Once a Wife [English Version]

Chapter 25

Weeks had passed since Maricar started attending the group counseling sessions.

And at first glance, it seemed like everything was getting better. It looked like she was returning to her old self.

She went back to work. Dressed up again. Even wore lipstick—the same shade she used to wear back when everything still made sense.

But it wasn't just her routine that had come back.

It was the way she smiled a little less... but spoke with a little more certainty.

It was the way she would scroll endlessly through her phone—minutes, sometimes hours—lost in her own world. Chatting with someone. Or maybe just rereading something over and over again.

"Who's she always talking to?" Tristan wondered quietly. He even asked Maricris once, but her sister hadn't been very open either.

He didn't want to assume. Maricar deserved space. She deserved time to heal.

But something about the way her eyes glinted now—sharp, cold, unreadable—made him wonder if she was really okay.

Or just better at pretending than most.

⸻

"Icang's energy is... intense these days," Maricris whispered one afternoon while they were at Wizards.

Tristan nodded slowly. "I've noticed. She's... focused. Too focused, sometimes."

They both watched from a distance as Maricar confidently gave instructions to her staff, typing rapidly on her phone during breaks, laughing at something—though the laughter never reached her eyes.

It was good... right?

She was functioning. Thriving, even.

But there was a wall now. One Tristan could no longer see through.

That night, while Tristan was cleaning up the dishes, Maricar approached him.

"Can we talk?"

He nodded and sat down. She took the seat across from him, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I'm planning to go on a short trip. With Delia and Wena," she said.

Delia. Wena.

Names he'd grown familiar with. Her friends from support group.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To a farm in Lipa. Just a retreat. Three days. I just want to go," she said calmly. "Please?"

Tristan studied her. There was warmth in her voice. But distance too.

"Okay. Do you want me to drive you there?"

She smiled. "No, we'll go together. Wena's driving. It's safe. And—" She pulled out her phone and showed him a photo. "I want you to meet them."

It was a photo of the three of them—smiling. But it wasn't joy.

It looked more like survival.

"This is Delia," she pointed. "And this is Wena."

"Nice," Tristan said, forcing a smile. "I'm glad you found people."

"I did," she replied. "They make sense of the things I can't say out loud."

"Just... be careful, okay?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're still healing. And sometimes, pain connects us to people in ways that aren't always healthy."