I sat in the corner of Dart Cafe, fingers curled around a mug of steaming coffee as the warm, nutty aroma anchored me to the moment. The December chill seeped through the cafe's glass panes, but inside, it was all wood tones and gentle hums of chatter—a place that felt both nostalgic and hopeful, a feeling I desperately clung to.

Across the table, Jaron, with his sharp eyes that held stories he rarely told—settled into the chair opposite me. His presence was a mix of professionalism and familiarity, a friend whose history was intertwined with my own in ways we didn't often speak about.

"Good to see you, CL," he said, offering a smile that warmed the tension between us. It was the kind of smile that said, despite everything, we're still here.

"You too," I replied, my voice carrying the gratitude that came from knowing he'd taken on this project for reasons beyond business.

"So," Jaron leaned forward, pulling out his notepad and flipping to a blank page. His pen hovered, ready. "Pag-usapan natin 'yong vision. What do you see for this house and the cafe exhibit?"

Humugot ako ng hininga, naramdaman ang pamilyar at mapait na sakit na nanatili sa dibdib ko. "It's... not just any project," I began, my gaze slipping to the worn folder beside me. "This was Shan's idea. Her sketches." My fingers brushed over the edge of the folder before I opened it, revealing a cascade of carefully drawn lines, notes in her handwriting, small annotations full of life and possibility.

Jaron's expression softened as he looked at them, his eyes tracing the details. "These are beautiful," he said softly.

"Yeah." I couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. "She envisioned a space where people could sit surrounded by books and art—her art, her work. A place that could breathe who she was."

He nodded, studying the sketches as if searching for the heartbeat in them. "Modern, but warm," he said, catching on to Shan's style. "With an exhibit that's part of the experience, not just a backdrop."

"Exactly. I want it to reflect her career, her vision. The village here's vibrant, full of community spirit, and this needs to blend in with that. Not too imposing, but not lost, either."

Jaron scribbled notes, nodding. "And the house? Any special requirements?"

My throat tightened as I thought about Casha, my little girl, just two months old but already carrying a light that kept me going. "It needs to be a home. Safe, warm. Somewhere Casha can grow and know her mother's dreams surround her." I glanced at him, the weight of unsaid words between us. "I'd like it done by April. I know it's a tight timeline."

Itinaas ni Jaron ang kanyang kilay, isang halo ng sorpresa at kalkulasyon ang lumitaw sa kanyang mukha. "Four months is ambitious, CL. But if it's for Shan—and you—I'll try and make it work. Pero just in case lang na hindi talaga kayanin by April, okay lang ba kahit katapusan ng May or sagad na ng early June? Marami rin kasi talaga kaming ongoing projects ngayon, baka hindi talaga kayanin nang mabilisang sabay-sabay 'yong mga projects."

Relief washed over me, and I leaned back. Mahalaga ay pumayag siya. Akala ko kasi ire-reject niya dahil marami silang ongoing projects ngayon. "That's no problem. Thank you, Jaron. I know it's a lot after... everything." My mind flickered to that night, loud voices, a bar too dim, and the collision of grief and frustration that ended with us both getting thrown out.

Jaron shook his head, breaking the silence with a chuckle that carried no real humor. "Don't mention it. We both weren't at our best then. But Shan and you... you're family. That doesn't change."

The word family resonated, a bond that felt worn but still whole. "Are you sure you want to do this, CL?" he asked, pen pausing mid-air. "Not just this project, but—everything? Not going back to medicine?"

I swallowed, the guilt that had rooted in my chest squeezing tighter. "I don't know if I can go back," I admitted, the admission feeling heavier in the air. "Not after Shan. I couldn't save her, Jaron. Me, a doctor, and I couldn't do a thing." My voice faltered, raw with memory. "And Casha—she only has me now. I can't be the father who's always on-call, absent. She deserves more than that."

Jaron's gaze was steady, a silent recognition of the burden we both knew too well. He placed his pen down. "She's lucky to have you. And this project—it'll be a testament to all three of you."

"Thank you, Jaron," I said, my voice steadier now, with gratitude laced in every syllable.

He nodded, picking up the pen again, eyes alight with purpose. "Let's make it happen."

The day after my meeting with Jaron, it was finally December 24, 2024. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as I rocked Casha in my arms. At two months old, she had eyes that seemed to reflect the wonder of everything around her, a small miracle who brought both comfort and an ache I couldn't name. In the kitchen, the warm clatter of pots and laughter filled the air as Shan's mother and Mags prepared for the Christmas Eve feast. The scent of garlic and roasted meat curled through the house, mingling with the faint cinnamon notes from cookies cooling on the counter.

"CL, puwede kang tumulong kung gusto mo," Shan's mom—Mommy, as I'd been calling her since Shan and I married—teased, pausing to wipe her hands on a kitchen towel. Her eyes were warm, crinkling at the corners. "Pero sa tingin ko, mas kailangan ka ni Casha. Ayos lang kami dito, no matter how good a chef you are."

I chuckled, the sound feeling foreign yet familiar in my throat. "Alam mo namang hindi ako makikipagtalo, Mommy."

They laughed, and just as the moment stretched, Cam walked in through the kitchen door, his sudden entrance stirring surprise. He wore a crooked smile, hands raised in a mock gesture of surrender.

"Didn't mean to crash the party," Cam said, glancing around. "I thought maybe I could take care of Casha for a while so CL can join in the kitchen chaos. Lord knows I'm not trusted near a stove."

Mags snorted, waving a spoon at him. "Smart man. Stick to what you're good at."

Cam's expression shifted, something tender sparking behind his humor. "I'm here because I wanted to spend Christmas with the people who loved Shan as much as I did."

The kitchen stilled for a beat, everyone exchanging glances that spoke more than words ever could. Love for Shan was an unspoken bond between us, a cord that pulled tight but never frayed.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and the glow of the tree lights mingled with candle flames, we gathered for Noche Buena. Puno ng mga plato ang mesa, at ang mga boses ay nagsama-sama sa tawanan. Cam and Mags were in their usual banter, Mags teasing him for breaking up with his latest girlfriend.

"Kung nandito si Shan," sabi niya, nakangiti, "she'd be the first to laugh at you for failing in the dating world. Again."

Cam groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't remind me." Pero ngumiti siya, ang mga mata'y lumambot sa alaala.

I sat among them, my fork halfway to my mouth when my gaze dropped to my wedding ring, its gold band catching the soft, amber glow. Casha lay awake in her crib nearby, her tiny fists waving aimlessly, content. The warmth of the room dulled as a wave of grief welled up, unstoppable. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could mask it.

Silence fell. I looked up, my face flushed with the effort of trying to pull myself back together. Mommy's voice broke through, gentle and unwavering. "It's okay, CL. You don't have to hide your tears. We've all been crying for two months now, and no time will ever heal us completely."

Her words cracked the thin veneer I'd been holding. I bowed my head, letting the grief wash over me. "I miss her every day," I managed, voice splintered. "I know you all had her longer than I did. A year and three months... it feels so short."

Umiling si Cam, may maliit na ngiti ng pag-unawa sa kanyang mga labi. "Time means nothing if you're with the right person. Those months were probably the best part of her life, and yours too. You have every right to grieve, CL. Every bit."

The silence settled back in, but this time it felt shared, less suffocating. A room full of people, each holding their own shard of loss, but together, making it a little less sharp.

After the Noche Buena, the house was filled with the remnants of laughter and warmth, the faint notes of holiday music lingering in the air. Casha had long fallen asleep, her small chest rising and falling steadily in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. I stepped out into the garden, the cold bite of December air a welcome companion. Cam was already there, two bottles of beer on the table between the worn patio chairs.

"Hey," he said, offering me a lopsided grin as he handed me a bottle. The clink of glass in the quiet night felt oddly grounding.

"Hey," I replied, taking a sip. The bitter chill of the beer contrasted with the warmth still coursing through me from the evening spent with family.

Nagtahimik kami ng ilang sandali, ang kalangitan sa gabi sa itaas ay malawak at punung-puno ng mga bituin. The garden, with its neatly trimmed shrubs and the scent of jasmine, was Shan's doing—her touch still evident in every corner.

Sa wakas ay binasag ni Cam ang katahimikan, ang kanyang boses ay magaspang, na parang ang tanong ay nakabara sa dibdib niya nang matagal. "How?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the ground. "How is it even possible? Shan was healthy. She followed every check-up. How could this... happen?"

I turned to him, my throat tightening. His face was a mirror of my own grief—confusion, disbelief, and the unrelenting ache of losing someone we loved so deeply. I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as the words formed in my mind. He deserved an answer, even if it was one I struggled to accept myself.

"Cam," I began, my voice quiet but firm, "pregnancy and childbirth are... unpredictable. No matter how healthy a mother is or how carefully she follows her check-ups, there are risks—rare, but real—that can arise suddenly. Shan..." Her name felt like a prayer, a weight I carried with every breath. "Shan experienced a cardiovascular complication during delivery. It's something that can happen even to women with no history of heart disease."

Cam looked at me, his brows knitting together. "Pero okay naman siya," he said, the disbelief cracking his voice. "She was fine, CL. How does something like that just... happen?"

I pressed my hands into my pockets, the cold biting at my skin. "Pregnancy puts an immense strain on the cardiovascular system," I explained. "The heart works harder, the blood volume increases, and the body is under constant physical stress. For most women, it's a process their bodies adapt to. But sometimes... sometimes complications emerge out of nowhere. Conditions that weren't detectable during pregnancy can suddenly become life-threatening during or after birth."

I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Shan was strong, Cam. So strong. She fought to bring her baby into this world, and she did. She gave everything, even when her body couldn't give anymore." My voice broke slightly, but I pushed on. "It wasn't anyone's fault. Not hers, not mine, not the doctors'. It's just... how fragile life is. How unpredictable it can be."

Cam's shoulders slumped as he turned away, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't feel fair," he said, his words laced with anger and sorrow. "She didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve this. The baby didn't deserve this."

I nodded, unable to argue with him. "It isn't fair," I admitted, my own grief spilling into the open. "And I don't think it ever will be."

Cam's face crumpled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I just... I can't believe she's gone," he whispered.

The silence stretched between us again, but this time, it felt different. Less hollow, more connected. As the wind rustled the leaves, I glanced up at the sky, the stars shining brightly against the dark expanse.

Cam shifted, the chair creaking slightly as he turned to face me. "Natapos ko na ang libro ni Shan," sabi niya nang tahimik, binasag muli ang katahimikan.

I looked over at him, a knot forming in my chest. "Talaga?" Lumabas ang boses ko na mas pilit kaysa sa inaasahan ko.

"Oo. Binili ko sa National Book Store the day it came out." He took a long sip of his beer, his gaze drifting over the garden. "Took me a week. I've read it twice now."

"Twice?" I repeated, the ache in my chest deepening. Shan's book had been on my nightstand for weeks, read in pieces between days that bled into each other.

Tumango si Cam, ang kanyang ekspresyon ay lumambot na may bahid ng kalungkutan. "There's something in it—or rather, not in it—that I thought you should know."

Napakunot ang noo ko. "Ano'ng ibig mong sabihin?"

He set his beer down, fingers tapping absently against the bottle. "Everything about her life is in there. From her first year at Eco Arc Design, all the way to her time in Bali. How she learned, how she grew, even the grief when she came back after her father died. But..." Cam's voice dropped. "She never wrote about how he died."

My heart thudded harder. "Why?"

"Because it wasn't just grief," Cam said, meeting my eyes. "It was guilt." He paused, searching my face for understanding before continuing. "Her dad died in a car accident, CL. He was on his way to the airport to surprise her in Bali. But he never made it."

The air seemed to thin around us. I knew Shan's father had died, but she had never talked about the circumstances, and I had never asked.

"He was a careful driver, right? He learned when he was so young," bulong ko, naaalala ang mga nabanggit na kuwento sa 'kin ni Shan dati.

"Exactly," Cam said, voice tight with emotion. "But that day, a bus driver on the opposite lane had a heart attack. Lost control. Both of them died in that crash."

The realization cut deep, as if Shan's grief had found a new way to reach me.

"Bakit hindi niya nabanggit sa 'kin?" The question fell from my lips before I could stop it, an echo of the countless unasked questions I'd carried since she'd been gone.

Cam sighed, eyes clouded with the weight of shared loss. "Ayaw niyang pinag-uusapan 'yong tungkol do'n. It was easier to keep it buried. But there's more, CL." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Before she passed, a few months before, she sent me a message one night. It was... strange. She thanked me for being a good friend and said she knew I'd be a great uncle to Casha."

I swallowed hard, my grip on the beer bottle tightening.

"She even made me promise I'd look out for you," Cam continued, his voice breaking slightly. "Said that no matter what, you'd need a friend. Like she knew."

"Why didn't she say goodbye to me?" The bitterness in my tone was raw, unfiltered.

Cam's eyes met mine, unwavering. "She did, CL."

Confusion and grief warred within me. "She did not."

"She did. In the book," Cam said, a small, sad smile forming. "Have you finished it?"

I shook my head, guilt prickling at the edges of my resolve. "Almost. Just the last chapter and the epilogue left."

"Then read them. Now," Cam urged, the quiet insistence of his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

Without another word, I stood up and walked into the house, my heart thundering in my chest. The book was there, waiting, its worn cover catching the soft light. I grabbed it and returned to the garden where Cam sat, his gaze heavy with unspoken support.

I sat down, the cool night air biting into my skin, and opened to the final chapter.