Married for 15 Years, But My Husband Has Never Slept Together – One Day, I Came Home Early, Listening to a Conversation with My Best Friend, I Understand Why

The gas delivery people, the ate janitress who cleans the stairs, the kuya rider who delivers goods all think we are a “standard” office couple: going in the morning and coming back in the evening, the garbage schedule hanging on the right day, the tsinelas neatly arranged on the porch, watering the sampaguita flowers on the weekends and ordering pancit noodles. They don’t know that in my house there is one absolute: for fifteen years, our two pillows have never touched.

Our bedroom is unlocked. The door opens like the kitchen door, the balcony door. But the bed seems to have an invisible groove dividing it in two, like the Pasig River dividing its two banks. His bedside lamp is bright white and upright. My lamp is yellow, with a fabric shade. On rainy nights during the habagat season, I lie on the left side and listen to the sound of rain hitting the tin roof. He lies on the right side, his back to the wall, sighing as softly as pouring water.

I got used to the way he hung the barong neatly, folded the socks in half, and placed the toothbrush at a 45-degree angle in the cup. I got used to the smile that never met the eyes when the neighbors asked:
— When will you give your grandparents an apo to hold?

He answered:
— Sa trabaho po, may malaking project.

Wedding Night

We got married in August, it was drizzling. On the wedding night, the drizzle fell as thin as mist. After the party, my mother-in-law took off her hairpin and said:
— Ang babae ang tagapangalaga ng apoy sa pamilya.
The fire in me gradually died out like a lampara running out of oil.

That night, he made new sheets, placed my favorite book on the bedside, and said:
— Pagod ka na, matulog ka na.
He pulled the blanket, turned his back. I pursed my lips. A sound like a needle falling on the tile floor and then disappeared.

I thought it was only the first night. But the second, tenth, hundredth night… every time I moved over, he would back away, not roughly, just like avoiding a familiar stone.

Ordinary Days

He was still a good husband: in the morning he made kape, leaving the newspaper folded to the right page. He remembered my lola’s death anniversary better than I did. During the pandemic, he drove all over Quezon City to buy medicine for the whole row. My mother used to say:
— Mabait ang asawa mo. Ang mabait ay biyaya.

I smiled wryly: biyaya for whom?

The tenth year, I wrote a draft of the divorce papers, named huli_na.docx. I deleted and rewrote them over and over again. The thirteenth year, I printed them out and gave them to him. He read them and said:
— Bigyan mo ako ng panahon.

— Gaano katagal?

He looked at the barong hanger:
— Hanggang matapos ang isang season.

Which season? Rainy season? Santan flower season? Or the season when people stop waiting?

The Rain of Fate

One day, I came home early because the meeting was canceled. The rain in Manila poured down suddenly like someone turned on the faucet. As soon as I opened the door, I heard his voice in the office:

— Hello, Marco?

Marco – his best friend since high school. Every Sabado afternoon, he went out to drink San Miguel beer with Marco, came home late but with clear eyes. I had never been jealous. Until that day.

— She filed for divorce again, — my husband sighed.

— Divorce? — Marco asked.

He laughed dryly: — Labinlimang taon na, Marco.

— So anong gagawin mo?

— Wala. Hindi ako magdi-divorce. Nangako ako.

…

I was speechless behind the door. My heart was pounding like it was about to burst. For the past fifteen years, he had not slept with me because of a promise. And he had not divorced because of a man named Marco.

The Secret in the Drawer

Then I moved back to my mother’s house in Cavite, taking with me a suitcase, a cactus pot, and… opening his desk drawer. Inside:

Life insurance policy, beneficiary: me. Terms: “If marital status changes in the first 24 months, contract is void.” Date signed: September 23.

Receipt from St. Luke’s Hospital: “hematology”, “chemotherapy”, “bone marrow test”.

An old photo: me standing next to a young man smiling brightly in front of the University of the Philippines Diliman. Miguel – my first love. The one I believed had died in a rain accident at night.

On the back I had written: “Miguel, maaga ang ulan ngayong taon.” Next to the piece of paper: “Patawarin mo ako. – V.”

The Encounter at the Riverbank

I made an appointment with Marco. On the banks of the Pasig River after the rain, he was wearing a white shirt, an old watch on his wrist. There was a thin scar on his right cheek.

He placed the envelope:
— Victor sent it to me. If you ask before September 23, I have to give it to you.

In the letter: insurance contract, treatment bill.

— Why September 23? — I asked.

— Because that was the 2-year contract mark… and also the end of the treatment regimen.

I was stunned. Marco looked down and said softly:
— Miguel… didn’t die. That night, Victor’s car braked suddenly and crashed. Victor carried Miguel into the hospital. Miguel’s face was disfigured. He didn’t want me to see it. He asked Victor to promise: to marry me, to take care of me… but not to touch me.

I trembled. Marco took off his glasses. His eyes were deep.

— Miguel is me. I changed my name. I am Marco. I am a coward

The Last Confession

That night I confronted Victor. He wasn’t surprised. He just said:

— I married you because of a promise. I didn’t touch you because of my word. I didn’t divorce because of the insurance. And because I was waiting for Miguel to have the courage.

He gave me the organ donation form in the name of Victor Santos.

On September 23rd, Victor, weakly in his hospital bed, handed me the signed divorce papers.

— Kung gusto mo, pirmahan mo na lang.

I put my pen down on the table:
— Pirmahan mo muna. Ako… saka na.

The End

A month later, when the insurance came into effect, we were officially divorced. Victor moved to an apartment near the hospital. I went back to my mother’s house and bought a new bed with only one pillow.

Marco – or Miguel – called many times. Once I answered.

— Hindi ko hihingin pabalik ang kahit ano. Gusto ko lang ipakilala ulit ang sarili ko: “Ako si Miguel. Ang duwag na tumakbo.”

I replied:
— Ngayon ang pangalan mo ay Marco. Kailangan kong learn how to call you again. At ang sarili ko.

I met him at the Pasig River. We walked side by side. I told him the truth:
— I don’t know if I still love you. But I want to learn how to sleep in the middle of the bed.

Miguel nodded:
— Maghihintay ako. Ngayon, dito lang. Hindi na tatakbo.

That night, returning to the old house, I found the envelope Victor left: a certificate of change of beneficiary to “Children with Cancer Support Fund”, with a sum of money marked “15 years of rent – ​​Victor”. Finally, the note:

“Natapos ko na ang bahagi ko: isara ang tunog ng preno, buksan ang hininga.
Gawin mo ang bahagi mo: sunugin ang mga draft ng divorce, bumili ng isang bouquet, put a pillow in the middle of the bed.
If one day you need someone to hang the curtains, I will come as a neighbor.
Victor – the person who does not touch you is not because he does not love you, but because he is afraid of loving the wrong way.”

I turned on the yellow light, put a round pillow in the middle of the bed. After fifteen years, for the first time, I chose myself.