Once a Wife [English Version]

Chapter 12

Maricar's hands had been trembling for a while now.

She stared blankly at the custody documents spread across the lawyer's desk, her mind spinning like a cyclone. Seven years of silence—seven years of raising four kids on her own—and now he wanted custody?

He, who vanished without a word.
He, who filed to nullify their marriage.
He, who married someone else.

And now he had the audacity to come back, acting like the hero in a story he abandoned long ago.

Atty. Gallman—Maricris' good friend from law school and a specialist in custody cases—brought her crashing back to the present.

"Legally, you're in a strong position," she said calmly. "Dominic may have filed to nullify the marriage, but all four children were born before the decision became final."

There was a tightness in Maricar's chest. But it wasn't tears she wanted to release—it was rage. Exhaustion. Maybe both.

She raised an eyebrow. "So... they're not considered illegitimate?"

The lawyer nodded. "No. Article 54 of the Family Code protects them. As long as the marriage was presumed valid when they were born—and especially if one of the parents acted in good faith—they're still legitimate in the eyes of the law."

"So Dominic still has a shot?"

"Maricar, there's no such thing as automatic custody for fathers—not even joint custody. At best, he can request visitation. And even that will need to go through the court's evaluation."

Maricar leaned back in her chair, biting her lip.

"But he's still their father," she whispered. "What if the court sympathizes with him? He lost his memory, and you know how Filipinos are—suckers for emotional drama. He even implied I'm the one who had an affair and ruined the family. What if they believe him? What if I'm the one painted as the unfit parent?"

Atty. Gallman didn't flinch. Her voice was steady. "Custody isn't about pity. It's about continuity. Stability. You've been there since day one. You held the line when he chose to disappear."

That was the thing.

He left.

And yet here she was—still the one paying for it. With stress. With sleepless nights. With a court case she never wanted.

"I'm just..." her voice trailed as she looked down at her shaking hands, "I'm just tired. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

She wanted to believe she was strong enough.

But trauma had a cruel way of making you question even the ground beneath your feet.

⸻

Later that night

The room was dim, wrapped in the quiet hush of a sleeping neighborhood. Her laptop lit up with a familiar Skype ringtone, soft and steady. She answered without checking—there was only one person who called at this hour.

Tristan.

His face appeared on screen—messy hair, hoodie pulled up, that familiar warm smile despite the time difference.

"You look tired, Baby," he said gently, concern laced in his voice. "I didn't say anything earlier, but I could tell. You haven't been resting again, have you?"

She closed her eyes briefly, letting his presence—no matter how virtual—calm her.

"I am tired," she admitted softly. "There's just so much going on. Everything's happening at once, and I don't even know where to start."