ANASTASIA'S POV:
I don't know how long i've been watching him.
Lorenzo is sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Celestine line up her building blocks.
He's so focused, so gentle.
Every time she giggles or calls him "Daddy," his face lights up like the boy I once loved.
And maybe still do.
I don't know anymore.
Or maybe i do.
Maybe i'm just too scared to name it.
It's strange, this feeling.
Sitting across from the man who broke me, the man i swore i'd never forgive… and now I'm terrified he'll leave again.
I shouldn't be.
I should be the one closing the door, building the walls, protecting what little peace i've built for myself and my daughter.
But instead…
I'm scared.
Terrified that if i blink, he'll vanish again.
That i'll wake up tomorrow and be alone again, with another child growing inside me who'll never know their father.
I reach down unconsciously, my hand pressing softly over my stomach.
He doesn't know yet.
Not really.
Not the way it sinks into your bones—that there's life blooming inside you.
That soon you'll feel the kicks.
The hiccups.
The unbearable hours of labor.
The months of not sleeping.
The years of not knowing if you're doing it right.
I should be angry.
God, I was angry.
For leaving me.
For choosing everything else before me.
But now, as i watch him laugh with our daughter…
I feel something i haven't felt in years.
Peace.
And it terrifies me more than anything.
Yaya Minda places a cup of chamomile tea beside me.
Her touch is always gentle, always knowing. Like she senses the tornado in my chest before i even speak.
"He's good with her," she says, not looking at me. "Celestine hasn't laughed like that in a while."
I nod.
She sits beside me.
A quiet presence.
Then, after a moment:
"Maybe it's time to go home."
I turn to her. "Home?"
"To the Philippines," she says softly. "To your parents. To his. Let Celestine know where she comes from."
I feel my breath catch.
The Philippines.
My family.
His family.
The idea of going back there, after everything, after running away, after the whispers and the shame and the nights i cried into my pillow wondering how i'd do this alone—it terrifies me.
But maybe she's right.
Maybe this is the sign i was waiting for.
Lorenzo is here.
And maybe, for once, I don't have to be afraid.
-
That night, after we've put Celestine to bed—she insisted on sleeping in between us, I pull Lorenzo aside into the tiny balcony space outside the apartment.
He's holding a blanket over his shoulders, staring out at the Paris skyline.
"You okay?" I ask.
He nods. "Just… overwhelmed."
I lean against the railing beside him.
My fingers fidgeting.
"I've been thinking," I begin. "Maybe we should go back. To Manila. Just for a while."
His eyes widen. "Really?"
"I think it's time. My parents haven't met Celestine. And maybe yours would want to meet her, too."
He goes quiet.
Too quiet.
And i know something's wrong.
"Lorenzo?"
He looks away, jaw clenched.
"My parents…" he swallows hard. "They don't want to see me."
"What do you mean?"
He exhales, long and heavy.
His breath visible in the cool night air.
"Back when i chose you, when i broke the engagement with Margarette—they gave me a choice. Everything… or you."
My heart twists.
"And you chose me," I whisper.
He nods. "I chose you. I chose what felt like home to me. I walked away from the title. From the wealth. From everything. And they... cut me off."
Tears sting my eyes.
He continues, voice cracking, "They told me i was no longer their son. That if i chose 'that girl'—you—then i could never come back. And when you left me... I thought maybe i made a mistake."
I cover my mouth, a sob threatening to escape.
"All this time…" I murmur. "All this time, I thought you didn't choose me. That you abandoned me. I blamed you for everything."
He turns to me.
"But i did choose you, Atasha, even if i lost everything, and i honestly don't care! You're the only i care and our babies, you're my life, my heart and my everything."
Something inside me breaks open.
Every bitter thought.
Every sleepless night.
Every time i cried thinking he threw me away like i meant nothing—it all unravels now, piece by piece.
"I didn't know," I whisper.
"You never asked," he says gently. "And i never told you, becauce i thought you'd already made up your mind about me back then, but i never stop looking for you, i never stop loving you."
My knees give out, and i sit down on the floor of the balcony, hugging myself.
He kneels beside me. "Hey…"
"I'm so sorry," I cry. "I didn't know. I thought you just choose that stupid engagement. I thought… I wasn't enough."
"You were everything, Atasha."
I throw my arms around him.
He holds me.
Tight. Firm.
Like he's holding together all the pieces of me that have shattered over the years.
And i cry.
I cry for the years we lost.
For the birthdays he missed.
For the nights i sang lullabies alone.
For the baby i carried in silence.
For the man who gave up the world for me and never told me.
He rocks me gently, whispering, "It's okay. I'm here now. I'm here."
And for the first time in a long time—
I believe him.
We sleep that night in the same bed.
Not in a romantic way.
Just... as a family.
Celestine sprawled in the middle, her tiny arm flung across my chest.
Lorenzo's hand resting over mine.
Three people.
One bed.
A story we're slowly rewriting.
I look at him in the dark, just barely able to make out the curve of his face.
He looks peaceful. Lighter.
Maybe we both needed this.
Not just forgiveness.
But understanding.
-
Tomorrow, we're flying back to Manila.
We'll stay in his condo, just for now. It's neutral ground.
A place where we can learn how to be a family without the pressure of a legacy or the ghosts of our past.
There's so much we don't know.
So much we have to unlearn.
But tonight, I feel... hope.
Hope that maybe this time, we'll get it right.
No more secrets.
No more choosing silence.
Just love.
And truth.
And the quiet, sacred promise that no matter how hard the world tries to tear us apart we won't let it.
Not again.