One day passed. Finally, it was my two-day off at work. Relief swept through me like a wave; my shoulders dropped, and I could breathe without the pressure of rushing to meet deadlines. I didn't have to mask my exhaustion behind polite smiles or force my body to move when it begged for rest.
I moved slowly that morning, letting myself savor the rare freedom. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, then set the kettle on the stove. While waiting for the water to boil, I cut myself a slice of egg pie I'd saved for this very moment. Breakfast was simple—coffee, pie, and silence.
As I sat with my mug, I opened my phone. Notifications piled up, most from people I didn't expect. Neven's godparents, his godmothers, and even his godfather had all left messages. My thumb hovered, unsure of where to start, until finally I tapped on the first name.
It was Sweden.
Hi sis, kumusta? How are you holding up? How's Neven?
Her concern slipped through the words. Sweden had always been thoughtful, never too busy to check in, even though she had her own life to handle.
I typed back:
Hi, Sweden. We're okay. Neven's growing fast. Thank you for asking. How about you?
Her reply came fast, as if she had been waiting for me.
I'm glad. But tell me honestly, is Noah supporting you with Neven? I mean… you always sound tired, and I worry you're carrying everything by yourself.
I froze, the screen blurring for a second. It was the question I avoided most. Sweden wasn't prying to judge me—she was genuinely worried. Still, the truth was heavy.
I typed slowly:
He tries. But right now… it's mostly me. He's still looking for stable work. Sometimes it feels like I'm the one keeping everything together. But I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. He loves Neven, I know that much.
Her reply came after a pause:
Loving is good, but love has to come with effort. Don't burn yourself out, sis. Neven needs you healthy. I know it's not my place, but please remember—you don't have to do it all alone, even if it feels like it.
I stared at her words for a long while. My throat tightened.
I whispered into the empty room, "If only you knew how much I wish that was true."
But instead, I replied:
Thank you for reminding me. I'll try to take care of myself more. Promise.
I set the phone down, but not for long. Another notification blinked. This time from Aisha.
She sent a photo first—her in an airport uniform, luggage by her side, the backdrop of a foreign terminal behind her.
Sis, I finally flew abroad. Work started already. It's tough, but it'll pay off. Salary here is way better. How's Neven?
Her face in the picture looked tired but determined. I stared at it, a pang twisting in my chest. That could have been me.
I replied:
I'm proud of you, Aisha. You're brave for going. Neven's doing well, thank you for asking. Honestly, if I didn't have him, maybe I'd have flown abroad too. My mom once offered to help me study overseas and apply for citizenship. Sometimes I wonder about the life I could've had.
Aisha's reply was gentle, yet firm.
Don't say that like it's lesser. You chose a different path, sis. You're sacrificing in your own way—staying, raising Neven, working to provide. My sacrifice is being far away from my family. Yours is being tied to responsibility every single day. Both are painful. Both are valid.
I stared at her message, tears pricking my eyes.
I typed back:
It doesn't feel equal sometimes. You're building a future, and I feel like I'm just… surviving. Carrying things that aren't even mine to carry.
Her reply came almost instantly:
Surviving is still strength. Don't belittle it. I can endure loneliness abroad, but I can't imagine enduring the pressure you're under. Both our sacrifices matter. You're just too close to yours to see it clearly.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the lump in my throat.
"Why is it strangers—no, not strangers, but people outside family—are the ones who see me clearly?" I whispered.
My phone buzzed again. This time, Kirk.
Sis, sorry for the late reply. Been so busy at work, and the network here onboard is always unreliable. How are you and Neven?
Kirk was at sea again. His absence at Neven's christening used to sting, but his consistency in reaching out, even sporadically, softened it.
I typed:
We're fine, Kirk. I understand about the work. How's life onboard?
His reply:
Tiring, endless shifts. But I'll manage. I really regret not being at Neven's christening. I'll make it up to him one day. I promise. Maybe when I dock, I'll bring him something special.
I smiled at his sincerity and teased back:
Well, you better. Neven's waiting for blessings. Not just words this time, ha.
He replied with laughing emojis.
When the conversations finally slowed, I sat in silence, pie crumbs on my plate, coffee cooling in my mug.
The realization hit me harder than I expected: why was it that those with no blood ties, no obligation, were the ones who asked, who cared, who remembered? Meanwhile, the ones who carried entitlement in their veins only reached out to demand, to accuse, to offload their burdens onto me.
Sometimes, blood meant nothing.
Before I could spiral further, another notification popped up. This time, from Serenya—my friend at work.
PTO ka pala? Tara, video call. We miss Neven's face!
I laughed softly and accepted. Serenya's grin filled the screen, Iris waving behind her.
"Finally!" Serenya said dramatically. "She lives! We thought your company kept you hostage."
Iris leaned in, teasing. "Show us Neven! Where's our favorite baby?"
I flipped the camera. Neven was on the floor, rolling his toy car, completely oblivious to being the star of the call.
"Cutieeee!" Serenya squealed. "Look at his cheeks!"
Iris sighed. "Future heartbreaker. You better prepare, sis."
I chuckled. "He's the only reason I keep moving forward."
Serenya's smile softened. "Exactly. And don't forget—you're doing so much. Don't let anyone make you feel small. We see you."
Iris nodded. "True. And even if you feel alone, you're not. You have us. Even if it's just for teasing and laughs."
I felt my chest warm. "You two are ridiculous… but thank you. I needed that."
"Always," Serenya said. "Now go enjoy your day off before we drag you back into work gossip."
We laughed together until the call ended.
When silence returned, I exhaled, pressing my palms together. Life was still heavy, but today, I was reminded: care doesn't always come from blood. Sometimes, the ones who choose to check in, to love, to stay—those are the truest family.
And maybe, just maybe, that reminder was enough to carry me through tomorrow.