Chapter 6 6
Her voice cracked like thunder through the fog.
The void trembled. Something in me shifted, pulled, like I was being yanked up through thick water.
My body didn’t move. I couldn’t open my eyes. But I felt everything. The cool air rushing in. Hands—gentle, trembling—lifting me. Voices in panic. Sirens. A piercing wail splitting the city sky.
Tita Maribel was beside me in the ambulance, sobbing like I was her own flesh and blood.
“Hold on, girl. Please, just hold on...”
She clutched my hand. Whispered prayers. Rocked me softly like a mother would rock a child. And even in the chaos, even in my fading mind, I felt it—
Love. Real, unconditional love.
Then, just as I slipped again into the deep dark, I heard a voice. Not hers. Not the paramedics’. Something… otherworldly. Soothing. Warm. Timeless.
“I heard your wish, child…”
It floated gently into my ear like a secret from another realm.
And then—nothing. Silence.
When I woke again, it was like surfacing from the bottom of an endless ocean.
My lungs dragged in a breath like I was breathing for the first time. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy and disoriented. I blinked against the sterile white light. The room around me came into focus, blurry at first, then sharp and real.
I was alive. My eyes scanned the room. It was small. The walls were faded cream, the curtain rod was rusted at the edges, and the beeping of an old monitor ticked steadily beside me.
And then I saw her.
Tita Maribel, sitting in a plastic chair beside my bed, peeling an orange. Her face was tired, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, but her eyes lit up the moment she saw me stir.
“Oh, anak! Praise God!” she gasped, standing up so quickly the orange dropped to the floor. “You’re awake! You’re finally awake!”
Her voice trembled with relief. Her eyes were glassy with tears. Her arms wrapped around me gently, warm, safe, real.
I looked past her— Her two grandkids were sitting on the floor with battered tablets, munching on crackers. One of them looked up and smiled shyly at me. The other waved.
I swallowed, my throat dry and burning. “Tita…?”
She laughed, wiping her tears with the edge of her blouse. “I thought… I thought we lost you.”
“Three… days?” My voice cracked.
She nodded, gently brushing my hair back like a mother calming a frightened child. “I came to your apartment. I was bringing pancit. You always like pancit on Fridays, right?”
I stared at her, stunned. The memories… Uncle Elias, the knife, the pain—it all rushed back like a dam breaking.
“You found me?” I whispered. “I'm alive?”
She nodded again. “I knocked, you didn’t answer. I was worried. So I opened the door. And there you were… on the floor. Passed out in your living room.”
I blinked. “Passed out? I was attacked! Knife! I was killed, tita.”
Her brows furrowed. “Oi! No… no blood. No bruises. No wounds. Nothing. You weren’t hurt, anak. You were just… gone. Like your spirit left. Unconscious, barely breathing.”
“No knife?” My voice was barely audible. “My uncle—Elias—he stabbed me. I was dying. I remember it. I felt it. I…”
She cupped my face, calming me. “Shh. Shhh. There was nothing, Krystal. You had no injuries. You just fainted. The doctors said you might’ve had a stress collapse, or maybe exhaustion. But they couldn’t find any cause.”
“No… Tita… I died. I remember it. The pain. The ticket…” My hand clutched my chest, expecting to feel stitches, blood, something.
But there was nothing.
Just smooth skin. Untouched. Like the nightmare never happened.
But it had. I was sure of it. The memory of Elias’s face, the ticket crumpled in my fist, the stench of bleach, the feel of steel cutting into my flesh—it was all too vivid to be a dream.
“Tita…” I whispered, eyes wide. “What’s happening to me?”
She kissed my forehead and said softly, “Maybe it was the stress.”
I stared up at the flickering ceiling light. But the voice echoed in my mind again—
I heard your wish, child…
Two hours later, I was still sitting in that stiff hospital bed, hugging my knees to my chest like it could hold me together.
I couldn't stop thinking. The events kept replaying in my head on a brutal, endless loop—Elias’s rage, the glint of the knife, the searing pain, the sound of my blood hitting the floor, and then…
Nothingness.
That void.
That voice.
It couldn’t have been a hallucination. It felt too real.
Too visceral.
Too terrifying to just be a figment of a stressed, overworked mind.
I’d lived it. I remembered dying.
Then why wasn’t I dead?
My hand rubbed against my chest again, searching for anything—a scar, a bruise, even a sore rib—something to prove that it happened. But there was nothing. Smooth skin. Clear pulse. No damage.
Only the memory remained. And the lingering, sour taste of bleach in my mouth.
Just then, the door opened and the nurse stepped in with a clipboard and a soft smile.
“You’re clear to go, Ms. McLaren,” she said gently. “Vitals are stable, and your test results look good. You just need to settle your bill with the front desk before you leave.”
I froze. Money. Right. I didn’t have a cent to my name. I lost my job. My rent was due. My bank account was drier than stale toast, well I still have 1,800 emergency funds.
I opened my mouth, but before I could even stutter out an apology, Tita Maribel stood behind the nurse like a guardian angel in a faded cardigan and rubber shoes.
“She’s covered,” she said firmly, stepping into the room. “I took care of it.”
I blinked, stunned. “Tita… you didn’t have to—”
“Shh,” she smiled, waving a hand. “I still have connections here, anak. I was a nurse in this hospital for almost thirty years before I retired. I know the staff. I know the system. You got the retired-staff discount. And you’ll pay me back when you’re a rich chef someday, okay?”
I stared at her, my eyes stinging again, and not from pain this time. No one had ever… done that for me before. Cared like that.
“I don’t even know what to say…”
“Just say ‘thank you’ and come home,” she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You need rest. You’ve been through something.”
She helped me get dressed, and soon enough, we were walking down the cracked sidewalk toward the apartment complex we both called home.
When we reached my door, she turned and gave me a kiss on the forehead like I was her own.
“I’ll come back later with some chicken soup,” she promised. “And rice. Lots of rice.”
I nodded, my voice too thick to speak.
Then she left.
And for the first time in what felt like years, I stepped back into my tiny apartment.
It looked the same.
And yet… it didn’t.