Currently, Alfred lay in his coffin, his lifeless body resting inside their very home.
There were only a few visitors. The house felt heavy, cloaked in mourning. Cherry remained seated beside the casket, tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks as she stared blankly at the still figure inside. Her siblings, Jessa and Daryl, stood close on either side of her, gently supporting her frail form as if she might collapse at any moment.
Aling Marietta, along with Cherry’s parents, kept themselves busy attending to the guests, trying to maintain some semblance of order amidst the quiet grief that filled the room.
Then, as night fell, Alfred’s parents and siblings finally arrived. They entered the house in silence, solemn and cold. His mother approached the coffin and lingered there, staring long at the pale, unmoving face of her son.
Moments later, she slowly made her way to the seat beside Cherry. The air between them grew thick with tension. And then, without warning, she spoke—her voice low, but the venom behind it unmistakably clear.
“If it weren’t for you, Alfred would still be alive.”
Cherry froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You let him waste away.”
Cherry could hardly believe what she was hearing. The words hit her like a dagger straight to the chest.
“Now that he’s gone, we don’t even know what to do anymore,” the woman continued, voice quivering—not with sorrow, but blame.
“You were a worthless wife.”
Cherry clenched her eyes shut, struggling to hold herself together. “Please,” she said softly, her voice shaking, “I don’t want any trouble. If you don’t have anything kind to say, I beg you to remain silent.”
But the words had already drawn attention. Aling Marietta, who had overheard the exchange conversations as she began walking toward them with her furrowed brows. Cherry’s mother, Mrs. Buena, also noticed the brewing storm.
“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Buena asked firmly, her eyes flickering between the two women.
“It’s nothing, Ma,” Cherry said quickly, trying her best to remain composed despite her trembling hands. “Please, let it go.”
But Mrs. Buena had heard enough. Her voice sharpened. “I heard everything. I’m not going to stand of the way she insults you.”
She turned to face Mrs. Llaguno, Alfred’s mother. Her stare was cold and sharp as glass.
“After everything, you still blame my daughter for the fate of your abusive son?”
Alfred’s father stood as well, joining the argument.
“You don’t know how Alfred treated Cherry,” Mrs. Buena pressed, her voice rising.
“It’s your son who should’ve been the fault,” she added.
Cherry feels overwhelmed of the chaos and try to speak again not to defend, but to release what she had carried in silence for far too long.
“Please stop blaming me,” she said to her mother-in-law, her voice now filled with quiet strength. “From the very beginning, you’ve looked at me as the reason for everything that went wrong. But I am not the one who should carry that guilt.”
Her voice trembled, but the pain had found its voice.
“You want the truth? Fine.” She swallowed back with sobbing. “You really want to know why Alfred got sick? He told me about two months ago. He told me everything that he was sending almost all of his income to your family. Not to us—his wife and his children but to you. Because he said he loved you all too much.”
She paused, her eyes glassy and throat makes tight. “And I never hated him for that. I never even got angry. It was already in the past.”
Mrs. Llaguno shook her head, scoffing. “You’re always so good at twisting the story to make yourself look innocent.”
“Believe whatever you want,” Cherry whispered, her voice cracking. “But please stop pointing fingers at me. You want someone to blame?” She raised a trembling finger and pointed toward the casket. “Then look at yourselves. You are the reason he’s in there.”
Tears fell again, unrestrained and bitter.
“Liar!” the older woman spat.
The tension in the room had peaked. Aling Marietta finally stepped in, her voice stern and unwavering.
“Enough.”
She looked at all of them, disappointment in her eyes. “Can we please give even the smallest respect to Alfred's death? You’re still fighting about money since your son is lying now in a coffin in front of you?”
She sighed heavily, exhausted from managing tension, tired of watching the grief to blame.
“I don’t care if you’re his mother. If you can’t behave, I’ll have you leave this house whether you like it or not.”
That was enough. Mrs. Llaguno fell silent, and after a moment returned to her seat. Cherry has shaken but relieved did the same. They did not stay long after that. Eventually, they left the house without another word.
Days later, Alfred was finally laid to rest. But to Cherry thought she could begin to grieve in peace, a revelation came—one that shattered her all over again.
A woman she didn’t recognize arrived calmly at the cemetery. She held a small boy in her arms, and also her eyes were swollen from tears. Cherry is watching her from a distance, a strange feeling twisting in her gut.
As she approached the stranger, the woman speak first.
“So you’re Alfred’s wife,” she said through choked sobs. “I only found out yesterday… I didn’t know he was married.”
Cherry’s heart dropped. “You?”
The woman nodded, trembling. “Yes. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t know. He told me he was single.”
Cherry felt her knees weaken. The world seemed to tilt around her. All those late nights, unanswered messages, unexplained absences—it all made sense now.
Her worst suspicions had been true. And Alfred had taken his secrets to the grave, wrapped in lies.
He had been mourning in her arms while carrying another life in the shadows. And now, she mourned not just the man she loved, but the truth he had keep hidden.
Sure! Here's the continuation of the translation with a calm, slightly tragic tone but still reflective and novelistic in style, while keeping the original context:
She could barely move her lips, too stunning to speak.
"I'm really sorry," the woman said. "But don't worry I won’t get in your way anymore. I can raise my child on my own."
“That’s why you should check first someone’s background before getting involved,” Cherry muttered, unable to contain the bitterness in her voice. “The problem with people like you is that the moment a man shows you a little kindness, you fall right into it. Learn to think first before you make a final act.”
She didn’t wait for the woman’s reply. Without looking back, Cherry turned around and walked away, eyes beginning to sting again as fresh tears welled up. Her expression went blank, as though her soul had stepped out of her body. Her siblings noticed that right away.
“Cherry,” said her older sister, Jessa, gently wrapping an arm around her. “We know it’s not easy to carry all that pain. But we’re here. We’ll stay by your side.”
“That guy’s just a jerk,” Henry grunted, barely containing his anger. “He left without even have the decency to tell you he had someone else.”
Cherry remembered how, one morning, she woke up to find a note from Alfred. He had written a short apology on it. At that time, she couldn’t quite figure out what he was sorry for. But now she knew it was of his betrayal. She closed her eyes, and the memory stung her all over again.
“Ate Cherry went through so much because of that man,” Daryl spoke, his tone laced with quiet sadness. “At least now, she’s free. Maybe she’ll finally find peace of mind.”
“If only you told us sooner about what he was doing,” Jonald added with a deep frown. “Kuya Henry would’ve dealt with him right away. Coward couldn’t even face us.”
“That’s enough,” their father interrupted. “Let Cherry rest. Jessa, stay with her for now.”
Jessa nodded. “You’re right, Papa. She needs rest more than anything. She needs to be strong—for her kids.”
Mrs. Buena added softly, “Daryl, you take care of Carina and Cyprus for now. Keep them company. Their mother won’t be able to be with them at the moment.”
Without a word, Daryl nodded and quietly led the children to their room.
In the days that followed, Cherry’s state worsened. She grew more distant, often staring blankly for hours, lost in her thoughts. Eventually, the family decided it was best to bring her to a mental health facility. She had neglected the children unintentionally, grief consuming her. For the meantime, custody of the kids was given to Aling Marietta while Cherry focusing on her own recovery.
Meanwhile, Jared was caught up in the busy routine of managing his Uncle Reynan’s hardware store. He was in charge of staff and occasionally assisted customers. His face no longer showed the weight of his past in the Philippines. He had learned to bury it deep beneath his responsibilities.
The shop was wide and well-lit. Aisles were spacious, products neatly arranged as if inviting passersby to explore. Each section was clearly labeled—wood on one side, tools and machinery on the other, with shelves stocked with nails, screws, power drills, and paint cans. The faint scent of wood and metal clung to the air, lingering on their uniforms. Customer service counters stood in every corner, always ready with helpful staff. Heavy-duty carts rolled along the floor, some filled with plywood or cement bags, others with smaller tools and items. The shop had a quiet but effective rhythm, where the sound of footsteps and the occasional clink of metal blended with the ambient murmur of activity.
Though tired, Jared didn’t mind. He made sure each person who walked in received proper assistance—especially since his uncle and aunt had trusted him with so much.
A few minutes later, a wave of customers came in. Jared noticed a man standing in the middle of an aisle, clearly unsure of which nails to pick. No one had assisted him yet.
“Hi, sir! How can I help you today?” Jared greeted with a warm smile.
“Yeah, I need some nails for a home project, but I’m not sure what size I need,” the man replied, scratching his head in uncertainty.
“What kind of project is it, sir? Furniture? Maybe a deck?” Jared asked, hoping to narrow it down.
“Just fixing some shelves in my garage.”
Jared thought about it. For shelves, 2-inch nails might do, but it wouldn’t hurt to offer something stronger. “For shelves, I recommend 2-inch nails. But if they’re heavy-duty, you might want to go with 3-inch.”
Just to be sure, he called out to his coworker, Nathan. “Hey, Nathan, 2-inch nails should be okay for shelves, right?”
“Yeah, they’ll work. But if it’s a heavy load, 3-inch is safer,” Nathan replied from the other counter.
“Perfect,” Jared said with a nod. “So, sir, if the shelves are a bit heavier, go for the 3-inch ones. Otherwise, the 2-inch will be fine.”
The man thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll go with the 3-inch, just to be safe.”
“Good choice, sir! Anything else you need? Maybe screws or a drill?”
“Actually, I could use a new drill.”
“Nathan, can you show him the drills in aisle four?” Jared called. “We’ve got a good deal on cordless ones.”
“Sure thing. Right this way, sir,” Nathan said, leading the man toward the section.
Jared smiled, watching them go. But before he could breathe, another customer approached—a woman holding a paint sample.
“Hi, do you have paint for wood surfaces?” she asked. “I need something durable.”
Jared nodded, already knowing what would suit her needs. “Yes, ma’am. Is this for indoor or outdoor use?”
“Outdoor. I’m painting my fence.”
“In that case, I recommend this weather-resistant paint. It’s durable and perfect for fences,” he said, pointing to the can. “And if you want it to last longer, we have a waterproof sealant too.”
“That sounds good. I’ll take a couple of cans,” the woman replied, pleased.
As he reached for the cart to place the paint cans inside, Jared paused for a moment, realizing how many people he’d helped today. The exhaustion was there, but so was the quiet satisfaction. Every grateful smile was a small victory.
Later that evening, back at his uncle’s house, they gathered for dinner, chatting over the meal.
“Have you checked in with your parents and siblings back in the Philippines?” Uncle Reynan asked, his voice casual but kind. He was the youngest among Jared’s father’s brothers—the only one who found success after moving to the U.S. and starting a new life.
They never had children of their own. Instead, they cared for a few dogs, whom they treated like family. They had even hired someone to care for them whenever they weren’t home.
“No, Tito.” Jared’s tone was distant, uninterested. “I figured… they didn’t really need me after I walked out of the house.”
Mr. Reynan sighed deeply. “They’re still your family, Fred. You should at least check in once in a while. I know your father misses you.”
“Maybe… someday. When I’m ready.”
After dinner, Jared went straight to his room. He lay on the bed, the words of his uncle echoing faintly in his mind. But just as sleep was about to pull him under, his phone buzzed—it was Aling Marietta.
He missed her, and without hesitation he answered the call.
“Hello, po?”