None of it mattered.
To Zaldy, I was an inconvenience. He remained distant, emotionally sealed off, acknowledging my existence only when required. I wasn’t his partner—I was a tolerated fixture in his household.
At our formal union ceremony, he offered no tenderness. The moment the vows were completed, he turned away. On the rare nights he came to my room, alcohol clung to him. His touch was mechanical, empty—never affectionate, always a reminder that my presence in his life was an obligation, not a choice.
One night, he staggered in late, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his eyes dull and unfocused.
“Sami,” he slurred, smirking faintly, “why do you never come see me?”
“You’ve never asked,” I answered carefully. “And let’s not pretend this arrangement was ever something either of us wanted.”
He laughed sharply and crossed the room, grabbing my arm with careless force. “You’re here because of my mother,” he said coldly. “Without her, you’d be nothing.”
“Yes, Zaldy,” I whispered, swallowing the sting in my throat. “I know.”
The years passed like that. I endured everything out of loyalty to his mother—the woman who had saved me from obscurity. I even declined an offer to study abroad, afraid it would disappoint her.
No matter what I accomplished, I could never displace the ghost of Maria Lee. I was a stand-in. A shadow occupying a space meant for someone else.
After one particularly brutal argument, something inside me finally settled. My mentor’s words resurfaced in my mind.
The fellowship is yours if you want it. Italy is waiting.
It wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a way out. A door opening after years spent trapped in a life that was never truly mine. That night, I made my decision.
The next morning, Zaldy barely acknowledged me at breakfast. His attention was fixed on his phone, messages scrolling endlessly across the screen. Whatever tension lingered from the night before had already vanished from his mind.
I cleared my throat. “Zaldy,” I said quietly, “what would you think if I pursued my master’s degree in Italy?”
He waved a dismissive hand without looking up. “Do whatever you want.”
I steadied myself. “And if I’ll be gone long-term…should we dissolve this arrangement?”
For the briefest moment, I hoped he would react—question me, object, feel something.
He didn’t.
“That’s fine,” he muttered, still scrolling.