Charlene had spent nearly two full days resting inside her room before the doctor finally said she was well enough. Now, she sat quietly on the sofa in the playroom, staring at the toys scattered across the floor. After a moment, she stood and began picking them up one by one.
The house was painfully quiet.
Not the kind of silence that calms you—but the kind that presses against your chest, heavy and unsettling.
Once she finished tidying up, she placed the toys into a large basket. A few moments later, the door opened, and little Lily stepped inside, holding a notebook and a pencil. The child approached Charlene slowly, clearly shy… and scared.
"Here…" Lily suddenly held out a piece of candy she pulled from the pocket of her pajamas.
Charlene hesitated before accepting it. A part of her wondered if this was another prank.
"Don't worry. I didn't put anything in it," Lily said quickly, her head bowed. "I just want to apologize, Charlene. I'm… I'm sorry."
Charlene smiled, her heart softening instantly. The sincerity in the child's voice—the regret—was impossible to miss.
"Sorry…"
The word was quiet. Barely louder than a whisper.
Yet it pierced straight through Charlene's chest, like a thin beam of light cutting through the heaviness in the room.
She took a slow, steady breath. She didn't move right away. Each step toward Lily felt measured, as though time itself was weighing how deep trust had been broken—and how carefully it needed to be rebuilt.
She accepted the small candy and sat beside the child.
"Thank you," Charlene said gently, her voice soft and warm. Her smile carried patience and understanding, as if saying, I see that you're trying—even if you don't know how to say it.
She broke the chocolate candy in half and handed one piece back to Lily. The child's face lit up, and Charlene felt her heart melt.
"What's this?" Charlene asked lightly, changing the subject as her gaze fell on the notebook and pencil. "Do you have homework?"
Lily nodded shyly. "Can you help me with my assignment?"
"Of course," Charlene replied. "Come here."
She guided Lily to the table and helped her sit down.
Charlene glanced at the notebook. Mathematics.
"Let's take this slowly," she said as she picked up the pencil and explained each equation step by step.
Lily struggled to understand at first, but Charlene never lost her patience. She never said the child was wrong. She never showed frustration. Every word she spoke was calm, steady, and full of understanding.
Neither of them noticed Kerill when he arrived.
He stopped at the doorway and didn't step inside. He simply stood there, watching—watching his daughter smile as Charlene patiently guided her.
He said nothing.
He didn't leave.
He observed every movement, every gentle gesture, every soft smile Charlene gave. And though he remained silent, he felt something unfamiliar stirring inside him—like walls he didn't realize were there slowly beginning to crack.
He wanted to smile.
But he stopped himself, reminding himself that he shouldn't feel anything for her. In the end, he would only be the one to get hurt.
Still, he couldn't ignore it.
Charlene's patience.
Her kindness.
Her quiet understanding toward Lily.
When Lily finally finished her homework, she beamed with pride and suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around Charlene. Charlene froze in surprise.
"I'm sorry again, Charlene," Lily said softly.
Charlene smiled. "You can call me… Tita Charlene."
Lily nodded, smiling brightly. "Okay, Tita Charlene."
Kerill quietly turned away from the door and walked off.
No words. No sound.
But he knew something had changed—within one of his children. Small or not, obvious or not, he felt it. And even if he wouldn't admit it out loud, it made him happy.
Charlene's day ended on a lighter note because of that moment. She was happy—happy that Lily had softened toward her, even just a little. There were still three more children she needed to win over.
She promised herself she wouldn't stop.
She wouldn't give up on them.