Chapter 80: Lamplight
The sala was dim, empty, and quiet.
I had arrived in Boac mid-afternoon, but I wouldn’t get home until very late in the evening.
On the table was my cold meal, covered in banana leaves—a bowl of rice and a bowl of milkfish stew. Beside them were a plate and a spoon and fork.
Isabela must have waited for me for a while.
I threw my rayadillo jacket onto the sofa, and it left my shoulders like a bag of stones.
Then I removed the socks—they had felt like cold metal chains wrapped around my legs.
Tired and hungry, I dug into the meal wordlessly. The staleness of the food and the silence of the house could almost make me cry. Heavy thoughts swirled in my mind, suffocating. I was too old for this.
So it was music to my ears when I heard the door creak open.
Isabela stood in the doorway of her room, scratching her newly woken eyes. After a moment, she smiled at the sight of me—and it chased away the dark cloud hanging over my head.
"Buenas noches, papa..." she croaked, and it was the first grammatically correct sentence she’d ever said. "I can heat up the stew for you."
I shook my head. "No need... it’s still delicious."