Author's POV
Two weeks later, the house looked completely different.
It had not suddenly turned grand. It did not look like the home of a woman who could have bought something far better if she wanted to. But it had become the kind of home Gia liked. Quiet. Clean. Solid.
The roof had already been repaired after they discovered it leaked during the first rain. All the old, fragile locks on the doors had been replaced. The window that used to refuse to close properly had been fixed. The bathroom in Gia's room no longer looked like something a person simply endured. The kitchen now had new lighting, a proper stove, and basic appliances arranged with simple order. In the living room, there was now a sofa that did not look expensive but was comfortable enough for Nena and Lando to sit on every afternoon.
In the yard, the grass along the sides had been cleared. There were a few new pots out front too, not filled with costly plants, but enough to keep the house from looking abandoned for years.
There was no longer any trace of their first day there except for the quiet feeling that everything was still new.
And during those two weeks, Tay and Nay had slowly begun to improve as well.
Lando was still not strong, but his breathing was better. Nena's cough was no longer as heavy, and though both of them still tired easily, there was already a little life in their faces that had not been there when Gia first met them on the roadside.
That morning, the three of them had just come back from a checkup.
The ride home from the small clinic in town had been quiet. Gia sat in the back beside Lando and Nena, while in front was the driver she had tested several times and paid well enough not to turn curiosity into business.
Gia held a few papers in her hand. Prescriptions. Maintenance medicine. Vitamins. A few tablets for blood pressure and breathing.
She was not pleased by how many there were, but there was one thing that pleased her.
The two of them were stable.
Not perfect.
But stable.
And at that moment, that word was enough for her.
When they got out in front of the house, Gia did not go inside with them right away.
"I'll buy the medicine myself," she said, handing Nena the small bag of vegetables they had also picked up from the market. "You and Tay should go in first. It's hot."
"We can just do it tomorrow," Nena said at once. "You must be tired too."
"It will be late in the afternoon by then. The line will be longer." Gia opened her umbrella, then looked at Lando again. "Tay, do not lift anything heavy for now. Please rest."
The old man let out a sigh. "All right, Apo."
That was the term of endearment that lightened and tightened her chest at the same time.
She ignored her own reaction. She was used to not lingering too long in moments like that.
"I'll be back soon," she said.
"Do not walk too much under the heat," Nena called after her. "And buy something cold for yourself too."
Gia lifted a brow slightly. "So now I'm the one being ordered around."
The older woman smiled. "Yes."
Gia had no answer to that except a small shake of her head before getting back into the van.
At the pharmacy in town, the line was longer than she wanted.
It stood across from a small grocery and beside an old school supplies store. It was still hot even past noon. From the open doorway of the pharmacy came the smell of medicine, paper, and cool air conditioning that was not strong enough to reach everyone waiting outside. Some people were lined up inside, while others stood by the shelves with their prescriptions in hand.
Gia entered and waited quietly in line.
She wore only a simple blouse and a long skirt that felt light against the body. Her hair was tied back. She wore no jewelry that would draw attention. At first glance, she looked like nothing more than an ordinary young woman in town. But as always, there was still something about her that simple clothes could not hide.
The way she stood.
The cleanness of her face.
That silence about her that did not look as though it belonged beneath anyone else's stronger voice.
Ahead of her stood a young girl, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Thin, brown skinned, hair tied back, and clearly in a hurry even though she was trying hard to calm herself. She held a prescription and a few crumpled bills she kept rubbing tightly in her palm.
One by one, the pharmacist called the people before them.
When it was the girl's turn, she quickly handed over the prescription.
"Wait, hija," the woman at the counter said as she typed in the names of several medicines. "All of these?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Five thousand eight hundred seventy six."
The girl froze.
Gia saw it clearly without even needing to step closer.
For a second, all expression seemed to leave the girl's face. As though her mind had failed to process the amount. When she finally looked down at the money in her hand, the panic in her eyes became even more obvious.
"Can I," she began, then swallowed. "Can I just get these first?"
She opened her palm against the counter.
Gia counted it with one glance.
Nowhere near enough.
"How much do you have?" the pharmacist asked, not rude, just clearly tired of conversations like this.
"Seven hundred."
The woman behind the counter fell silent for a moment before looking at the prescription again. "Then choose what you want to prioritize."
The girl's eyes reddened. She was not crying yet, but it was obvious she was fighting herself.
"But all of it is needed."
"I cannot give these out without full payment."
"Can I," she cut herself off again, then lowered her voice even more. "Can I just get less for now?"
The pharmacist shook her head. "Choose how many days' worth you want, then."
The girl said nothing.
After a few seconds, the woman simply set several boxes and blister packs aside until the total got smaller. When she finally handed over the few medicines that could be bought with seven hundred, the girl's hands were almost trembling as she took them.
"Next," the pharmacist called.
The girl moved to the side, holding the small plastic bag as if it was far too light for the problem she carried.
Then it was Gia's turn.
She handed over Nena and Lando's prescription, paid without a question, and quietly waited for the medicine to be prepared. When it was given to her, she still did not leave at once.
The girl was still standing at the side.
She stood beside the shelf of vitamins, head lowered, holding the little bag as if trying to stop herself from crying in front of so many people. Gia could clearly see her eyes blurring even though she kept avoiding looking around.
A moment later, a little girl arrived, probably no more than seven or eight years old, looking like she had just run in from outside because she was sweaty and breathless. She went straight to the older girl.
"Ate," she asked, immediately looking at the bag. "Did you buy it already?"
The older sister closed her eyes for a brief second before giving a small nod. "Some are still missing."
"What?"
She did not answer right away. That alone told Gia what would come next.
"It's still incomplete," the older girl said softly.
The child's eyes widened. "What? But the doctor said Mama needs all of it." Her grip tightened on the hem of her sister's dress. "Ate, Mama might die if the medicine is not complete."
Clearly still a child.
Overdramatic in the way children naturally are when they are afraid of losing their mother.
And because of that, the scene struck Gia even harder.
"She's not going to die right away," the older girl said, though tears were already gathering in her own eyes too. "Do not be loud."
"But why is it incomplete?" the younger one whispered, almost crying. "What do we do now?"
Before the older girl could answer, a man standing beside the freezer of cold drinks cut into the conversation. His tone was not cruel. Just nosy, the way some people were used to inserting themselves into the problems of others.
"Try the health center. Maybe they have some there."
The girl looked at him. "They don't."
"At the center?"
"Yes." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "We already tried. They said there was no budget. Even the organization they keep approaching cannot get anyone to help."
The man went quiet for a moment. "Is that so."
He had nothing else to say after that.
And that was when the irritation inside Gia finally moved.
Not at the man.
Not at the pharmacist.
Not even at the crying child.
Her anger was directed at the system. At the repeated sight of people who were not lazy, not dependent, yet were always given too little by life for the most basic needs.
She slowly walked toward the two sisters.
The older one immediately looked at her. It was obvious from her face that she was not used to being approached by someone like Gia. Too clean looking. Too quietly composed. Too refined a face.
"What is the name of the medicine that is still missing?" Gia asked.
The girl froze. "What?"
"The missing ones," Gia repeated. "Which ones?"
The child swallowed harder, then slowly handed her the prescription and receipt. Gia did not take the plastic bag. She took the papers first, looked them over, then turned to the counter.
"Ma'am," she called to the pharmacist. "Please add everything that was set aside earlier."
The woman at the counter stopped. "Everything?"
"Everything."
The sisters looked at each other. Even the man who had interrupted earlier went silent.
"Miss," the older girl said quickly, "please don't. This is already okay."
Gia did not look at her. "No, it isn't."
The pharmacist quickly gathered the medicines that had been set aside and typed in the amount again.
"Five thousand one hundred seventy six," she said.
Gia handed over the money without the slightest change in expression. "Please add these vitamins on the note as well."
The girl looked at her again, this time with even clearer shock. "Miss, that really is not necessary."
That was when Gia turned to her.
Her eyes were not cold, but there was no room in them for refusal.
"If it is not necessary, it would not be written on the prescription."
The girl fell silent.
When the pharmacist handed the medicines over, Gia took them and passed the bag to the older sister. But she did not stop there. From her own wallet, she took several thousand more, folded the bills, and placed them in the girl's palm.
The girl quickly stepped back. "No. Please don't. This is too much."
"For the next batch," Gia said. "And for food."
The girl could not move.
Beside her, the little sister had stopped crying and was simply staring at Gia as though she still did not understand what was happening.
"What is your name?" the younger girl finally asked, her voice very soft.
Gia went quiet for a second.
Her old name no longer belonged in scenes like that.
So she answered with the one that mattered now.
"Gia," she said. "Gia Santos."
"Thank you so much," the older girl whispered, and that was when the tears she had been holding back finally fell. "I do not know how to thank you."
"Take care of your mother," Gia said.
She added nothing else.
She did not want to drag the moment out.
She did not want to hear the word thank you repeated over and over either because most of the time, that weighed more heavily on her than paying for anything.
When she stepped out of the pharmacy, the air outside felt hotter than before.
But that was not what had intensified against her skin.
As she walked back toward the van, what she saw around her became clearer and clearer.
A man pedaling a tricycle beneath the harsh sun even though his back clearly ached.
A vegetable vendor almost hoarse from calling out her goods.
An old man repairing a broken chair by the roadside.
Children helping carry boxes into a store.
Beside the market, women bent over while cleaning fish, their hands fast, their faces quiet, looking exactly like people used to working without any certainty that what they brought home at night would be enough.
No one looked lazy.
That was the first thing that struck her.
Everyone was doing something.
Everyone was moving.
Everyone was tired.
And still, so many of them were short on medicine, food, proper housing, on even the smallest kind of relief that should never have needed begging for.
She stopped beside the van before climbing in.
From there, she could see the front of the market and the unending movement of people who had no time to fall apart because if they stopped, their day would only sink deeper.
She remembered the conversation inside the pharmacy.
The center had no budget.
The organization could not find anyone willing to help.
The family had nowhere near enough money for the prescription.
And it was not just one family.
It was not just an accident of one day.
It kept happening in front of her, in different faces, in different forms.
In her first two weeks in that place, she had been busy with the house. With the roof. The locks. The window. The bathroom. Nena and Lando's needs. The work of making their little world safe and proper.
But the more time passed, the clearer it became that there was something much bigger around them that she could not simply ignore.
She was not used to looking at things shallowly.
And when something hit the same weakness in her again and again, she did not just walk away.
She did something.
Quietly.
Slowly if necessary.
But surely.
When she got into the van, she did not immediately tell the driver to leave.
Nena and Lando's medicine rested on her lap. Beside her seat was the cold drink she had bought for Nena because the older woman had told her to buy one for herself too, and because Gia did not want to come home empty handed, she had bought another one for Tay as well.
She only stared outside.
At the people walking.
At tired shoulders.
At eyes that were not asking for pity, but clearly stood only a few steps away from the kind of need that would force them to.
"Are we heading home now, ma'am?" the driver asked from the front.
Gia slowly turned.
Then she looked back at the town one more time.
"Wait," she said.
From her bag, she took the small notebook she had been carrying for days, though until now it had only contained lists of the house, expenses, and things that needed repair. She opened it and began to write.
Health center.
Budget.
Organizations.
Medicines.
Families.
Work.
Land.
Jobs.
The plan was not whole yet.
She did not want to name it fully just yet.
But the beginning of the direction was already clear.
If the people here were already working, why was the poverty still this deep.
If they were already laboring, why did there always seem to be someone too sick to afford medicine.
If there was land all around them, why were so many people still struggling to earn enough.
After a few minutes, she slowly closed the notebook.
For the first time since buying the house in that province, a different kind of silence settled in her mind. It was not the silence she wanted from a safe house. It was not the stillness she had found on her first night as Gia Santos either.
This was the silence before a decision.
And she knew herself.
Once she reached that point, she would not turn back.
"We can go home now," she said at last.
The van started moving.
As the town slowly fell behind the window, Gia kept her eyes outside, on the shops, the people, the roads full of life and exhaustion.
She was not sentimental.
Neither had she suddenly become kind to that world.
But one thing was clear now.
It was not enough to help one by one whenever she came across someone crying in a pharmacy or fighting over a single meal by the roadside.
Something had to change.
And because she was not the kind of woman who knew how to simply look and move on, Gia already knew that before long, she really would do something about it.