WHEN LOVE RETURNS

CHAPTER 12

The morning was peaceful, with birds chirping softly outside the window and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the kitchen. Sam moved around with practiced ease, flipping pancakes on the skillet and boiling water for tea. The quiet hum of his routine brought him a sense of calm.

Erica stumbled in a little later, her hair tousled and her movements sluggish. She looked out of place in the rustic setting, like a delicate ornament in a weathered room. Yet, there was something endearing about how hard she seemed to be trying.

"Morning," she mumbled, plopping into a chair and yawning.

Sam glanced at her briefly. "Morning," he replied, placing a plate of food in front of her.

She glanced at the spread, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. "Where's Aunt Nena?" she asked, stabbing a piece of pancake with her fork.

"At the barangay. She's got meetings all day," Sam said simply, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Erica sighed dramatically, her fork clinking against the plate. "Why is everyone around here so obsessed with work? Don't you people ever just... stop?"

Sam froze mid-sip, his coffee mug hovering near his lips. Her words sliced through the air, and he placed the cup down carefully, turning to look at her. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his eyes.

"You people?" he repeated, his voice low and controlled, yet filled with a quiet intensity. "You don't think we get tired?"

Erica blinked, surprised by his tone. "I didn't mean it like that," she said hastily. "I just meant... I don't get how you guys work like this day in and day out without a break. It's... exhausting."

Sam's jaw tightened, and he turned back to the stove. The sharp clatter of a pot hitting the counter made Erica flinch.

"What's his problem?" she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. "I was just saying. It's hard to imagine living like this. I'd go crazy."

Sam spun around, his face stormy. "Yeah, well, some of us don't have a choice, Princess," he snapped, the nickname dripping with sarcasm.

Erica's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what you act like," he shot back. "Must be nice, huh? Growing up without having to worry about food or rent. Complaining about little things because you've never had to struggle a day in your life."

Her cheeks flushed, equal parts anger and shame bubbling to the surface. "You think I don't have problems? Just because I didn't grow up like this?" She gestured around the room, her voice defensive.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "No, Erica, I don't think you get it at all. You treat everything here like some kind of punishment. Meanwhile, people here work until they drop, just to survive. You don't have to live this life—you're just visiting. But for us? This is it. This is all there is."

Erica shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I didn't ask to be sent here, okay? I didn't choose this!"

"And you think I did?" Sam fired back, his voice rising. "You think anyone here chooses this? We do what we have to because we don't have the luxury of walking away."

The room fell silent, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Erica's fists clenched at her sides as she stared at him, her mind racing. Why does he always make me feel like this? Like I'm some spoiled, useless brat?

Sam shook his head, his frustration clear. This girl has no idea what she's talking about. He grabbed his tools, muttering under his breath, "Forget it. Do whatever you want."

As he walked out the door, Erica stood frozen, a mix of anger and guilt swirling inside her. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to wipe the memory of his scathing words. But all she could do was stand there, trembling with emotions she couldn't quite name.

*****

The next morning, Erica woke up with a lingering sense of unease. Sam's words from the day before replayed in her mind, each one hitting harder than she wanted to admit. He doesn't understand me. He doesn't even try.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she expected to see him there as usual, cooking breakfast or preparing for the day's work. But the space was empty, the silence unnerving. She frowned, glancing around. Where is he?

Peering out the window, she spotted him chopping wood by the side of the house. His movements were quick and deliberate, each swing of the axe cutting through the wood with precision. She hesitated before heading outside.

"Sam... about yesterday," she began, her voice softer than usual.

He didn't look up. Instead, he grabbed another log, set it in place, and brought the axe down hard. The sound echoed through the still air, sharp and final.

Erica took a deep breath, stepping closer. "Sam, I didn't mean—"

Without a word, he shouldered the axe and walked off toward the back of the property, leaving her standing there, stunned.

She clenched her fists. Is he seriously ignoring me?

All day, it was the same. Every time she tried to approach him, he found some excuse to move away, his silence speaking louder than words. By midday, she was left to handle the household chores alone, her frustration mounting with each task.

She struggled to sweep the floors, the broom awkward in her hands. Washing the dishes felt like a never-ending battle with slippery plates, and fetching water from the well left her soaked and seething.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, wrestling with a heavy pail of water. It sloshed over the sides, soaking her shoes and leaving muddy puddles in its wake. "Why does everything have to be so hard here?"

By the time the sun began to set, Erica was exhausted. Her hands were raw, her clothes a mess, and her mood was as foul as the pile of unfinished laundry. She sank onto a bench outside, burying her face in her hands.

Why am I even trying? she thought miserably. But deep down, she knew why. She didn't want Sam to see her as the helpless, spoiled girl he accused her of being.

She looked toward the horizon, where the sky was painted in hues of orange and pink. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the steady rhythm of Sam's work.

I'll prove him wrong, she thought, her jaw tightening with determination. I'm not weak. And I'm not giving up.