The night outside was heavy with rain, the kind that drummed against the hospital windows and blurred the orange glow of the street lamps. Inside, the air was filled with the smell of antiseptic and the sharp echo of a woman's cry.
"Push, Maria! Just one more push!" the doctor urged.
Maria Torres clenched her teeth, sweat streaking her face, her grip bruising her husband's hand. "I'm trying!" she yelled, her voice half-pain, half-fury.
Beside her, Roberto Torres was pale, his other hand fumbling at the edge of his jacket pocket as though cigarettes might magically appear. His lips moved in quiet mutters, some combination of prayer and apology. "You can do it, honey, just… just a little more—"
"Shut up, Roberto!" Maria snapped, then screamed again as another contraction hit her.
The nurses moved with practiced calm. The doctor leaned forward. "I can see the head. Keep going, Maria. Almost there."
The storm outside seemed to hush in that instant. Then, with one final cry that tore through the sterile room, the firstborn child of the Torres family entered the world.
A nurse swiftly lifted the newborn, a boy slick with life's first mess, and brought him to Maria.
Maria's expression softened immediately, tears mixing with sweat. "My son…" she whispered, pulling the baby close. "Our firstborn."
Roberto exhaled a shaky laugh, his eyes wet as he placed a trembling hand on her shoulder. "We did it. He's here."
The doctor smiled. "Healthy boy. Strong lungs. What will his name be?"
Maria didn't hesitate. "Sebastian." She turned to Roberto. "Sebastian Torres."
The baby did cry—loud and sharp—but only once. Afterward, he grew strangely quiet, his dark eyes wide, scanning the blurred figures around him as though they were puzzles to be solved. The nurses exchanged puzzled glances. Babies were supposed to wail, to thrash, but this one… stared. Observed.
Sebastian Torres, however, wasn't just seeing them for the first time. He was remembering.
Rain again… the same kind of night.
His tiny fists curled. His mind was not that of a newborn. It carried fragments, impressions, echoes of something long and heavy. A different life. But no one knew. No one could.
"Welcome to the world, Sebastian," Maria whispered again, kissing his forehead.
A week later, the storm had passed. The Torres family brought Sebastian home to a modest two-story house in Quezon City. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.
Maria, despite the exhaustion of childbirth, still moved with sharp authority. She barked instructions at Roberto about where to set the baby bag, how to fold the tiny clothes, and whether the crib was positioned correctly near the window.
"Not too close, Roberto! He'll get sick from the draft," she snapped.
Roberto raised his hands in surrender, adjusting the crib a few inches. "Alright, alright. You're the general, I'm just the soldier."
Maria shot him a glare, but her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile.
Sebastian, nestled in the crib, blinked up at the white ceiling. The hum of the electric fan filled the silence. He catalogued everything—the cracks in the paint, the smell of new wood, the tone of his parents' voices. His mind worked far beyond what a baby's should.
The first home again. The same walls, the same arguments. But this time, I won't waste it.
At dinner, Maria prepared fried fish, rice, and a side of vegetables. She set the plates down with a sigh. "He's our firstborn, Roberto. We need to do this right. No excuses."
Roberto, tired from work yet still wearing that practiced smile, nodded. "I'll make sure he has everything. Whatever he needs. Whatever he wants. I promise."
Sebastian lay in a small bassinet nearby, his gaze shifting between his parents. Maria's fire. Roberto's quiet distance. Two forces pulling in opposite directions, yet bound by love.
The baby should not have understood, but he did. His thoughts swam with clarity unusual for an infant.
Mother yells because she cares. Father hides behind promises because he doesn't know how else to love. Same as before. I'll remember this. I'll use this.
He let out a small, deliberate coo. Both parents turned their heads immediately, softening at the sound.
"There," Maria said proudly. "He's listening. He knows us."
Roberto leaned back, smiling tiredly. "Sebastian Torres. Firstborn son. He's going to do great things."
The baby only thought:
Great things? Maybe. But first… I'll make sure I don't repeat the same mistakes.
And though no one could hear him, the silence of his own mind carried a single, steady vow:
This time, I'll make it right.