CHAPTER 2

The bead was black, tiny, and dull-looking. The kind of thing you’d expect to find sewn into the hem of old malong cloth, or tied with red string and hidden behind santo statues in rural homes. It didn’t match Lena’s usual taste — not with her satin bonnets, expensive perfumes, and Instagrammable headwraps. But the way she grabbed it quickly, like it could reveal something she wasn’t ready to say — that spoke louder than any words.

She slid into bed like she always did, whispered her soft “Goodnight, mahal,” and faced the wall, as if nothing had happened.

I didn’t say a word.

My body was in bed, but my mind was already outside that room, outside that marriage.

That very night, I made up my mind. No more pretending. No more convincing myself this was normal. No more brushing it off as arte ng babae. I had to know what was going on inside that bathroom.

So the next evening, I waited.

I acted normal. We ate adobo and rice. Watched a late-night game show on TV5. I asked how her day went, and, as always, she replied, “Work was fine, just a bit stressful.” Her words fell flat, like a curtain drawn tightly across a window. The air between us was calm but tense — like a banig spread out neatly but with something sharp hidden underneath.

At exactly 10:30 p.m., she stood up.

“Maliligo lang ako sandali,” she said, like it was nothing.

I nodded. “Okay.”

She took her towel, her loofah, and — of course — her phone.

That phone never left her hand. Even when she went to the bathroom.

She closed the door softly behind her. I counted to twenty in my head.

Then I stood. Barefoot. Quiet. Moving like a man trying to sneak up on his own fate.

The hallway light was off. But under the bathroom door, I saw it — a sliver of white light flickering across the tiles. Then I heard the first sound.

Soft.

Almost like humming. But not quite.

Then it changed — drawn out breathing, something between a sigh and a moan.

Not prayer. Not singing. Not even hilot chants.

And then… it became clear.

Wet sounds. Rhythmic. Mechanical.

And beneath it — her voice. Short breaths. Soft gasps.

Not pain. Not fear.

Something else.

My heart froze.

I leaned against the hallway wall, not because I was tired, but because my knees didn’t trust the floor anymore. My hands trembled — not from rage, but confusion. My mind ran ahead of me.

Then — silence.

Just like that.

The next thing I heard was the shower. Calm. Gentle.

I rushed back into the bedroom before she came out.

I lay down. Eyes wide open.

She walked back in minutes later — fresh, fragrant, skin glowing, smelling of sampaguita and vanilla like always.

She smiled, kissed the air beside me, whispered “Goodnight, mahal,” and turned her back.

But me? I lay there, eyes on the ceiling, soul full of noise.

I wanted to ask. To move. To even breathe louder than usual.

But I couldn’t.

Shame? Pride? Fear?

I wasn’t sure.

And while my brain still wrestled with what I had just heard, something else happened.

Someone entered the room.

It was Mika — my niece, who had been living with us the past few months.

She had that bad habit of not knocking, but that night I was too drained to scold her.

Maybe she needed to pee — we shared the same bathroom — but she paused at the door, then walked inside.

I wanted to stop her. But something held me back.

Instead, a thought crept into my head — slow, steady, like a whisper from somewhere deeper:

“Talk to Carlo.”

Carlo was my closest friend.

Not a therapist. Not a priest. But someone who didn’t sugarcoat things. If truth were bitter tea, Carlo would still serve it straight — with no honey.

So the next morning, after Lena had left for work and Mika was off to school, I sat alone at our kitchen table, poking at stale pan de sal and untouched 3-in-1 coffee.

I grabbed my keys and drove to Carlo’s apartment in Pasig.

Same old setup. Brown couch. Broken fan. That smell of leftover sinigang and unwashed clothes.

He opened the door shirtless, holding a half-peeled banana.

“Bro, this early? You okay?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I just walked in and sat down.

He dropped the banana. “It’s Lena, huh?”

I nodded.

Then, slowly, I told him everything. The second baths. The bead. The sounds. The flashing light. Mika walking in. All of it.

He whistled. Sat down slowly. His carefree energy vanished.

“Bro… that’s deep.”

He got two cold San Mig Lights from the fridge. Handed me one.

I held it, unopened.

He leaned forward. “Okay. Let me ask — before you got married, did you two… I mean, were you intimate?”

I hesitated.

He nodded. “Right. So you never really knew her like that. Bro, sometimes, marriage exposes the part of a person they never let you see. And sometimes… it’s not what you expect.”

I looked away.

He tapped the bottle on the table. “Lena doesn’t argue. Doesn’t explain. Keeps everything inside. You’re not married to a person — you’re married to a locked door.”

I stayed silent.

He looked around, then leaned closer. “Bro… you sure this isn’t something spiritual? A black bead? Obsessive bathing? Secrecy? Could be trauma. Could be addiction. Or something more… ancestral.”

I wanted to deny it.

But my heart… it already knew something wasn’t right.

“Paolo,” he said quietly. “Don’t panic. Just observe. Give her time. Watch her body, not just her words. Women speak more with presence than speech. But if she keeps playing you like you’re a fool — you’ll need help. Not a friend. Professional help.”

I nodded.

“And Mika?” he added. “Watch her too. Kids notice things. If she’s curious, then Lena’s not being discreet anymore.”

I left his place after a while, Carlo’s words sitting heavily in my chest.

When I got home around 6pm, Lena’s car was already in the garage.

The living room lights were on.

Then I heard it.

Laughter.

Two voices.

One was hers.

The other… male.

But not just any man’s voice.

Soft. Smooth.

Flirtatious.

I stood still in the hallway.

Then Lena said, “No, no, just taste this one. You’ll like it.”

And the voice replied, “What if you’re trying to poison me?”

That voice didn’t belong to any neighbor.

And it sure didn’t sound like someone “just passing by.”

Lena… what exactly are you washing off every night?
And who is this man tasting your food in my house?

To be continued..