Chapter 3

I became calmer by evening and I felt the long warm bath I had contributed hugely to it. There were still a lot of things on my mind, but I didn’t feel weighed down by them too much. When in my life had I never felt many burdens weigh down on me? Yeah, it was probably a routine in my life now. Dad said I was a failure. It was because of that, that I accepted to do this—to try and atone for my mistakes.

With a long sigh, I started unpacking. I didn’t bring much so I knew it wouldn’t take too long. After hanging my clothes in the wardrobe, I put my shoes on their rack and then I put my books, files, and laptop on the table in the bedroom. When I laid down the books, something sticking out of the pages caught my attention and I pulled it out.

It was a photo of a woman with a charming smile, sunny brown hair, a pair of sneakers, and a crown made of flower petals on her head.

Mom

I never knew her; I never heard her talk—and Dad said she had the sweetest voice. That had been in one of Dad’s vulnerable moments. He never talked about Mom, but that day, I’d found him drinking while staring at her photo. When I tried to take the bottle of liquor from him, he’d pushed me away and glowered then went on to talk about how good mom had been to him. I remember that day vividly because Dad had made me feel the worst guilt ever—like mom’s death had been my doing; as if I’d chosen that fate for her.

As I looked at the photo, I wondered what it would’ve been like if she were alive or maybe had been alive long enough till I got to know her. Would things have been different? Would I have gotten Dad’s love and approval without having to scratch so hard and beg for it? I was twenty-seven but I was behaving like a child, seeking my father’s approval. But it was the one thing I wanted: for him to stop seeing me as the bringer of misfortune.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, mom.” Most times, I wished the photos could speak up and assure me so my mind could be completely at rest. I craved a parent’s love!

A while later, I slipped the photo back into the pages of the book and kept it away. I felt I was already doing something in the right direction to prove to Dad that I wasn’t a total failure and a source of misfortune. Yes, it was my decision that had driven his company to the edge of bankruptcy, giving Dad yet another reason to hate and see me as a failure, but I was glad that this marriage could provide a way out. I would somehow be the hero at the end of the day.

Thinking about the marriage, I didn’t know how to feel anymore. The goal was straightforward: marry Christopher and get Dad’s company back on its feet. The marriage wasn’t born out of love and I wondered what would become of me after the company was restored. What would become of my happiness? Would I stay or maybe leave and screw things overall again? Would I stay…with Christopher?

I felt goosebumps. All my life I’d wanted the kind of romance where my stomach would flutter and my feet would be melted by my man’s show of love and attention. I was going in the opposite path. Besides, I had a lot of questions regarding this arrangement already. Why had the Hansons agreed to this? What would they gain? 

There was a knock on my door. I went to get it, expecting maybe Sophia or another domestic staff. However, when I opened, it was Christopher’s pair of limpid brown eyes that stared back at me. He wore an enticing smile which made his face radiate a sort of captivating beauty. Christopher was handsome—in the past when I’d only seen him on TV shows and in brief moments across the mall, I’d always said he was pleasant to the eyes because handsome wasn’t a word that could completely describe this man’s looks. And he was tall too.

My eyes then wandered to the tray which was balanced in his hand. He smiled when he saw me eyeing it. “I brought dinner for you.”

“Oh,” that was the only thing I could think of saying. I thought it was still too early for dinner, also the fact that he was bringing it to me felt a little odd. Kind but odd. “Thank you.”

His smile widened and he handed me the tray. I didn’t open the plate to see what was in it. “Can I come in so we can talk?” he asked.

I tried to read his face but all I saw was seriousness and this look of plea in his eyes. Hesitantly, I shook my head. “Um…not now? I messed up the whole place so it’s not accommodating.”

“I won’t mind—”

“—Another time, Christopher, please?” I cut him off. It was odd because this was a man I was legally married to now on paper and he was warming up to me. Why then was I developing cold feet and that terrible sinking in my stomach when he was around? The answer wasn’t far-fetched: I felt that Christopher wasn’t okay. One moment he was mumbling to himself and laughing and another moment, he was acting so sane and looking at me in the way he did. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was anxious and out of composure around him. No, I didn’t worry too much that he’d hurt me—I still didn’t think his mind had deteriorated to that extent.

Seeing how firm I was, he nodded and dragged his feet away. I felt a little guilty for making him go away like that but it was too late to call him back—plus I didn’t want to call him back. I took

 the food in and sat down, thinking.