By the time Jay and Keifer came downstairs, the house was already awake.
The quiet clink of cups, the smell of tea, the warmth of something familiar settling into the morning—it all felt strangely steady. Sarina stood near the stove, humming softly, her back turned, as if this were any other ordinary day.
"Good morning," she said easily.
Jay paused for half a heartbeat, then smiled. "Good morning."
Sarina turned then, her eyes gentle, searching Jay's face without making it obvious. "Did you sleep well?"
Jay nodded, a soft honesty in her voice. "Yes… I did."
Keifer pulled out a chair for her without thinking. Jay sat, naturally close to him, not once checking herself, not once wondering if she was allowed to be there. Sarina noticed—but said nothing, only smiled as she placed food on the table.
"Eat properly," she said lightly. "Family days are long."
The word slipped into the air without weight.
Jay didn't tense.
She smiled back.
Keizer entered a moment later, already dressed, newspaper tucked under his arm. He stopped briefly when he saw them—Jay settled at the table, Keifer standing just behind her, his presence quiet but unmistakable.
Keizer gave a small nod.
"Good morning," he said.
Jay looked up. "Good morning."
His gaze held hers for a second longer than necessary, steady and calm. "Did you rest well?"
"Yes," she answered. "Thank you."
That was all he said, but the way he took his seat, the ease in his movements, told her everything she needed to know.
Nothing had changed overnight.
And yet, everything had.
Later, when the house grew quieter and everyone drifted into their own routines, Jay found herself standing near the window, watching sunlight stretch across the floor. Voices carried faintly from other rooms—ordinary sounds, unremarkable and comforting.
She realized she wasn't holding her breath anymore.
She wasn't waiting for the warmth to disappear.
She wasn't preparing herself to leave.
The word family didn't feel like something she had to earn now.
It felt like something that already existed.
Behind her, Keifer spoke softly. "Lost in thought?"
She smiled, not turning around. "Just realizing… I don't feel like I'm borrowing this anymore."
He stepped beside her. "You never were."
Jay looked around once more—the quiet strength of the house, the people who had chosen her without conditions.
And for the first time in her life, the future didn't feel uncertain.
It felt like home.
Keizer entered the study quietly.
Keifer stood immediately, instinctive, straight-backed. "You called for me, sir."
Keizer stopped. The habit hit him harder than he expected. "Sit," he said.
Keifer didn't argue. He pulled the chair out and sat. "Yes, sir."
For a moment, Keizer couldn't speak. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, the same posture he'd worn for years—distance disguised as strength.
"I failed you," Keizer said at last.
Keifer looked up, surprised but composed. "I don't understand, sir."
"I kept you away," Keizer continued. "I watched you struggle and told myself it was necessary. I made you handle things alone when you were too young to be alone."
Keifer's jaw tightened. "You taught me responsibility, sir."
Keizer shook his head slowly. "I taught you survival. I did not teach you warmth." His voice lowered. "I never asked how you were. I never stayed when you needed reassurance."
Keifer rose from his chair without realizing it. "You gave me everything I needed to stand on my own, sir."
"And nothing you needed to rest," Keizer replied.
That was when his voice broke—not loudly, but unmistakably. He sat down heavily, the weight of years finally pressing through discipline.
"I saw you with her," Keizer said, staring at the floor. "The patience. The gentleness. You learned that without me." His hands trembled. "And I realized I took something from you I can never return."
Keifer stepped closer but kept his distance. "You did what you believed was right, sir."
Keizer looked up, eyes wet. "I was wrong."
The word seemed to cost him everything.
"I am sorry," Keizer said. "For the distance. For the silence. For making you earn affection like it was a reward."
Keifer inhaled slowly. "I won't say it didn't hurt, sir."
Keizer nodded, accepting it. His composure finally collapsed, shoulders bowing as tears slipped free—quiet, unguarded.
"I don't deserve forgiveness," Keizer said. "But if there is anything left for me—" his voice faltered "—call me Papa."
The room went still.
Keifer's throat tightened. He didn't look away, but the word refused to form.
Some habits were built over decades.
"I… cannot say it yet, sir."
Keizer closed his eyes. "I understand."
Keifer stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his father's arm—respectful, steady. "You made me capable, sir. You made me strong. You just didn't know how to stay close."
Keizer's tears fell freely now.
"I forgive you," Keifer said after a long pause. "Not because it was easy, but because carrying it no longer serves either of us, sir."
Keizer nodded, overcome. "That is more than I deserve."
Keifer straightened, the familiar distance settling back—not as a wall, but as structure. He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
He didn't look back.
"Good night, sir."
Keizer watched him go, heart aching—but lighter.
Respect remained.
Distance remained.
But so did forgiveness.
And this time, it was enough.
Keifer walked out of the study and down the hallway without speaking.
The weight of what had just happened pressed on him like a heavy coat he couldn't take off.
He reached Jay's room without realizing he was moving so fast.
The door was slightly open, and Jay was inside, sitting on the bed, quietly reading. The soft light from the bedside lamp made the room feel safe—like a little world away from everything else.
Jay looked up when she heard him. "Keifer?" she asked, concern instantly showing in her eyes. "What happened?"
Keifer didn't answer.
He just stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
His hands trembled slightly. His chest felt tight.
Jay stood immediately, moving toward him instinctively. "Keifer," she whispered.
He didn't speak. He only collapsed into her arms.
Jay wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, holding him close, grounding him. She didn't ask questions. She didn't demand explanations. She just held him like he was the one who needed it most.
Keifer's body shook with quiet sobs, the kind that didn't sound loud but shook the core of him anyway.
Jay's heart tightened. She tightened her grip around him, her voice soft and steady. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's okay. You're safe."
He buried his face into her shoulder, letting out everything he'd been holding inside for years—the hurt, the anger, the longing, the loneliness.
And in that moment, Jay felt something in him finally loosen.
Keifer's hands clutched at her waist, as if afraid she might disappear. "I didn't know," he whispered through his breath. "I didn't know he would say it. I didn't know he could… be sorry."
Jay lifted his chin slightly, letting him see her face. Her eyes were full of compassion, but also strength.
"He did," she said softly. "And you forgave him."
Keifer swallowed, his voice trembling. "I did. But… it still hurts."
Jay nodded. "I know."
She held him tighter. "Let it out," she whispered. "You don't have to be strong right now."
Keifer closed his eyes, breathing in her warmth. The tension in his shoulders slowly loosened, just a little.
After a long moment, he whispered, "I'm afraid it will happen again."
Jay's voice was gentle but firm. "It won't. You have us now. You're not alone."
Keifer's shoulders shook again, but this time the tears came with a hint of relief.
He whispered, almost brokenly, "Thank you."
Jay kissed his forehead, a quiet, comforting gesture. "I'm here," she said. "Always."
And for the first time that night, Keifer let himself believe it.
The morning light was soft and golden when Jay woke up.
For a moment she lay still, enjoying the peace, then she realized she wasn't alone.
Keifer was still there beside her, his arm wrapped around her like he hadn't moved all night.
He looked exhausted—tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. But he was calm now, his breathing steady.
Jay shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and then realized he was awake already. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
She turned her head to look at him.
"Morning," she whispered.
Keifer's eyes softened when he saw her. He tried to smile, but it came out thin. "Morning, sir—" he stopped, then corrected himself quickly, as if he had forgotten for a moment. "I mean… good morning."
Jay's lips curved. "You don't have to say that now."
He glanced at her, his gaze heavy. "It's a habit."
Jay nodded, understanding. "It's okay."
There was a silence then, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt like a shared space—like the world had slowed down for them.
Keifer turned his head slightly, resting it against the pillow. "I didn't know forgiveness would feel like this," he said quietly.
Jay's heart tightened. "How?"
He exhaled. "Like I've been carrying a stone for years and suddenly… someone put it down for me."
Jay reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his cheek. "You don't have to carry it anymore."
Keifer closed his eyes for a moment. "I know."
He looked back at her, eyes raw but calmer. "I feel… lighter."
Jay's smile grew a little more genuine. "Good."
Keifer swallowed, then said softly, "Thank you for holding me last night."
Jay shook her head. "You didn't need to ask."
Keifer's voice dropped. "I needed you to be there."
Jay moved closer, snuggling into him. "I'm here," she whispered. "Always."
He tightened his arms around her, breathing in her warmth.
For the first time in a long time, Keifer didn't feel like he had to be strong all the time.
He felt like he could just be—
Human.
And that morning, in the quiet light, that was enough.
Later that day, after the house had settled and the afternoon sunlight made the rooms feel warm and calm, Keifer found himself standing near the study door again.
He wasn't sure what he expected. Relief? Anger? Nothing?
He just knew he couldn't keep holding it inside.
He took a deep breath and knocked once.
Keizer looked up from his desk. He looked… tired. But there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Keifer," Keizer said quietly.
Keifer stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood still, hands folded respectfully.
"I wanted to speak to you," Keifer said.
Keizer nodded. "Yes."
Keifer's voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability underneath it. "After last night… I realized something."
Keizer waited.
Keifer continued, "I don't want us to go back to how things were. I don't want distance just because you think it's the right thing."
Keizer's eyes softened. "I understand."
Keifer swallowed. "I'm not asking for you to become someone else. I'm asking you to let me in… a little more."
Keizer blinked, surprised by the calm honesty. "You want me to be more present."
"Yes, sir," Keifer said, and the "sir" sounded respectful, but not cold. "I want to feel like I can come to you without feeling like I'm imposing."
Keizer's throat tightened.
"I'm sorry," Keizer said again, but this time it wasn't an apology from a distance. It was an apology that belonged to him. "I didn't know how to be a father. I thought distance was protection."
Keifer nodded slowly. "It wasn't."
Keizer looked down. "I know."
Keifer stepped forward and placed his hand gently on the edge of the desk. "I forgave you," he said quietly. "But I need you to understand that I still need you."
Keizer lifted his gaze, and for a moment, his eyes looked almost afraid. Like he wasn't sure he deserved this.
"I do," Keizer whispered. "I will try."
Keifer's voice softened. "That's all I'm asking, sir."
Keizer nodded once, firmly.
Then he did something Keifer hadn't expected.
He stood up slowly, walked around the desk, and placed his hand on Keifer's shoulder—gentle, but meaningful.
"I'm proud of you," Keizer said.
Keifer froze.
His eyes widened slightly, as if the words had struck him with their weight.
"Thank you," Keifer whispered.
Keizer held his gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back, as if giving Keifer space to breathe.
Keifer stood there for a while, feeling the quiet change settle between them.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
The distance was still there, but now it felt like it could be crossed.
And for the first time, Keifer felt hopeful.
A few days later, the house felt different.
Not in a loud way. Not in a dramatic way.
It was just… calmer.
The mornings were softer. The evenings weren't filled with the usual tension that had once lingered between Keifer and Keizer like a shadow.
One afternoon, Sarina called Keifer to the living room.
"Come here," she said, smiling. "We're having tea."
Keifer walked in and saw Keizer already seated on the couch, holding a cup with both hands. He looked more relaxed than Keifer had seen him in a long time—less rigid, less distant.
Keizer glanced up and nodded once at Keifer.
"Sit," he said.
Keifer sat, respectful, but not stiff.
Sarina poured tea and set it down gently. "We were just talking about the gathering," she said casually. "It was nice to see you both."
Keifer glanced at Keizer.
Keizer didn't look away.
Instead, he spoke, softly. "I'm glad you were there."
Keifer blinked. The sentence was simple, but it carried a meaning that felt heavy with sincerity.
Jay, who was in the room too, smiled quietly, sensing the change.
Sarina watched them both with a warm, satisfied expression. "You've been different," she said lightly to Keizer. "I see it."
Keizer nodded once. "I'm trying."
Sarina's eyes softened. "Good."
Keifer felt something in his chest loosen.
The silence wasn't awkward anymore. It was comfortable.
As the conversation drifted into small, normal things—work, food, plans for the weekend—Keifer realized he wasn't waiting for Keizer to withdraw. He wasn't bracing for distance.
Keizer was simply… there.
Later, when Sarina and Jay moved to the kitchen, Keifer stayed back for a moment, watching his father.
Keizer seemed to notice, because he looked at him and said, almost casually, "If you need anything, you can ask."
Keifer's eyes widened slightly. "You mean it, sir?"
Keizer nodded. "Yes."
Keifer swallowed. "Thank you."
Keizer didn't respond, but the way he looked at him—steady, present—was enough.
When Keifer joined Sarina in the kitchen, she was already chopping vegetables, humming softly.
She glanced at him and smiled. "You look lighter."
Keifer leaned against the counter, letting out a breath. "He said something today."
Sarina raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Keifer nodded. "He said I could ask him for anything. Like… he's actually here now."
Sarina stopped chopping for a moment and looked at him, her eyes bright with emotion. "That's a huge change."
Keifer smiled faintly. "It feels like it."
Sarina walked closer and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You deserve this, you know."
Keifer looked at her, his expression soft. "I know. And I'm grateful."
Sarina squeezed his shoulder. "He's trying. That's what matters."
Keifer nodded. "Yes."
Sarina glanced toward the living room. "And Jay?"
Keifer's face softened even more. "She's been my strength."
Sarina smiled warmly. "Good. She's yours."
Keifer's eyes flickered with gratitude. "She is."
They stood there for a moment, just the two of them, surrounded by the quiet normalcy of a home that was slowly healing.
And Keifer realized something important:
The past didn't have to define the future.
Because now, there was room for something new.
was a calm evening, the kind where the house felt warm and settled.
Keifer had gone to the study to ask Keizer something simple—about a family matter, a decision that needed his father's approval.
Keizer looked up from his papers. "Yes?"
Keifer hesitated for a second, then spoke. "I wanted to ask if we could invite my aunt for dinner this weekend."
Keizer nodded slowly. "Yes. That's fine."
Keifer felt a wave of relief, but also something else—something unexpected.
He didn't think. He just spoke.
"Thank you, Papa."
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Keizer's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden familiarity. He didn't correct him. He didn't even react at first.
Then he nodded once, quietly, as if the word had landed softly in a place he didn't know was empty.
"Alright," Keizer said. "We'll do that."
Keifer stood there, feeling the warmth of the moment, the weight of the word still settling.
He swallowed, almost embarrassed. "I didn't mean—"
Keizer lifted his hand slightly, as if to stop him. "You did."
Keifer blinked, surprised. "I did?"
Keizer's voice was steady, calm. "Yes."
Keifer looked down, then back up again. "Okay."
The moment passed like a quiet breath.
Keifer left the study feeling lighter, like a door had opened in a place he didn't know was closed.
And somewhere in the quiet, Keizer sat there, holding onto that one word as if it had been a long-awaited answer.
few days after the dinner invitation, the house felt calmer than it had in years.
Keifer noticed it most in the small things—Keizer sitting at the table without looking tense, Keizer speaking more softly, Keizer no longer keeping a distance that felt like a wall.
One evening, Keifer returned to the study to check something about the family accounts.
Keizer was already there, sitting at his desk, but instead of his usual stiff posture, he looked relaxed, almost thoughtful.
Keifer paused at the door.
Keizer looked up. "Come in."
Keifer stepped inside and stood quietly, hands folded respectfully.
"I wanted to confirm the numbers," Keifer said.
Keizer nodded. "Yes."
He flipped through the files, then stopped, placing a paper in front of Keifer.
"I've already updated them," Keizer said, voice calm.
Keifer looked down at the paper. "Thank you, sir."
Keizer's eyes softened. "You don't need to say sir every time."
Keifer froze slightly.
Keizer continued, "You can just… speak to me."
Keifer swallowed. "Okay, sir."
Keizer gave a small smile. "Not sir."
Keifer's face warmed with surprise, but he nodded. "Okay."
Keizer paused, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small envelope.
He slid it across the desk.
Keifer blinked. "What is this, sir?"
Keizer's voice was quiet. "It's for you. Take it."
Keifer hesitated, then opened it carefully.
Inside was a simple card—nothing fancy, just a small note.
"I am proud of you."
Keifer's eyes widened. His throat tightened.
He looked up at his father, stunned.
Keizer didn't look away. He simply said, "I meant it."
Keifer swallowed hard, emotion rising.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Keizer nodded once, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like his father was unreachable.
He felt like his father was… present.
That night, Keifer went to Jay's room.
He found her sitting on the bed, reading, as usual.
She looked up immediately when she saw him. "How did it go?" she asked softly.
Keifer sat beside her, holding the card in his hand. "He gave me this," he said quietly.
Jay took the card, reading the words slowly. Her eyes softened. "That's… a big deal."
Keifer nodded. "It is."
Jay looked at him. "What did you say?"
Keifer swallowed. "I said thank you."
Jay smiled gently. "That's enough."
Keifer leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
"I never thought he would say that," he admitted. "That he would say he was proud."
Jay reached out and held his hand. "And now?"
Keifer's voice softened. "Now I feel like I can breathe."
Jay leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder. "Good."
Keifer closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her presence wash over him. "I still feel… like I'm learning how to accept it."
Jay's voice was gentle. "Then let me help you."
Keifer nodded, eyes still closed. "Thank you."
They stayed like that for a while—quiet, close, not needing to speak.
Because sometimes, the smallest gestures were the ones that changed everything.
A few days later, everything settled into a comfortable rhythm.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't sudden. It was just… normal.
And for the first time, normal didn't feel empty.
The mornings started with soft light and quiet laughter. Sarina was always the first to wake, moving around the kitchen with the calm confidence of someone who had built this home.
Keifer and Jay were becoming a regular sight there, too—sometimes just for tea, sometimes helping with breakfast, sometimes simply standing close together, talking about the day ahead.
One morning, Keifer walked into the study to ask his father something about a family matter, as he usually did.
Keizer looked up, surprised. "Yes?"
Keifer smiled slightly. "Papa, can we schedule the weekend plans? I want to make sure everything is arranged."
Keizer's eyes softened, and he didn't correct him this time.
"Of course," he said. "Come sit."
Keifer sat, feeling a warmth in his chest he didn't need to hide anymore.
The word Papa had slipped out easily, naturally, without force or fear.
And it felt like a door that had finally opened.
Family time became a real thing now, not just an obligation.
Keifer and Keizer would sit together in the living room with Sarina and Jay, talking about simple things—work, travel, food, memories. There was no tension in the air, no need to prove anything.
The cousins began to come over more often. The brothers. The cousins' kids, too—running around like they owned the place.
It was chaos.
But it was their chaos.
One afternoon, Sarina called out from the kitchen, "Keifer! Keizer! You both are coming in here or I'm sending you out!"
Keifer grinned and walked toward the kitchen. Jay followed, smiling. Keizer, who rarely entered the kitchen unless needed, followed too—like he belonged there now.
The kitchen was loud and warm. The stove was on, the aroma of spices filling the air.
Sarina handed Jay a bowl. "Chop these onions."
Jay nodded and started working.
Sarina turned to Keifer. "You—go wash these vegetables."
Keifer nodded, taking the basket. "Yes, ma'am."
Then she looked at Keizer. "And you?"
Keizer paused for a second, then took the cloth she handed him and began wiping the counter. It was a small task, but it was a gesture of participation—a sign that he was no longer distant.
Keifer watched his father for a moment, surprised by how normal it felt.
"Papa," Keifer said quietly, almost teasingly, "you're actually helping."
Keizer glanced up, expression calm. "Yes."
Keifer laughed softly. "This is new."
Keizer's lips twitched into the smallest smile. "You'll get used to it."
The cousins arrived later that evening, filling the house with energy.
There was loud laughter, playful teasing, and the kind of teasing that only families can do.
One cousin shouted, "Keifer, still bossing everyone around?"
Keifer shot back, "Not bossing—just organizing."
Another cousin laughed, "Organizing? You mean ordering everyone like a general."
Keifer smiled, unfazed. "Yes. Like a general."
Jay rolled her eyes playfully, and Sarina nudged her shoulder gently. "Don't encourage him."
Keizer watched the chaos quietly from the corner of the room, a faint smile on his face.
He looked at Keifer and Jay—at the life that had formed around them—and felt something in his chest soften.
This was what he had been missing.
Family.
Later, when the kids were running around and the adults were talking, Keifer and Jay found themselves sitting together again, their hands touching lightly.
Jay looked at him. "You seem different."
Keifer nodded. "I am."
Jay smiled. "How so?"
Keifer took a deep breath. "I feel like I don't have to be alone anymore."
Jay squeezed his hand. "You never will."
Keifer looked toward the living room where the laughter was still going strong.
"Even him," Keifer said softly, nodding toward Keizer, "even he's different."
Jay followed his gaze. Keizer was talking with Sarina, his posture relaxed, his expression gentle.
Jay smiled. "That's good."
Keifer nodded. "It is."
The night ended with the family gathered in the living room, the cousins teasing each other, the kids falling asleep on the couch, and Keifer sitting close to Jay, feeling the warmth of the home around him.
The distance that had once existed between him and his father wasn't gone.
But it was no longer a barrier.
It was just… a memory.
And the present was filled with the kind of love that didn't need words to be real.
The house was filled with laughter that evening. The cousins were still around, teasing each other, and the kids were running around with the kind of energy that made everything feel alive.
Jay and Keifer were sitting together on the couch, quietly enjoying the normalcy. Jay leaned into him, feeling safe, feeling like she belonged.
Sarina walked into the living room, holding a cup of tea in her hand, and looked at everyone with that calm smile she always wore when she had something to say.
Keizer followed behind her, his posture calm but his eyes bright.
"Everyone," Sarina said, raising her voice just enough to catch attention, "we have an announcement."
The room quieted instantly.
The cousins stopped talking mid-sentence. The kids paused in their play. Even the air felt like it had stopped, waiting.
Keizer stepped forward, his expression serious but gentle.
"This isn't a question," he said quietly. "It's a decision."
Jay's heart began to beat faster.
Keifer's eyes widened slightly, but he remained composed.
Sarina smiled at Jay and Keifer, her eyes shining. "We're going to announce your wedding date soon."
The room erupted.
"WHAT?!" someone shouted.
"Finally!" another cousin yelled.
Keifer stared at them, stunned for a moment, then looked at Jay.
Jay's eyes filled, her breath catching in her throat.
Keizer continued, voice steady, "We will set the date officially this week. The invitations will go out. We want you both to be prepared."
Keifer's voice came out softly, still respectful, still in shock. "Sir… are you sure?"
Keizer nodded once. "Yes."
Jay looked at Keifer, tears in her eyes. "We didn't even—"
Sarina cut in, laughing gently. "You didn't need to. We did."
The cousins began shouting excitedly again, surrounding Jay and Keifer with teasing and congratulatory hugs.
"Finally! We've been waiting for this!"
"Where's the engagement party?"
"Are you going to have a big wedding or a small one?"
Jay laughed through her tears, feeling overwhelmed, but in the best way.
Keifer wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Looks like we don't have a choice anymore," he whispered, smiling.
Jay smiled back. "I'm not complaining."
Sarina stepped closer, touching Jay's cheek gently. "You're our daughter now. And this family doesn't let you go."
Keizer watched them both with a quiet pride in his eyes. "We'll make it a beautiful day."
Jay's heart swelled. She looked around at the family—at the chaos, at the love, at the warmth.
And she realized something.
This wasn't just a wedding.
This was a celebration of belonging.