CL

The world outside the delivery room was a blur of sterile lights and muffled voices, but inside, every second felt seared into memory. I stood beside Shan, holding her hand as she braved each contraction with a fierce, determined spirit. She squeezed my fingers, a lifeline between us, and I matched her gaze, channeling every ounce of strength I could muster into my presence.

"You're doing amazing, love," bulong ko, ang boses ko ay puno ng damdamin. Ang kanyang noo ay basang-basa ng pawis, mga madidilim na hibla ng buhok ay dumikit sa kanyang noo. She managed a breathless smile between ragged breaths.

"Buti na lang nandito ka, CL," she panted, eyes searching mine for reassurance. The storm in her expression was laced with love, fear, and the unyielding will to bring our daughter into the world.

"Always," I said, tightening my grip as the next wave hit. The monitors around us beeped in a steady rhythm, a reminder that we were both tethered to something larger, something uncontrollable. Time bent and twisted, minutes turning into an eternity as the final moments approached.

"Okay, Shan, one more big push," Dr. Vannie's voice cut through the tension, calm and clear. Shan gritted her teeth and bore down, a primal sound tearing from her throat as she gave everything she had left.

And then, the moment broke—a sharp, miraculous cry filled the room. I exhaled, not realizing I'd been holding my breath, as our daughter's voice joined the world.

"She's here," sabi ko, nanginginig ang boses ko. Pumatak ang mga luha sa mga sulok ng mga mata ko habang inilalagay ni Dr. Vannie ang maliit, gumagalaw na sanggol sa dibdib ni Shan.

Shan's face, radiant and tear-streaked, lit up as she gazed at our daughter.

"Hi, little one," she breathed, voice trembling with awe. I leaned down to kiss Shan's temple, my heart too full to contain.

"You did it, Shan," I whispered, overwhelmed.

But then, the moment shifted—a slight change in the rhythm of the beeps, a subtle alarm that sliced through the soft murmur of joy. Ang ngiti ni Shan ay nag-alinlangan, ang kanyang mga mata ay napuno ng halo ng pagkalito at sakit.

"CL," sabi niya, may tanong sa kanyang tinig. Bumilis ang tibok ng puso ko, isang hindi maipaliwanag na takot ang bumalot sa akin.

"What is it?" tanong ko, ang pagkakahawak ko sa kanyang kamay ay nagiging desperado. Her eyes met mine, wide and glassy, before drifting shut.

"Shan?" My voice rose as the medical team surged forward, the room suddenly a whirl of urgent commands and quick movements. My chest clenched with a cold, suffocating panic.

"We need space," Dr. Vannie said firmly, ushering me a step back. I felt the absence of Shan's hand like a physical wound, the warmth of her palm suddenly, unbearably gone.

Time splintered. I watched as they worked, calling out for tools, adjusting monitors, pressing on her chest, all while the newborn's cries echoed in the background—a cruel juxtaposition of life and peril.

"Come on, Shan," I whispered, fists clenched so tightly they ached. "Stay with us." But the silence that followed each frantic moment was heavier than the last. Seconds became suspended in disbelief.

"We're losing her," someone said, the words slicing through me. I'd known this room a thousand times in my career, watched the same scene unfold with an emotional shield. But now, every moment was an open wound, every sound a personal torment.

I stepped forward, needing to bridge the distance between us, to touch her, speak to her—anything. "Shan, please. Please fight." My voice cracked, breaking over the silence that settled like a shroud.

A final, resounding flatline pierced the air. Everything within me screamed against it, but reality pressed down with an unrelenting weight.

Dr. Vannie's voice was soft, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, CL."

The words struck like a blow, and I swayed, reaching out to steady myself. I turned my eyes to Shan, her face now serene, as if she were merely sleeping. But she wasn't. The world around me shifted, forever altered, as the raw truth anchored itself into my soul.

Our daughter's tiny wail persisted in the background, the sole reminder of the gift Shan had left behind. I moved to her, tears spilling unchecked as I picked her up and cradled her against my chest.

The room blurred as I pressed a kiss to my daughter's forehead, the weight of her life, and the loss of Shan's, intertwining in an incomprehensible, bittersweet symphony.

And there I saw him—my father. He was still in his white lab coat, its edges fluttering as he rushed into the room. His face was a canvas of shock and dread, the strong lines I knew so well faltering as his eyes met mine. He stopped for a fraction of a second, taking in the scene: the silence, unmoving form of Shan, and me, clutching our newborn daughter in a haze of disbelief.

"CL," he said, his voice breaking. In that moment, all pretense of professional detachment fell away. He crossed the room in swift strides, not as a doctor, but as a father seeing his son's world shatter.

Before I could react, he pulled me into a tight embrace, his arms strong and familiar, yet trembling. Our daughter was nestled between us, a fragile, living reminder of what had just been lost. The scent of antiseptic and the sterile chill of the room faded as I buried my face into his shoulder, the weight of grief breaking the last of my composure.

"Dad," I choked out, my voice ragged and unrecognizable. The sobs came hard and fast, raw and unrelenting. It was the cry of a child who had just lost everything. My father's hand rested on the back of my head, holding me as if he could keep the world from collapsing further.

"I'm here, son," he whispered, his voice cracking as he fought his own battle against tears. "I'm here."

And there, in that room filled with echoes of life and loss, I cried like I never had before—each sob tearing through me, each breath a struggle. Shan was gone. Shan was never coming back.

***

The air in the bar was thick with smoke and the steady hum of muted conversations. Neon lights from the signage outside flickered through the window, painting fractured blues and purples across the room. I sat hunched at the end of the counter, nursing another glass of whiskey. It had only been two weeks since Shan had died, but here I was—every night, drowning myself in the burn of expensive drinks that did nothing to fill the void she left behind.

I barely noticed the clinking of glasses or the soft music that thumped in the background. Ang mundo ay tahimik, parang may naglagay sa akin sa ilalim ng tubig kung saan wala akong marinig, kung saan lahat ay malayo at baluktot. My white shirt was rumpled, untucked, with the faintest stain from an earlier drink splashed carelessly across the sleeve. I hadn't changed in days.

"Isa pa," bulong ko, itinutulak ang walang laman na baso pasulong nang hindi tumitingin sa bartender. He nodded, understanding, perhaps too familiar with patrons who came in haunted.

The phone in my pocket buzzed, a vibration against my hip that I ignored at first. It buzzed again—and again—persistent, like it had a voice that demanded to be heard. With a sigh, I fished it out, squinting at the screen. My mother's name flashed across it. I swiped to answer, holding it to my ear with a lethargic carelessness.

"CL?" Her voice was tired, fraught with the kind of worry that aged a person.

"What is it?" My voice came out rough, like gravel scraping against metal.

"Kailangan mong umuwi," pakiusap niya. "Your daughter—she needs you. You can't keep doing this. CL, please—"

I cut her off, the line between sadness and anger blurred, tangled. "I can't, Mom. I can't do this."

"But—"

I didn't let her finish. My thumb tapped 'end call,' and the screen dimmed to black. With an exhale, I powered it down entirely and dropped it onto the counter with a dull thud. If I had known that bringing new life into the world would mean losing Shan, I never would have pushed for this. I would have been content with just us—just the two of us in our bubble of love and laughter. But now, that world had crumbled, leaving me scraping at the remnants like a man in the dark trying to feel his way back home.

"Your drink," sabi ng bartender, inuusog ang bagong baso patungo sa akin.

I took it, the liquid trembling as I lifted it to my lips. The whiskey was warm, numbing, but not enough. It could never be enough. I closed my eyes, letting the alcohol sear its way down my throat, trying to forget how her laugh used to fill the silence, how her touch used to anchor me. But now? Now I was unmoored, a ghost of the man I used to be.

The next morning, I woke to a splitting headache, the bar's booth seat sticking to my cheek, my body aching from the unnatural position I had collapsed in. My vision blurred as I blinked, trying to remember where I was. The smell of stale beer and disinfectant seeped into my senses, and I grimaced.

Dragging myself upright, I felt the throb in my temples. I grabbed my phone, turning it on, watching as dozens of missed calls flooded the screen. Voicemails from the hospital, texts from colleagues—each notification a reminder of the life I was supposed to be living but couldn't face.

Before I could think too long, I waved the bartender over. "One more," I muttered, ignoring the daylight that streamed through the cracks in the window blinds. The bartender hesitated, glancing at me with a mixture of concern and reluctance.

"Umaga na po, sir," mahinang sabi niya.

"I said one more." My eyes flashed, a dare buried in their exhaustion. The bartender relented, turning to pour.

Just as the glass settled in front of me, a shadow fell over the bar.

"CL," a familiar voice said, low and steady. My heart clenched, and I refused to meet his gaze. Jaron stood there, dark eyes hardened with worry, his presence stark against the light.

"Umuwi ka na," Jaron said, voice firmer now. "Hindi puwedeng ganito ka na lang. Ayusin mo 'yong sarili mo."

I lifted the glass defiantly, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Mind your own business, Jaron. Just...f*ck off."

Jaron's jaw tightened, but he didn't move. "Hindi ako aalis hangga't hindi ka sumasama sa akin. Shan wouldn't want this. You know it."

The name hit like a punch to the gut. My breath caught, my hand faltered, and the glass slipped from my grasp, shattering on the floor. The sound cut through the thick air, drawing the attention of the bar's patrons. Inside me, the noise only grew—a cacophony of grief, regret, and longing I couldn't silence.

"Leave," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

"No," Jaron stepped closer, eyes unwavering. "I won't let you destroy yourself."

Anger erupted, raw and fierce. I stood, fists clenched. "You have no idea what I'm going through. Get the hell away from me."

"I know enough, CL."

Without thinking, my fist connected with his jaw, the force sending a shock up my arm. Jaron stumbled back, eyes wide with both surprise and fury. For a moment, the bar held its breath.

"You son of a—" Jaron snarled and retaliated, landing a punch to my cheek that sent me reeling into a chair. Pain sparked hot, and the world spun as chaos erupted. We collided again, blows exchanged in a flurry of grief-fueled rage. The shouts of patrons mixed with the scuffle of feet.

"Enough!" The bouncers waded in, their thick arms prying us apart, dragging us out the front door and into the blinding light of morning. The pavement was rough against my back as I caught my breath, blood trickling from my lip. Jaron sat a few feet away, breathing hard, eyes full of frustration and something else—maybe pity, maybe anger.

"You need help, CL," he said, his voice hoarse.

I didn't answer. I just stared up at the sky, empty and pale, as the world kept moving without Shan.

_______

a/n: I'm sorry, CL. I'm sorry, Shan. :(((