If there was even a shred of hope…
If there was even a percent chance that Kara was still alive—
I need to know.
When I arrived at the hospital, I was greeted by the smell of disinfectant and a heavy silence. This is the place where hope and farewell meet.
I approached the information desk.
“Ma’am,” I said tremblingly, “I’m looking for Kara Mae Santos. She was… a patient here before.”
The woman looked at the computer. Typed. Stopped. Typed again.
The silence lasted.
“Sir,” he said carefully, “when was his last treatment?”
“About… a month ago,” I replied.
He nodded, then looked at me as if he was preparing something serious to say.
“Just a moment.”
He called a nurse.
A woman in her late forties, with the eyes of someone who has long seen pain and loss.
“Come with me, sir.”
We entered a small office.
“Kara Santos,” the nurse began, “was last admitted here three weeks ago.”
My world stopped.
“Where is he now?” I immediately asked.
He took a deep breath.
“He left… against medical advice.”
“Why?” I asked almost shouting.
“He said he couldn’t handle the treatment anymore. And… he left a note.”
He handed me a white envelope.
I know handwriting very well.
Mark,
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found me.
I’m sorry if I ran away from the hospital.
I don’t want you to remember me as the woman hooked up to tubes and machines.
I want you to remember me smiling.
There’s one place I want to go before it’s all over.
A place that’s quiet. Far away. No doctor.
Don’t look for me.
If you love me even a little bit… let me end in peace.
-Cane
I didn’t realize I was crying.
“Do you have any idea where he went?” I asked, hoping for a miracle.
The nurse sighed.
“He mentioned… a place. Province. Cavinti, Laguna.”
Cavinti.
Suddenly, an old conversation we had came back to my memory.
“I want to live by the lake one day,” he said then.
“The silence. The silence that feels like time has stopped.”
I’m not going back home.
I never spoke to Diane again. Not because she had no right—but because I had a debt to pay. A debt to the person who loved me more than himself.
I drove to Laguna.
While traveling, I kept asking myself:
Do I still have the right to look for him?
Or am I too late for everything?
If he were still alive—I would hug him even if it hurt me.
If he were no longer alive—I hope even his ashes, I could touch them.
Around noon, I reached a small village.
There was a cottage by the lake. Quiet. Peaceful. It seemed exactly what he wanted.
I came closer.
Knock.
No one answered.
The door opened slightly because of the wind.
“Cara…” I called softly, mispronouncing the name—like I always did before.
Inside, there is a simple bed.
There is a table.
And at the table—
the old pillow.
His favorite pillow.
I knelt down.
“You didn’t follow me again…” I whispered.
I heard a cough.
Month.
From behind the curtain.
“Mark?” hoarse voice.
I stood up, trembling.
And that’s where I saw him.
Thin.
Weak.
But alive.
He smiled.
“At least… come before I disappear.”
My knee gave out.
I went over and hugged her—carefully, she was like glass that could break.
“I’m sorry,” I said over and over again.
“I’m sorry for everything.”
He closed his eyes.
“I don’t need an apology,” he replied weakly.
“What I need… is to know that you’re not angry anymore.”
In the afternoon, we sat side by side by the lake.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
But there’s a question in the air that we don’t utter—
Will I stay until the end?
Or will I leave him again, in the name of the freedom he bought for me?
And for the first time…
I don’t know which hurts more.
I haven’t left him since that day.
In the little hut by the lake, I learned to listen to the silence—the lapping of the water, the chirping of birds, Kara’s soft breathing as she slept. Every morning, I was awakened by the sun and the fear that it might be the last time I saw her eyes open.
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” he said softly one morning as I was adjusting his blanket.
“I don’t feel sorry,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled, tired but true. “That’s heavier.”
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