now or keeping it with me like usual?"
Calli smiled faintly. It was more than just assistance—there was a certain warmth in the way Aling Merna handled these things. She didn't just care about her or her father's remittances; she treated her like her own child.
"I'll take five thousand for now," Calli said softly. "Just enough for school expenses and a few other things. Please keep the rest safe like always."
Aling Merna nodded, opened her wallet, and counted out the bills with practiced fingers. She handed the money to Calli, who quickly slipped it into her pocket. Just as she was about to leave, Aling Merna reached beneath the counter again and lifted a large plastic bag.
"Here," she said, handing it over. "A little something extra."
Calli peeked inside the bag. Her eyes widened slightly. It was filled with snacks—biscuits, chocolates, chips, and a few small bottles of Yakult, her favorite.
She was about to speak when Aling Merna gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Study hard, okay?" she said with a smile that was both tender and a little sad. "Those are just little pick-me-ups for when you're reviewing. I know life isn't easy, Calli. But you're a good girl. A beautiful one, inside and out. Whatever you're going through, you'll get past it. Don't give up. Me and Jenny—we're always here for you."
The words hit Calli right in the chest. Her throat tightened. Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden, as she looked down and nodded, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Jenny—Aling Merna's daughter—was practically like an older sister to her. She'd always been there to help, especially with things Calli wasn't good at, like fixing her hair or choosing clothes for school presentations. The two of them had been a quiet source of strength in her life, especially when home didn't always feel like one.
"Now go," Aling Merna urged gently but firmly. "Before your mother catches wind. Hide that bag, alright? You know how she is when it comes to you accepting anything from me. Under the bed, like last time."
Calli nodded again and turned toward the door, heart still heavy but somehow lighter. But before she could step out, a familiar voice rang out from the back.
"Merna? Are you out there?"
It was her mother.
Calli's breath caught.
"Go!" Aling Merna whispered urgently, waving her off. "Be careful. And keep your chin up."
Clutching the plastic bag to her chest, Calli rushed out of the store, her steps quick and quiet. The morning sun was still warm, the streets still calm, but now her heart beat a little faster—not just from the close call, but from the emotion that clung to her like a second skin.
She didn't look back.
And as she walked down the road, bag of snacks in hand, five thousand pesos in her pocket, and twenty thousand more safe with someone who truly cared for her—she knew, no matter how complicated life got, she wasn't completely alone.
She felt safe. And not alone.
At least for now. But how long could that feeling last?
The brief warmth she had felt just moments ago began to fade, replaced by a slow, creeping emptiness. That comforting thought—that she wasn't alone—crumbled as soon as she remembered the truth: the word "alone" had long become part of her name.
By the time she had walked a good distance from the store, her hurried steps finally slowed. The early morning sun continued its gentle climb, casting soft shadows along the street as she walked the rest of the way home in silence.
Their house, once humble to the point of being mistaken for something unfinished, now stood with proud, solid walls of concrete. There was no second floor, and only two bedrooms—yet still, it was something to be proud of. Something her mother had built from the ground up.
When her parents separated, her mother had learned quickly how to survive. She stood tall on her own, using her education to rise from the ruins of heartbreak. Over time, she had made something out of nothing. People admired her for it. She was a woman who had made her way in the world.
But her strength had its cost.
Because no matter how far she had come, her treatment of Calli remained the same—distant, cold, like a wall that refused to come down.
Once inside, Calli headed straight to her room. Quietly, she lifted the bed frame and slid the large plastic bag underneath—hiding the snacks and Yakult that felt too warm, too kind, for this house.
She sat down in front of her small study table. Her school things were neatly arranged, untouched since last night. She reached out instinctively for the only picture that rested there—an old, worn photo encased in a plastic frame.
It was the only one she had of all three of them together. A family. Smiling. Whole.
She had been five years old when it was taken.
Calli stared at it, her fingers tracing the edge of the frame. For a few seconds, she let herself believe in that memory. That moment. That illusion.
But the longer she looked, the more it ached.
It was the kind of ache that pressed against her chest—dull but heavy, lingering like a bruise that never healed. She couldn't bear it any longer. Quietly, almost carefully, she turned the frame face down.
The silence in her room grew louder.
And then, the emptiness crept in—slow and familiar, like a shadow that had been waiting for its moment.
She sat still, feeling nothing and everything at once. The chair creaked beneath her weight, but even that sound felt too loud, too real.
And in that silence, Calli let the weight settle in her chest again. She didn't cry. She didn't move. She just sat there, wrapped in the stillness.
As if hoping the silence would answer her—
Or maybe, just maybe, hold her together a little longer.