HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 72: The Unthinkable News

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains of our guesthouse, casting a soft glow over the room as I stirred awake. Sandro was still asleep beside me, his steady breathing a comforting presence. Our week in Ilocos had been a dream—a series of breathtaking experiences and moments of joy. Little did I know, the day would bring news that would shatter the tranquility of our escape.

After a leisurely breakfast and a quiet stroll through the local market, I returned to the guesthouse to find my phone buzzing with a series of missed calls and text messages. My heart sank as I noticed the name on the most recent message: Cloudine.

With a sinking feeling, I opened the message, hoping for an update or a simple inquiry. Instead, the words on the screen were a painful jolt to my reality: "Rafha, I'm so sorry. There's been an accident. Your daughters— they didn't survive."

My vision blurred as I read the message over and over, trying to comprehend the enormity of what I had just read. My legs felt weak, and I had to sit down, clutching the phone tightly as if it would somehow undo the news.

Tears began to flow uncontrollably. The reality of losing my daughters, the precious girls who had been so full of life, was a pain too deep to articulate. My mind raced through memories of their laughter, their voices, their presence in my life. The grief was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to drown me.

Sandro stirred beside me, sensing something was wrong. He sat up and looked at me with concern. "Rafha, what's wrong?"

I could barely speak through the tears. "Sandro... Cloudine... My daughters... they're gone. They... they died in a car accident."

Sandro's face went pale as he took in the gravity of the situation. He moved quickly to my side, enveloping me in a tight embrace. His touch was a grounding force amid the chaos of my emotions. "Oh, Rafha... I'm so sorry. We need to get back home."

I nodded, struggling to steady my breathing. The realization that I had to leave Ilocos and return to face this unbearable reality was almost more than I could bear. Sandro's support was unwavering, and he began making arrangements for our return trip. The logistical details of booking a flight and packing seemed surreal, a small detail in the face of such profound loss.

As we packed, my mind was a blur. I found myself moving through the motions without truly grasping the reality of what was happening. Sandro's calm and efficient handling of the situation was a small comfort, his presence a constant reminder that I wasn't alone in this.

The flight back to the city was a somber journey. I sat in silence, my mind overwhelmed with grief and questions. The empty seat beside me seemed to symbolize the void that had been created in my life. I couldn't stop thinking about my daughters, about the moments I would never get to share with them again.

When we finally arrived at the airport, Cloudine was waiting for us. Her face was etched with sorrow, and her eyes held a deep sympathy. She hugged me tightly, and her presence was a small comfort amid the pain.

"I'm so sorry, Rafha," she said softly. "I wish there was something more I could say or do."

I could barely respond, the words trapped in my throat. I appreciated her support, but the pain was too raw to articulate. We drove together to the funeral home, the journey a blur of grief and disbelief.

The arrangements were overwhelming, but Cloudine and Sandro worked together to handle the details. The support from friends and family began to pour in, each gesture of kindness a small balm to my wounded heart.

The days that followed were a blur of sorrow and planning. The funeral was a poignant tribute to my daughters, a gathering of loved ones who came to honor their memory. The outpouring of support was a testament to how deeply they had touched the lives of those around them.

As I stood by their graveside, surrounded by the faces of those who had come to mourn with me, I felt a profound sense of emptiness. The finality of the situation was unbearable, and the weight of my loss was a heavy burden.

Sandro remained by my side throughout the entire process, his unwavering support and compassion a source of strength. His presence, though not capable of erasing the pain, provided a measure of solace in the darkest moments.

The grief of losing my daughters was an overwhelming storm, and the path to healing would be long and uncertain. In the midst of the pain, Sandro's love and the support of my friends and family were the anchors that held me steady.

As I faced the days ahead, I knew that the journey of healing would be gradual and fraught with challenges. But with Sandro by my side and the support of those who cared for me, I took the first steps toward finding a way to navigate through the immense sorrow and begin to rebuild my life.