Love, Nico

eleven

Nico's

Days had passed since I took Yves to my sister's grave. I became more open about my life, how my parents coped with Denise's passing. At first, it was hard to talk about. The grief was still raw, and I had spent so much time pushing it all down, pretending that things had returned to some semblance of normalcy. But with Yves, I found myself speaking more freely, as if the weight of the words finally needed to be released.

I told her about the long silences that hung over family dinners, the way my mother would retreat into her knitting or into the garden for hours, as though trying to distract herself from the void. My father, on the other hand, had grown quieter, more distant. It was as if he was holding everything inside, refusing to let anything slip through the cracks, even when it was clear that the loss was consuming him.

I shared with Yves the times I would catch my father talking to someone on the phone. His voice would always soften, as though he were speaking to someone fragile, someone he was afraid to lose all over again. At first, I thought it was just another of his strange habits, his attempts to hold onto the past in whatever way he could. But after a while, I began to understand that he believed Denden was still alive.

"He thinks the child we buried... wasn't really Denise," I told Yves, my voice low, a little embarrassed by the words. "He says it was a mistake, a mix-up. He insists that the girl we laid to rest isn't his daughter. That Denden somehow... escaped."

Yves didn't say anything at first. I could see her processing what I'd just shared. I wasn't sure how she felt about it, whether she thought my father was delusional or just grieving in his own way. I wasn't sure what I thought, either. But it had become a constant in our house, my father's calls, his quiet, pleading voice, trying to convince someone on the other end that Denise was still alive, that they had buried the wrong person.

It was haunting.

I'd overheard him in the early mornings, when I would wake up to find him still on the phone, his voice soft but urgent, trying to explain something only he seemed to understand. He said that Denden had been "taken," that she was in hiding, waiting for the right moment to come back to us. It was impossible to know if he really believed it, or if it was just some desperate coping mechanism, a way to avoid facing the truth.

"I don't know what to think about it," I continued, looking down at my hands. "Sometimes I feel like he's losing it, like he's holding on to a fantasy just to keep from breaking completely. And then there are times when I wonder... What if he's not wrong?"

Yves finally spoke, her voice calm but full of understanding. "Grief does strange things to people. Maybe he doesn't know how to let go, or maybe he just refuses to. It's hard to face that finality, that truth that's so final, so irreversible."

I nodded, grateful for her insight. Yves didn't try to judge my father or dismiss what was happening. She just let me process it at my own pace. In a way, it was comforting, knowing that someone understood how complicated grief could be. Even if my father's beliefs seemed irrational, even if I didn't know what to do with them, Yves helped me see that there was no right or wrong way to grieve. Just different ways to hold onto what we couldn't bear to lose.

***

We're at school right now, and I'm a bit confused. Imbes na ako yung umiwas kay Gian, siya na yung lumalayo sa akin. It's strange. For so long, I've been the one trying to avoid her, trying to pretend like nothing ever happened between us. But now, she's the one keeping her distance. She's not bothering me, not even looking my way, and it's... unsettling.

"Are you okay?" Yves asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her voice was soft, like she knew I was wrestling with something. I glanced up at her, still trying to wrap my head around what's going on.