Later that night, after my siblings had fallen asleep with full bellies for the first time in days, I sat outside the shack. Mr. Philip joined me, a dim lantern between us casting shadows on the wall.
He sat quietly for a while, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. Then, without looking at me, he asked:
"Anne… what really happened?"
I didn't answer right away.
There was too much. Too many pieces. Too many wounds pretending to be scars.
But something about the stillness, the way he asked, made me speak.
"After you told us about Dad…" I began slowly, "Mom broke. She tried to be strong, but something in her heart gave up. I watched her fade—bit by bit. Until the morning she just… didn't wake up."
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening.
"We had no one," I continued. "We went to Uncle Raymond. Thought maybe he'd take us in. That's what Dad's will said."
I paused, the memory tightening my throat.
"But he laughed in our faces. Said we were a burden. Then he poured a bucket of water on us right at the gate. Told us never to come back."
Mr. Philip's fists clenched.
"We lived in a cramped shed for weeks," I went on. "I begged. We starved. Some nights, I had to lie to the kids—tell them I'd eaten when I hadn't. Just so they'd sleep better."
I looked at him, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I searched everywhere for you."
His eyes widened.
"I asked every person who knew you. Went back to places you used to pass by. But no one had seen you. No one had your number. I even waited outside the church you visited—hoping you'd walk out."
Mr. Philip swallowed hard, guilt flooding his features.
"I had to go back abroad," he said softly. "Emergency job transfer. I left in a rush. I didn't think… I didn't know. I should've left a number. I should've checked."
I looked down, picking at a thread in my dress.
"You were the only adult who ever promised to stay," I said. "And when you left too, I thought maybe we weren't worth being remembered."
He reached out, gently placing a hand over mine.
"You were," he said. "You still are. And I'm here now. I won't disappear again."
And for the first time in a long while… I wanted to believe him.
Mr. Philip stayed silent, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. The night around us felt heavier now, not just with darkness, but with everything unsaid.
"You must be exhausted," he murmured after a while.
I nodded, though exhaustion wasn't just in my bones—it was in my soul. Still, his presence, his quiet warmth, it softened something sharp inside me.
"I'm trying," I said. "Every single day. But some mornings I wake up and wonder if it's worth it. If Emily and Josh would be better off with someone else."
"No," he said firmly. "Don't ever think that. You're the reason they're still holding on. And now you're not alone."
I wanted to ask what that meant. Not alone—those words were dangerous if they turned out to be lies.
"You don't have to do everything yourself anymore," he continued. "Let me help. Let me make up for the time I failed you."
A flicker of hope sparked inside me—tiny, unsure—but it was there.
"Alright," I whispered.
He gave a small nod and stood, but not before saying, "We'll fix this, Anne. Together."
As he walked back toward the shack, I stayed seated, watching the stars. For the first time in forever, the night didn't feel like a cage.
It felt… almost safe.