George's eyes glimmered with a boyish excitement when he extended his hand toward her.
"Come with me… let's go on the yacht," he said, his voice low yet persuasive.
For a moment, Nerissa hesitated—her walls, built high and strong over the past months, still lingering in her chest. But something in his gaze, that rare softness she once knew, made her lower her guard. Maybe, just for today, she could stop running from the memories.
They set sail across the open water, the soft hum of the yacht blending with the gentle crash of waves. The air smelled of salt and freedom.
George leaned on the rail beside her, his lips curling into a teasing grin.
"So… this is our delayed honeymoon?" he murmured.
She gave a short laugh, trying to hide the sudden flutter in her chest. "You wish."
They didn't speak much after that. Instead, they let the moment breathe—watching as the sun melted into the horizon, painting the sky in golds and pinks. The sea seemed to shimmer just for them. George's hand brushed against hers, and she didn't pull away.
For once, they were simply George and Nerissa—not bound by mistakes or regrets—just two people chasing the fleeting beauty of the sunset together.
By the time the yacht eased back into the harbor, the night had deepened, the air rich with the scent of the sea. George helped Nerissa down, his hand lingering on hers longer than necessary. Neither of them spoke much during the drive home, yet the quiet was strangely comfortable—filled with the unspoken memory of the sunset and the kiss they shared.
When they reached the house, George surprised her. The dining table was already set for two, the room bathed in the warm flicker of candlelight. Soft music played in the background, blending with the faint aroma of freshly cooked pasta and grilled seafood.
Nerissa raised a brow. "Since when do you do candlelight dinners?"
He smiled faintly, pulling her chair out for her. "Since I realized I needed to try harder."
They began to eat, the clinking of cutlery occasionally breaking the silence. It was Nerissa who finally spoke, her voice cautious.
"George… we can't just pretend everything is fine because of one good day. We both know there's a lot to… fix."
George set down his fork and leaned forward, his gaze steady.
"I know," he admitted. "That's why I want to talk about us. About our marriage."
She held his eyes, uncertain.
"I don't want this to end, Nerissa," he continued. "I want us to stay married. I've made mistakes—more than I can count—but I'm not letting Isabelle or anyone else decide for us. I'll settle things with her. I'll make it right."
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. "And if she doesn't let go?"
"Then I'll fight harder," he said simply. "You're my wife. You're the one I want. That hasn't changed, and it never will."
The flicker of the candlelight caught in his eyes, making them seem impossibly sincere. Nerissa didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to believe him, to let the warmth of the evening melt the cold walls she had built. But another part still feared the pain that might come next.
For now, she simply nodded, taking another sip of her wine.
George reached across the table, his fingers gently covering hers.
"Just give me a chance, Nerissa. Let me prove it."
After dinner, the soft music in the background shifted into a gentle piano melody. Ed Sheeran's Supermarket Flowers began to play, filling the room with its tender, aching notes. Nerissa froze for a second—it was one of those songs that carried weight, the kind that could break your heart while holding it together.
George stood and held out his hand. "Dance with me."
She gave him a small, almost shy smile. "Here? In the dining room?"
He grinned. "Why not? It's our night."
She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her close, guiding her into a slow sway. His palm rested at the small of her back, warm and steady, while his other hand clasped hers firmly. Nerissa's cheek brushed his chest, and she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
The candles flickered around them, casting golden halos on the walls as they moved in quiet harmony. Neither spoke at first—the song filling the silence, the lyrics stitching together what their words could not.
Then George's arms tightened around her, as though afraid she might slip away. His breath brushed against her hair as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Nerissa. You always have been."
Her heart clenched, and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes.
"I love you," he said, his voice breaking just slightly. "No matter what's happened, no matter who tries to come between us… I love you."
She looked up at him, meeting the raw sincerity in his gaze. For a fleeting moment, the rest of the world disappeared—no Isabelle, no misunderstandings, no pain. Just the two of them, swaying under the dim light, holding on to the fragile magic of the night.
And so, they danced until the song faded, but George never let go.
When the last note of Supermarket Flowers faded into the air, George didn't loosen his hold. His arms stayed wrapped around her, as if he feared that once he let go, the moment would shatter and she'd slip away.
Nerissa stayed still, her head resting against his chest, hearing the deep, steady thump of his heart. It wasn't like the frantic rhythm of infatuation—it was solid, grounding. Safe.
For so long, she had built walls around herself to protect her heart from him. She had told herself over and over that she wouldn't fall for his words again, that his charm and sweet gestures were only temporary. But tonight… he felt different.
George slowly pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His thumb lingered along her cheek, gentle, almost reverent.
"I meant every word I said tonight, Nerissa. I'm not giving up on us. I'll fix everything—every single thing I've ruined."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She wanted to tell him she was still afraid. She wanted to remind him that promises had been broken before. But instead, she found herself whispering, "Don't make me regret believing you again."
His jaw tightened as if the weight of her words cut deep. "I won't. You have my word."
They stood there in the quiet, eyes locked, as if trying to read each other's souls.
Something inside Nerissa shifted—not completely, but enough. A sliver of the old trust, the old warmth, began to seep through the cracks. She didn't know if it was love reclaiming its place or simply the hope she thought she had lost forever.
When George kissed her again, it wasn't heated or desperate—it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that promised patience. And for the first time in a long while, Nerissa let herself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance.
The morning after their candlelight dance was painted in the kind of quiet that comes only after a night heavy with emotion. Sunlight seeped through the curtains, soft and warm, but Nerissa's mind was already restless. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word George had whispered to her.
"I love you."
"I'll fight for us."
"I'll make it right."
It all felt like a dream she didn't want to wake from, but she knew reality was waiting outside their door — a reality full of whispers, judgment, and wounds that hadn't fully healed.
She rolled to her side, watching George sleep beside her. He looked… peaceful. So different from the man who had been chasing her for months, the man who had stubbornly tried to fix things between them. In this moment, he wasn't the powerful businessman everyone feared. He was just George — vulnerable, human, hers.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the moment. She picked it up and froze.
It was a message from one of George's relatives.
"Nerissa… it's Ma'am Lourdes. Please… come home. George's mother is ill again. It's serious.We cannot reach Sir George."
Her heart dropped. She sat up instantly, the heaviness of the words settling in her chest. "George," she whispered, shaking him gently.
He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes. "Hm? What's wrong?"
She swallowed hard. "It's your mom. She's… not well again. We need to go home."
The sleepy haze in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, worried focus. "Pack whatever you need. We're leaving now."
The car ride back to the family estate was quiet except for the hum of the engine. George's knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his jaw tense. Nerissa wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, but she knew no words could ease the fear clawing at him.
When they finally pulled up to the grand gates, a lump formed in Nerissa's throat. Memories flooded her… of family dinners, of laughter in the garden, of George's mother taking her hand and calling her "anak" with genuine warmth.
As they stepped inside, the house was eerily still. A few relatives lingered in the hallway, their faces solemn. Nerissa could hear the faint sound of coughing from upstairs.
They climbed the staircase together, George's steps quickening. When they reached his mother's bedroom, the door was ajar. The familiar scent of lavender drifted out, but mixed with it was the heavy, sterile smell of medicine.
Lying in bed was Mrs. Celia El Ecuador — George's mother — her once bright face pale, her frame looking so much smaller than Nerissa remembered. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes fluttering open at the sound of their footsteps.
"George…" she rasped, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
George moved to her side instantly, kneeling and taking her frail hand in his. "Mom… I'm here."
Nerissa hung back for a moment, unsure if her presence would be welcome after all that had happened. But when Mrs. El Ecuador's gaze found hers, her expression softened.
"Nerissa," she whispered. "Come closer, anak."
The word broke something inside Nerissa. She stepped forward, sitting gently on the other side of the bed and taking her hand.
"I heard… you've been away," Mrs. Alvarado said, her voice trembling. "But… you came back."
Nerissa's throat tightened. "I'm here now. And I'll stay."
Tears welled in the older woman's eyes. "That's… all I wanted to hear."
Later that afternoon, George stepped out to speak with the doctor, leaving Nerissa alone with his mother. The room was filled with the golden light of late afternoon, the curtains swaying slightly with the breeze.
Mrs. El Ecuador reached for her hand again. "Nerissa… I know my son. He's proud, stubborn… but his heart is good. He's just… sometimes he made mistakes."
Nerissa nodded silently.
"I won't… have much time," she continued, her voice weaker now. "Promise me… you'll stay with him. He needs you, anak. More than he knows."
Tears blurred Nerissa's vision. She wanted to argue, to say that George needed to prove himself first, but looking at this woman — the one who had welcomed her like a daughter — she couldn't refuse.
"I promise," she whispered. "I'll stay with him."
A peaceful smile touched Mrs. Alvarado's lips. "Thank you…"
When George came back, his eyes searched Nerissa's face as if trying to read what had passed between them. But she simply gave him a small, reassuring smile. He sat beside his mother again, brushing her hair back gently.
That evening, the three of them shared a quiet dinner in her room. Nerissa helped her eat, spoon by spoon, while George told lighthearted stories from his childhood. For a little while, it felt like they had turned back time — to a place before misunderstandings, before heartbreak.
The days that followed were both precious and painful. Some mornings, Mrs. El Ecuador seemed brighter, able to sit up and chat with Nerissa about recipes or garden flowers. Other days, she was too weak to even open her eyes.
Nerissa stayed by her side every night, sometimes dozing off in the chair while holding her hand. George would often wake up in the middle of the night just to check on both of them, adjusting the blanket over his mother and kissing Nerissa's forehead before quietly returning to his room.
Then came the evening when the doctor pulled George aside. Nerissa caught the look in his eyes when he returned — the way his shoulders sagged, the way his lips pressed tightly together.
"She's… fading," he admitted in a choked voice. "It could be days… maybe hours."
Nerissa reached for his hand, squeezing it firmly. "Then we make every moment count."
The house was hushed. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath. Nerissa sat beside Mrs. El Ecuador, softly singing one of the old folk songs she used to hum in the kitchen. George sat on the other side, his thumb stroking his mother's frail hand.
Mrs. El Ecuador's breathing grew slower, each inhale a struggle. She opened her eyes just enough to look at them. "You're… both here…"
"We're not going anywhere, Mom," George said, his voice breaking.
Her gaze shifted to Nerissa. "Thank you… for keeping your promise."
Nerissa's tears spilled over. "Always."
The older woman gave the faintest nod, her lips forming a soft smile. Then, with one last exhale, her eyes closed.
"Mom?" George's voice trembled as he shook her lightly. But there was no response.
The room seemed to grow impossibly still. Nerissa reached over, placing her hand gently over Mrs. EL Ecuador's. "She's at peace now," she whispered.
George's head bowed, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs overtook him. Nerissa slid closer, wrapping her arms around him. And in that moment — holding her grieving husband as they sat beside his mother's still form — she knew her promise would not be broken.