Chapter 58
Third Person POV
Cynthia sat curled up in the farthest corner of her room, her small body trembling with every broken sob that escaped her lips.
It had been a full week since they returned to the city, yet she had not stepped a single foot outside her bedroom.
The once lively girl who used to laugh and run through the halls was now just a silent, crumpled figure, swallowed by the heavy weight of loneliness.
Tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks, soaking the sleeves of her pajama top as she hugged her knees tightly against her chest. Her voice, hoarse from days of crying, barely rose above a whisper as she rocked herself back and forth.
"Mommy... Papa... where are you?" she whispered, her voice breaking in desperation. "Please come back. I'll be a good girl, I promise."
The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut as if to shield her from a world that had already forgotten her. She kept whispering the same pleas over and over, as if repeating them might somehow reach her parents wherever they were.
Her small hands gripped the fabric of her clothes, knuckles turning white from how tightly she clutched onto herself.
"I'm not stubborn anymore..." she choked out, her chest heaving from the force of her sobs. "We don't have to go to the province. We can just celebrate my birthday here... just here at home..."
Her voice grew weaker, trailing into broken gasps, but the pleading never stopped.
"Ate... Kuya... please... please come back..."
Her cries echoed softly around the four corners of the room, unanswered. No one came to wipe her tears or gather her in a warm embrace. The silence was deafening, pressing down on her fragile heart, making it harder and harder to breathe.
A week had passed, but to her, time no longer made sense. Day and night blurred together behind the curtains she refused to open.
No one dared to force her out of the room. Not the maids, not Tita Anna, not even the doctor who came once but left when Cynthia wouldn’t speak.
“Mommy… Papa… where are you?” she whispered again, her voice hoarse. “Come back, please. I’m a good girl now. I promise I am.”
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, as if wiping away the grief would make them appear.
But all it did was smudge her face with dried tears and sleep.
Her once-bright eyes now stared blankly at the wooden floor, as though hoping it would open up and take her back to the last moment she saw her parents—smiling, waving, boarding the plane with Kuya and Lolo.
“I’m not stubborn now,” she murmured to the silence. “Let’s just celebrate my birthday here, okay? We can stay in the room. I don’t mind. I just want you back. My family."
She tried to smile, as if pretending could make it real. But the smile cracked faster than it formed. Her voice shook. “I promise I’ll share my cake. You can even have the first slice. I won’t fight with Kuya Marvin anymore. Just… please…”
A knock came at the door. Gentle. Hesitant. Tita Anna’s voice followed, muffled but tender.
“Cynthia,” Tita Anna said, her tone stiff. “Isang linggo na. Tama na.”
The little girl stayed curled up in the corner, hugging her pillow tight. Her eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with dried tears.
“Cynthia,” her aunt repeated, more forcefully this time. “Sabi ko, tama na ‘yan.”
Still, no response.
“Hindi ka pwedeng magkulong dito habang-buhay!” Her voice grew louder. “Akala mo ba ikaw lang ang nasasaktan? Ha? Iniisip mo ba ako—na kapatid ko ang nawala? Na tatay ko rin ‘yon?”
Cynthia’s fingers clenched the pillow. Her body trembled, but she didn’t turn around.
“Wala kang kinausap. Ayaw mong kumain. Lahat ng tao iniiwasan mo. Tapos ngayon, kinakausap mo na lang sarili mo?” Tita Anna’s frustration spilled over. “Anong gusto mong gawin ko? Anong gusto mong mangyari, Cynthia? Magsama tayong mamatay?”
That broke something.
“I’m not selfish!” Cynthia screamed, whipping around to face her. Her voice was hoarse and high. “I just want them to come back!”
Tita Anna froze, caught off guard.
“I didn’t even say sorry to Kuya! I didn’t hug Papa before he left! I said I didn’t wanna celebrate here, " Her sobs came faster now. “I want them back. Please, please, I’ll be good. I’ll really be good this time. Just—please—make them come back.”
The room fell silent.
Tita Anna’s eyes darted, full of pain she refused to show. She crouched slowly, but didn’t reach out.
“Hindi na sila babalik,” she said softly, though her voice remained cold. “Tanggapin mo na ‘yon. At lagi mong tatantadaan na kasalanan mo 'yon."
Cynthia’s breath hitched. Her eyes, wide and broken, blinked slowly.
She turned back to the wall.
Didn’t say a word.
Tita Anna watched for a moment longer. Then she stood up, walked out, and gently closed the door behind her.
A soft click of the lock echoed.
Not loud—but loud enough to feel like something inside had finally shut.
"It's my fault. I know. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's my fault." she keeps repeating saying those words, with sleepless night.
The hours stretched into days.
Cynthia stayed where she was, barely moving except to rock herself forward and back, forward and back. Her whispers never stopped—not even when her throat ran dry or when her stomach growled from another skipped meal.
“It’s my fault… I know… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
The words had become a rhythm, like a lullaby she used to hear at bedtime, but now poisoned with guilt.
A half-eaten piece of bread sat by her bedside, untouched since Manang left it there two mornings ago.
Sometimes, the house creaked. Sometimes, someone knocked.
But most of the time—it was just silence.
And Cynthia’s voice. Soft. Relentless. Fragile.
A lull in her breathing came as her head drooped, too tired even to cry. Her body curled tighter, as though she could fold herself away completely.
Then, she heard it.
A laugh.
Not loud. Not cruel. But warm. Familiar.
She opened her eyes slowly.
There—at the foot of her bed—stood Kuya.
He was wearing his yellow hoodie. The one he always wore when playing with her outside. His hair was a little messy, like he just woke up. He smiled at her.
“Hey, my baby."
Cynthia blinked. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
“I—I thought you—” Her voice cracked.
“I’m just here to say one thing,” Kuya said gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She sat up, lip trembling. “But I said I didn’t want to celebrate here. I told Papa I was mad. If I wasn’t—if I didn’t—maybe—maybe—”
“Maybe nothing,” he said, still smiling. “We loved you. Always. That doesn’t change just because we’re not… here.”
Tears poured down her cheeks again.
“I miss you,” she whispered. “Please don’t go again.”
But the light in the room was shifting.
Kuya stepped back. His smile grew sad.
“You’ll be okay, Cynthia.”
“No—wait—please—please—” She tried to run toward him, arms outstretched—but her knees buckled beneath her, too weak.
Her eyes flew open.
She was on the floor.
Alone.
Breath shallow. Heart pounding.
Just a dream.
Just a dream?
She crawled back to the corner slowly, eyes dazed.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered, uncertain now. “He said… it wasn’t…”
But she didn't believe it and still keep saying it was her fault.
The next morning, the room was still dim, curtains drawn tightly shut. Dust floated in the little slivers of light that managed to slip through the cracks.
Cynthia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by her toys.
The teddy bear.
The old, faded doll.
The bunny with one torn ear.
She had arranged them carefully, just like she used to when Mommy and Papa were still here, when Kuya would tease her for playing too seriously.
She picked up the doll first, cradling it in her arms.
"Good morning, Mommy," she whispered, smiling so wide it hurt her cheeks. "I made breakfast. Papa helped me cook."
She set the doll down beside the bear, then turned to the teddy and hugged it tightly.
"Papa, look! I cleaned my room. You said if I keep it clean, we can go to the park later."
Her voice was light, sing-song almost, but it wobbled around the edges.
In front of her, she had set up an imaginary table: a few crumpled pieces of paper pretending to be plates, and a bottle cap as a cup. She mimed pouring juice into it, giggling to herself.
"Here you go, Kuya!" she said brightly, passing the bottle cap toward the bunny. "No fighting today, okay? I’ll share."
She nodded at the toys as if they were really nodding back.
Then she clapped her hands twice. "Okay, let's eat!" she chirped.
She scooped air with her fingers, pretending it was rice, pretending there was real food. Pretending Kuya was making jokes. Pretending Papa was laughing his big, warm laugh. Pretending Mommy was saying how proud she was.
Cynthia laughed too, small and high and broken, but she forced it anyway.
The sound bounced hollowly around the room, making it feel even emptier.
She paused, looking around at her "family."
"See?" she said, smiling too hard. "We're all happy. We're still together."
The teddy bear stared blankly.
The doll slumped to one side.
The bunny leaned over, almost falling.
Her smile trembled. Her fingers fidgeted on the edge of the paper "plates."
No one answered.
Her chest tightened painfully.
But she kept playing.
She had to keep playing.
If she stopped...
If she let herself hear the silence...
She was afraid she'd forget their voices. Their faces.
"Papa, can we go to the swings later?" she asked the bear. "I promise I'll hold your hand really tight. I won't let go this time."
She picked up the doll again, rocking it gently. "And Mommy... you don't have to work later, right? You can teach me bike, right?"
Cynthia smiled wider, her voice getting faster, more frantic.
"And Kuya, you’ll play tag with me? You won’t be mad if I win, right? You’ll be happy for me?"
The toys stayed silent.
Her hands dropped to her lap.
For a moment, Cynthia just sat there, the fake picnic forgotten. The weight of pretending pressed against her tiny shoulders, too heavy, too much.
She buried her face into the stuffed bear’s fur and whispered, voice cracking—
"Please don’t leave me alone."
The bear didn’t hug her back.
The doll didn’t stroke her hair.
The bunny didn’t laugh and call her silly.
And little Cynthia, only seven years old, clung harder to the broken toys, forcing herself to believe that somehow, somehow, if she held on tight enough, she could bring them back.
One month.
That’s how long it had been since the plane crash. Since the birthday that never happened. Since Cynthia had last stepped outside her room, eaten a full meal, or spoken to anyone other than the ghosts in her head.
Her body was frail now—thinner than it had ever been. Her cheeks were hollow, her lips cracked. The light in her eyes had dulled into something distant, something unreachable.
She no longer cried.
She no longer whispered.
She simply… stared. At the wall. At the floor. At nothing.
“Cynthia, isang buwan ka nang hindi lumalabas at hindi kumakain! Gusto mo bang mamatay at sumunod sakanila? Tangina naman oh. Kahit ngayon, 'wag ka nang magmatigas,” Tita Anna’s voice rang through the room like a slap, sharp and angry—but trembling underneath.
Still, Cynthia didn’t move. Her head stayed bowed, eyes unfocused.
Tita Anna took two furious steps forward, arms crossed, chest rising and falling fast.
“Wala ka na bang balak mabuhay? Ganyan na lang? Ganyan ka na lang palagi?”
Silence.
Then—Cynthia swayed.
Barely a movement.
But enough.
Her body crumpled to the floor without a sound. No flinch. No resistance. Just collapse.
“Cynthia?” Tita Anna’s voice wavered as she rushed forward. “Cynthia!”
She shook the little girl by the shoulders, but Cynthia’s eyes were barely open now—glassy, unfocused, breath shallow.
Panic replaced rage in a single beat.
“Diyos ko—manang! Tumawag ka ng sasakyan! Ngayon din! Cynthia!”
Tita Anna scooped her niece into her arms, surprised by how light she was—how cold.
Her jaw clenched as she carried her down the stairs, voice barking orders no one dared question.
Hospital Room, Hours Later
Beeping machines. A tube in Cynthia’s nose. An IV in her hand.
She looked like a doll—fragile and pale, swallowed by the stiff white hospital sheets.
Outside the room, Tita Anna stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The doctor’s words kept echoing in her head.
“Severe dehydration. Malnutrition. Mental trauma. She’s shutting down. Not just physically, but emotionally. She needs help. Professional help. She's diagnosed with depression.”
A nurse walked past, and she turned to the window again, watching Cynthia from behind the glass.
For the first time, she looked smaller than her age. Just a child. A child who had lost everything.
Tita Anna sighed shakily.
Her whisper barely left her lips.
Cynthia’s eyes remained on the window, unmoving, as the faint hum of the hospital machines filled the silence.
Tita Anna sat stiffly beside the bed, arms crossed tight over her chest, as if hugging herself rather than the child in front of her.
She hadn't touched Cynthia once since arriving. Not even a brush of the hair from her forehead. She just sat there, jaw clenched, eyes heavy not with worry—but exhaustion.
“You’re awake,” she said flatly.
No relief in her tone. Just acknowledgment. Like she had checked an item off a list.
Still, Cynthia didn’t speak. Her eyes didn’t flicker.
Tita Anna sighed—sharp, annoyed. “So what now? Ganyan ka na lang habang buhay?”
Cynthia didn’t react.
“Alam mo ba kung gaano kahirap ang ginawa mo?” she snapped, leaning forward. “Hindi lang basta nagkulong ka. Halos pinatay mo na rin sarili mo. At ako—ako ang nag-aasikaso ngayon ng lahat. Lahat ng naiwan nila. Pati ikaw.”
Her voice cracked—anger bleeding from her mouth like venom. Not pain. Not sorrow. Just bitterness.
“I never wanted this.”
Cynthia’s gaze dropped from the window to her own small fingers, barely moving. She didn’t cry. She didn’t flinch. But her hands slowly curled into fists under the sheet.
“I never signed up to raise a kid. Lalo na isang batang hindi marunong makinig. Lalo na—” Tita Anna stopped herself, teeth gritted. “Forget it.”
She stood up abruptly, the chair screeching softly against the linoleum floor.
“I’ll call the nurse. You need to eat.”
She turned and walked toward the door.
No hug. No goodbye. No look back.
Just the cold click of heels—and then silence again.
Cynthia stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling faintly beneath the blanket. Her lips didn’t move. Her face stayed blank.
But inside her head, the words returned, looping endlessly like a curse.
It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.
One month passed by again.
Cynthia, hasn't even reacted anything. She wasn't crying like she used to do. She was quiet, no emotion left.
"Oh, buti naman at marunong kana lumabas sa sarili mong kwarto. May niluto ako doon kahapon, nandoon sa ref, initin mo nalang." her Tita Anna said but she didn't respond.
Cynthia—still in her pajamas, unkempt, her small frame frail, walking with slow, deliberate steps toward the refrigerator. The silence felt like it stretched longer than it had any right to, stretching between them like a gap too wide to cross.
She watched as Cynthia stared blankly at the food in the fridge, her hands hovering just above the containers, but not reaching for anything. Then, her fingers wrapped around a plastic box, pulling it out and placing it on the counter with the same lifeless precision she had shown for days.
Tita Anna stood at the doorway, fists clenched at her sides, eyes hard with frustration.
"Sinabi ko na, kumain ka," she said through gritted teeth, each word like a lash. “I spent hours making that for you. Hindi na pwedeng puro iniiwasan mo lang ang lahat.”
Cynthia didn’t look up.
Her eyes were fixed on the container in front of her.
For a moment, Tita Anna thought she might say something, might react—anything.
But instead, Cynthia’s hands trembled slightly as she picked up the food.
With no emotion on her face, she threw it against the floor.
The plate shattered with a sharp crack, the food spilling out onto the tiles.
Tita Anna's breath caught in her chest, and her eyes darkened in rage.
“Anong klaseng bata ka?! Anong gusto mong mangyari, ha?!” she shouted, her voice breaking through the stillness. “Kaya mong ganyanin lahat ng tao dito?! Kung ayaw mo, gusto mo bang mawalan din kami? Magsama tayo sa kapwa-pighati mo?”
But Cynthia didn’t respond. She stood there, watching the mess on the floor with the same vacant look. Her lips remained shut, her gaze distant—like she wasn’t even there anymore.
The silence weighed heavy, and then, like a snap, Tita Anna moved forward in one swift motion. Her hand swung across the air with the fury she’d been holding back for weeks.
The slap echoed through the room.
Cynthia’s head jerked to the side with the force of it. Her hair swayed, but her body didn’t react otherwise. Her face remained blank, expressionless. No tears. No flinch. No sob.
She just stood there, unmoving.
Tita Anna’s breath hitched, her own hand trembling now as she pulled it back.
The red mark on Cynthia’s cheek seemed to burn brighter than anything Tita Anna had ever felt, but the girl didn’t make a sound.
She didn’t even wipe her face.
She simply stared at the floor, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of the world had long since broken her.
"Lumayo-layo ka sa'kin. Baka hindi kita matansya." her tita said before turning her back.
But she didn't saw, Cynthia got a knife in her hand. And she got inside the room.
Hours passed by.
"Nakaka-inis talaga ang batang 'yon." her tita anna said, walking towards her room, na may dala-dalang food tray.
Pero pagpasok nito sa kwarto, nabitawan niya ang kanyang hawak sa nakita niya.
Cynthia was full of blood. Her wrist, neck, whole of her body. It was full of blood.
"Cynthia!" Tita Anna panicked, calling ambulance.
?The hospital room was cold.
The sterile smell of antiseptic hung in the air, the beep of the machines the only sound.
Cynthia lay there, pale and still, her small body hooked to IVs and monitors.
Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of exhaustion and pain.
She hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound since the moment the ambulance arrived.
?
?Tita Anna sat by the edge of the bed, her back stiff, her eyes red from crying.
The anger that had once consumed her was gone, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness.
She had never imagined it would come to this.
She had always believed that the girl would get better, that time and stern words would bring her back.
But no amount of forceful discipline had prepared her for the truth that had been building quietly inside Cynthia's fragile mind.
?
?The door to the room opened softly, and a nurse stepped in, her expression kind but guarded. She checked the machines, adjusted a few things, and then turned to Tita Anna.
?
?“She’s stable for now,” the nurse said, her voice low. “But it’s important that you understand, she’s going to need more than just physical care. She needs professional help. A counselor... a therapist... someone who can help her process this.”
?
?Tita Anna nodded slowly, her throat tight with a thousand words she couldn’t find.
?
?“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, the weight of it all too much to bear.
?
?The nurse gave a soft smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
She placed a hand on Tita Anna's shoulder before exiting the room, leaving the two of them alone again.
Pagkatapos ng pag alis ng oras ay agad naman hiniyawan nito ang bata ulit.
“Cynthia, anong klaseng bata ka?!” sigaw ni Tita Anna, ang mga mata niya punong-puno ng sama ng loob. "Hindi mo ba naiisip kung ano ang ginawa mo? Pumunta ka sa ganitong kalagayan, pinapahirapan mo ako!"
Nakita ni Tita Anna na hindi makatingin si Cynthia sa kanya, at ang bata ay parang nawawala sa sarili. Humarap siya kay Cynthia, ang bibig ni Tita Anna ay nanginginig sa galit, ngunit may tinig ng takot na hindi niya kayang itago.
“Alam mo ba kung gaano kita pinagtulungang buhayin? Para saan? Para lang magtulungan tayo na magtago sa likod ng mga kamalian mo?! Lahat ng ginawa ko, tapos ganito lang?!” sabi ni Tita Anna, ang tinig niya parang tinataga.
Tahimik lang si Cynthia, ang mata niya malabo, hindi makatingin kay Tita Anna. Si Tita Anna ay kinuha ang kamay ni Cynthia, pinigilan ang sarili niyang magalit pa. Ang galit ay nagsimula nang maglaho, ngunit ang sakit ay nanatili.
“Hindi mo ba naiisip ang nangyari sa pamilya mo? Ang magulang mo? Ang Lolo mo? Lahat ng iyon, wala na sila dahil sa ‘yo!” patuloy ni Tita Anna, ang tinig niya lumalakas, puno ng hinagpis. “Kaya ka ba nagganyan? Kasi hindi mo matanggap?”
"I'm sorry. It's my fault," were the only words Cynthia could manage to say, barely above a whisper. Her small voice trembled with guilt, but her heart was too heavy to feel relief.
As months passed, the pain inside her only deepened. The apology did nothing to heal the wounds she carried. The guilt gnawed at her, overwhelming her young mind.
Cynthia began to hurt herself. She tried to end her pain, not once, but five times. She swallowed pills, tried to suffocate herself, and thought of ways to escape. Every attempt was her silent cry for help, yet no one seemed to notice. She was only seven, too young to carry such heavy sorrow.
With each failed attempt, the darkness grew stronger. She felt like she was trapped in a world that didn't care, where no one could save her.
She was just a child—seven years old, but she had already tried to end her life five times.