Later that afternoon, Jay found Tita Jenne sitting quietly in the garden, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her scarf. There was a heaviness in her eyes that made Jay pause.
"Tita," Jay said softly, sitting beside her.
Jenne let out a small, frustrated sigh. "It's… it's just… Tito John. He hides things from me. He's been seeing a girl… someone from a long time ago. And when I ask him, he denies it. Every time. And then we fight… and it never ends."
Jay listened quietly, her hand resting lightly over Tita Jenne's. She didn't interrupt or offer quick solutions. Sometimes, words weren't what people needed most.
Jenne's voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what to do, Jay. I feel so… helpless."
Jay gave a small, understanding nod. "I get it," she said gently, her voice soft but firm. "I can't fix Tito for you. But… you're not alone in this. You have people who care, and… who see you."
Tita Jenne looked at her, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over her face. "You… you don't judge me?"
Jay shook her head softly. "Never. You're human. You're trying, and that matters. You don't have to carry all of this by yourself."
For a long moment, neither spoke, just sitting together in quiet solidarity. Jay let her presence speak louder than any words could. Her calmness, her warmth, and her understanding filled the space, giving Tita Jenne a sense of comfort she hadn't felt in a long time.
Finally, Jenne exhaled a shaky breath. "Thank you… Jay. I… I needed someone to just… be here. To listen."
Jay smiled softly. "That's what I'm here for. Anytime you need it."
Even without solutions or advice, the simple act of being there—listening, consoling, and not judging—gave Tita Jenne a small measure of peace she had been missing.
And in that quiet moment, Jay realized that sometimes love and care weren't about fixing problems—they were about showing up, even when there were no words to make things right.
Later that evening, Jay found Tito John sitting alone in the study, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the floor. She quietly took a seat beside him, letting him feel her presence before speaking.
"Tito…" she said softly.
He looked up, eyes tired and conflicted. "Jay… I… I don't know how to tell Jenne. She's been hurting, and I… I can't let her know the truth."
Jay tilted her head, her voice calm but firm. "What truth?"
John hesitated, then whispered, "The girl… the one I've been meeting all these years… she's… she's Keizer's sister. We thought she was dead, but she's not. I've been keeping her safe, watching over her… but I can't tell Jenne. If she finds out, everything will fall apart."
Jay listened quietly, letting him pour out his heart. Then she placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Tito… hiding things like this… it doesn't protect anyone. It only makes the bonds weaker."
He shook his head, frustrated. "But if I tell her… the past, the lies, the secrets… it could ruin everything. I can't risk it."
Jay's gaze softened, her fingers brushing lightly against his. "I know it's hard. But sometimes, the truth—no matter how heavy—can bring people closer instead of tearing them apart. If you open up, Keizer can finally find his sister, and you… you and Tita Jenne can rebuild your trust, your bond, stronger than before."
John's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Do you really think so?"
Jay nodded gently. "I do. Secrets might feel safe, but honesty… honesty builds love. It builds strength. You've been carrying this burden alone for too long. Let her in. Let her share it with you. You'll see… she can handle it."
John exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest lightening just a little. "I… I don't know how I'll start," he admitted quietly.
Jay gave a reassuring smile. "Start small. Just the truth. And I'll be here if you need support. Sometimes… you just need someone to guide you through it, Tito. That's all."
He nodded, finally allowing himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, revealing the truth could heal more than it hurt.
And in that quiet study, with Jay's gentle presence beside him, John felt the first flicker of relief he had known in years—a promise that honesty could mend the broken pieces, and that bonds, once rebuilt, could become unshakable.