Old Days Break Free [ON HOLD]

15

Love is an illusion

Lorraine's POV

Do you know that peculiar sensation, as if someone is watching you, even when you're merely standing still, lost in your own thoughts?

That’s exactly what I’m feeling right now.

It’s a subtle, unnerving feeling, like the weight of unseen eyes following my every move.

Each time I glance over my shoulder, there’s no one staring, but the presence is undeniable, lingering somewhere nearby, just out of sight.

It’s Athena.

Earlier, she claimed me as her companion at this lively gathering, effortlessly pulling me away from Theron with a smile that left no room for argument.

I had no choice but to follow her, and now…

Now, I find myself distanced from everyone.

I linger in the background, separated from the crowd, as they chatter excitedly.

All eyes are on the stage, where a couple is about to reveal their baby's gender.

The air buzzes with anticipation.

Jezreel stands center stage, dressed in an adorable bunny onesie, holding a pink balloon with a teasing grin.

Beside her, Ate Sam wears a playful fox onesie, gripping a blue balloon.

Both women seem eager for different outcomes, their hopes pinned on the colors they carry.

The crowd mirrors their excitement, all smiles and whispers of curiosity.

From where I stand, I watch Jezreel’s mother as she repeatedly pulls bills from the towering money cake.

It’s not her birthday, but at the end of that cake, lies a secret—the gender of the unborn child.

Madame Jamaica’s fingers sift through a cascade of crisp 1,000-peso notes, a symbol of prosperity, until finally, she reaches the end.

Her hand clutches a small slip of paper, folded like a precious keepsake.

She holds it up, bringing it close to the microphone as she begins to read aloud.

“This child will be a strong boy with a steady heartbeat. That kid will be a little version of Jezreel.”

The room erupts in a chorus of “aww”s, touched by the words, but their sentiment is quickly interrupted by Jezreel’s voice, clear and unbothered.

“No. I don’t want a mini version of me. That’s a headache.” she says, her tone dry but playful, causing a ripple of laughter to sweep through the crowd.

Her humor is infectious, lightening the atmosphere, even as her serious expression lingers for just a moment too long.

As the excitement crescendos, it’s time to cut the cake.

Ate Sam steps forward, knife in hand, ready to make the first slice.

But before she can do it alone, Jezreel reaches out, taking her hand in hers.