# I’m 40, Married, And I Fell For The New Priest Who Was My High School Crush
## Chapter 1
“Ana? Ikaw ba yan? Si Ana ng Batch ’99?”
I was arranging the candles near the altar when I heard my name. The voice was familiar but deeper now. Richer. When I turned around, I saw him standing there in his white cassock, holding a worn-out Bible against his chest.
My hands stopped moving. The candle wax dripped onto my fingers but I didn’t feel the heat.
Father Michael. But not the skinny boy who used to sit behind me in Chemistry class. This was a man now. Broader shoulders. A few gray hairs at his temples. And that smile—that same crooked smile that made me forget how to breathe when I was seventeen.
“Oo, Father,” I managed to say. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “Ako nga po. Ana.”
He laughed and stepped closer. The scent of incense clung to his robes. “Twenty years na, Ana. Hindi ka nagbago. Pareho pa rin ang ngiti mo.”
I touched my face without thinking. Ngiti? I wasn’t even smiling. But maybe I was. Maybe something inside me remembered how to do that around him.
“Father, ano pong ginagawa ninyo dito sa Batangas?” I asked, wiping my hands on my skirt. “Akala ko po sa Quezon kayo dati.”
He glanced away for a second. Just a flicker. “Na-transfer po ako. Sabi ng bishop, kailangan ko raw ng bagong simula.”
I wanted to ask why. But the church was emptying out, and I could see Kuya Eddie waiting by the tricycle near the gate. He was scrolling through his phone, not looking at me.
“Ana,” Father Michael said softly, “pwede ba tayong magkwentuhan minsan? Tungkol sa lumang panahon?”
I should have said no. I should have mentioned my husband waiting outside. But what came out was, “Sige po, Father. Pag may oras po kayo.”
He smiled again and walked toward the sacristy. I stood there for a full minute, holding the candle holder, feeling something stir in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Eddie was snoring beside me, his arm thrown across my pillow like he owned the space. I stared at the ceiling fan, counting the rotations.
Twenty years ago, I was the shy girl from the province who had a crush on the honor student. He was going to be a doctor, everyone said. He was going to marry someone rich and educated.
Instead, he became a priest. And I became a tricycle driver’s wife.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number.
“Ana, ito si Michael. Nakuha ko ang number mo kay Aling Cora. Sana okay lang. Gusto ko lang magpasalamat sa pagtanggap mo sa akin kanina. – Father M”
I read it five times. My thumb hovered over the reply button.
I typed: “Walang anuman po, Father. Welcome po sa parokya natin.”
Then I deleted it.
Then I typed again: “Gabi na po, Father. Magpahinga po kayo.”
Send.
He replied within seconds: “Ikaw din, Ana. Matulog ka na. Magkita tayo bukas sa misa?”
My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears. Beside me, Eddie turned and muttered something in his sleep.
I put the phone down and closed my eyes.
But sleep didn’t come. All I could see was that crooked smile. All I could feel was the warmth of his voice calling my name after twenty years of being invisible.
The next morning, I woke up early to prepare Eddie’s baon. He was driving passengers to Lipa City and wouldn’t be back until evening.
“Sige na, Ana,” he said, kissing my forehead quickly. “Iwan ko na sa’yo ang bahay.”
“Mag-ingat ka,” I said, watching him leave.
The house felt empty without him. It always did. Even when he was here, it felt like I was talking to a wall. Eddie was a good man—he never hit me, never gambled, never drank. But he also never looked at me like I mattered. Like I was still a woman and not just the mother of his children and the cook of his meals.
I went to church early that morning. Not because I was holy. Because I wanted to see if he would notice me.
Father Michael was already there, arranging the altar for the 6 AM mass. When he saw me, his face lit up.
“Ana! Maaga ka ah.”
“Gusto ko lang po magdasal, Father.”
He nodded. “Sige, pumunta ka lang sa harap. Ako naman ang bahala.”
I knelt in the front pew and closed my eyes. But I didn’t pray. I listened to his footsteps moving around the altar. I watched him through my lashes as he placed the chalice and the host.
He caught me looking. He smiled.
After mass, he approached me. “Ana, may oras ka ba ngayon? Gusto ko sana magtanong tungkol sa mga tao dito sa barangay. Ikaw na kasi ang matagal nang parishioner.”
“Opo, Father. Wala naman po akong gagawin ngayon.”
We sat in the church garden, under the acacia tree where I used to play as a child. He asked about the community—who needed prayers, who was sick, who had problems. But his eyes kept meeting mine. And every time they did, I forgot what he had just asked.
“Ana,” he said suddenly, his voice low, “alam mo bang ikaw ang una kong naisip nang malaman kong lilipat ako sa Batangas?”
My throat went dry. “Father…”
“Alam kong mali. Alam ko.” He rubbed his face. “Pero hindi ko napigilan. Nung high school tayo, ikaw yung lagi kong tinitignan sa klase. Natatakot lang akong umamin.”
“Pero nag-pari po kayo,” I whispered.
“Oo. Kasi akala ko yun ang tawag sa akin. Akala ko kaya kong kalimutan.” He looked at me with so much pain in his eyes. “Pero pagdating ko dito at nakita kita—Ana, parang bumalik lahat.”
I stood up. My legs were shaking. “Hindi po pwede, Father. May asawa po ako. Kayo po ay pari.”
“Alam ko.” He stood too. “Alam ko. At alam ko ring hindi kita pwedeng mahalin. Pero—”
“Wala pong pero, Father.”
I walked away. I walked so fast I almost tripped on my skirt. I didn’t look back.
That night, I cried in the bathroom while Eddie watched TV in the living room. I cried because I was angry at myself. I was forty years old. I had three children. I had a husband who worked hard for us. And here I was, feeling like a teenager again for a man who had sworn his life to God.
But when my phone buzzed at midnight, I still picked it up.
“Ana, sorry sa sinabi ko kanina. Hindi na mauulit. Pero pwede ba tayong mag-usap pa rin? Kahit tungkol lang sa Bible? Kailangan ko ng kausap. – Father M”
I stared at the screen for ten minutes.
Then I typed: “Bible verses lang po, Father. Wala nang iba.”
He replied: “Salamat, Ana. Hindi mo alam kung gaano mo ako tinutulungan.”
I put the phone down and stared at the ceiling again. Eddie’s arm was on my pillow again. I gently moved it away.
“Ana,” Father Michael had said that morning, “pwede ba kitang yakapin? bilang kaibigan lang.”
I hadn’t answered him. I had walked away.
But now, lying in the dark, I wished I had said yes.
—
**End of Chapter 1**
—
## Chapter 2
It started with Bible verses.
Every night, after Eddie fell asleep, I would open my phone and find a message from Father Michael. A verse. A reflection. Sometimes just a question.
“Ano sa tingin mo ang ibig sabihin ni Jesus nang sabihin niyang ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’?”
I would answer honestly. About how hard it was to love people who hurt you. About how I tried to be kind even when I felt empty inside.
He would reply with his own thoughts. His own struggles.
And somewhere between the verses and the reflections, we started talking about life.
“Miss ko na ang normal na buhay, Ana,” he messaged one night. “Yung magigising ka sa umaga at hindi mo kailangang mag-misa. Yung pwedeng kang magkape sa terrace at walang maghihintay sa’yo.”
“Hindi niyo po ba gusto ang pagiging pari?” I asked.
“Gusto ko. Mahal ko ang paglilingkod sa Diyos. Pero minsan, nakakapagod. Minsan, gusto ko lang may makausap. Yung totoong makakaintindi.”
I knew that feeling. Sometimes I wanted to tell Eddie about my day, about my thoughts, about the things that scared me. But Eddie would just nod and say “Ah ganun ba” and go back to his phone.
So I told Father Michael instead.
“Hindi ako masaya, Father,” I admitted one night. “Mahal ko ang asawa ko. Mahal ko ang mga anak ko. Pero parang wala na akong sarili. Parang naging nanay at taga-luto na lang ako.”
“Kilala pa kita, Ana,” he replied. “Yung babaeng mahilig magbasa ng tula. Yung mahilig kumanta habang naglalakad. Nandyan pa rin siya.”
Nandyan pa rin siya. Those words made me cry. Because I had forgotten that girl existed. I had buried her under years of diapers and laundry and cooking oil.
For two weeks, we messaged like that. Bible verses that turned into conversations. Conversations that turned into confessions.
He told me he had been transferred because he had depression. He had stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. The bishop sent him to Batangas hoping the quiet province would heal him.
“Wala akong sinabihan niyan dito,” he said. “Ikaw lang.”
“Why me, Father?”
“Kasi nung nakita kita, Ana, parang may pag-asa ulit. Parang may dahilan para gumising sa umaga.”
I should have stopped replying. I should have deleted his number. I should have told Eddie everything.
But I didn’t.
Because for the first time in twenty years, someone saw me. Not as a mother. Not as a wife. As Ana.
We started meeting in the church garden after the 6 PM mass. Just to talk. Just to pray. But our hands would brush when we walked. Our shoulders would touch when we sat.
One night, I told him about my father’s death. How I was only twelve and I watched him die of a heart attack right in front of me. How my mother had to sell our rice field to pay for the funeral.
Father Michael listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say “Okay lang yan” like everyone else did.
When I finished, he reached out and took my hand.
“Ana,” he whispered, “you’ve been carrying that pain for so long. Hindi mo kailangang dalhin mag-isa.”
I didn’t pull away. His hand was warm. Calloused. Real.
“Father—”
“Michael,” he said. “Tawagin mo akong Michael. Dito lang. Kapag tayong dalawa.”
I nodded. My throat was too tight to speak.
He squeezed my hand. “Pwede ba kitang yakapin? Bilang kaibigan lang?”
I looked at him. His eyes were so sad. So tired.
“Opo,” I whispered.
He pulled me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me slowly, like I was made of glass. His chin rested on top of my head. I could feel his heartbeat. It was fast. Like mine.
We stayed like that for too long.
I knew we stayed too long because I heard footsteps. And when I pulled back, I saw Aling Mila standing at the garden gate, her eyes wide as plates.
She didn’t say anything. She just stared. Then she walked away.
“Ana,” Father Michael said, his voice shaking, “ano na ang gagawin natin?”
“Wala,” I said, stepping back. “Wala tayong ginagawang masama. Nag-usap lang tayo.”
“Alam mo namang hindi ganun ang tingin nila.”
“Hayaan mo na sila. Wala naman tayong kasalanan.”
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Not in my heart.
That night, I couldn’t eat. I kept replaying Aling Mila’s face. She was the biggest gossip in the barangay. By morning, everyone would know.
Eddie came home late. He was tired from driving all day.
“May sakit ka ba?” he asked, seeing my untouched dinner.
“Wala. Busog lang.”
He nodded and went to shower. He didn’t ask more. He never asked more.
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream: “Eddie, may lalaking nakakapansin sa akin! May lalaking kausap ako ng totoo! May lalaking kayang akong yakapin nang higit sa dalawang segundo!”
But I didn’t. I just sat there, staring at the wall.
At midnight, my phone buzzed.
“Ana, natatakot ako. Nakita tayo ni Aling Mila. Hindi ko alam kung anong sasabihin niya. – Michael”
“Nagsisisi ka ba?” I typed back.
“Hindi. Nag-aalala lang. Para sa’yo.”
I closed my eyes. I wanted to tell him I was worried too. But all I could think about was how his hug felt. How his warmth stayed on my skin even after I walked away.
“Ikaw, nagsisisi ka ba?” he messaged again.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
Then I typed: “Hindi.”
Because it was true. I wasn’t sorry. I was just scared.
The next morning, Aling Mila was waiting for me at the church gate.
“Ana,” she said, smiling her fake smile, “maganda ang panahon no? Pero sabi nila, laging may bagyo pag may lihim.”
I didn’t answer.
“Kanina pa kita hinihintay,” she continued. “May gusto akong sabihin sa’yo. Nakita ko kayo ni Father sa sacristy. magkahawak kayo ng kamay.”
My blood turned cold.
“Aling Mila, nag-uusap lang po kami—”
“Sure ka?” She raised an eyebrow. “Kasi mukhang hindi lang usapan ang nangyayari sa inyo.”
I wanted to run. I wanted to deny everything. But the look in her eyes told me she already believed what she wanted to believe.
“May asawa ka, Ana. May pamilya ka. At pari si Father. Naiintindihan mo ba ang sinasabi ko?”
“Opo,” I whispered. “Naiintindihan ko po.”
“Mag-ingat ka,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Baka ikaw pa ang masira. Hindi siya.”
She walked away. I stood there, frozen, watching the sun rise over the church roof.
My phone buzzed. A message from Father Michael.
“Ana, may sasabihin ako sa’yo. Mahalaga. Pumunta ka sa simbahan mamayang gabi. – Michael”
I didn’t reply. But I knew I would go.
Because the truth was, I had already fallen.
—
**End of Chapter 2**
—
## Chapter 3
I wore my best dress that night. A simple floral pattern that I bought two years ago for my niece’s wedding. I didn’t wear makeup because I didn’t want to look like I was trying.
But I was trying. I was trying so hard.
I told Eddie I was going to the church for a novena. He was already half-asleep on the couch.
“Mag-ingat ka,” he mumbled.
Like always.
The church was dark when I arrived. Only the sanctuary lamp was lit, casting a dim glow on the altar.
Father Michael was waiting at the back pew. He wasn’t wearing his cassock. Just a simple white polo and black pants. He looked like a normal man. A normal, handsome man.
“Ana,” he said when he saw me. “Salamat sa pagpunta mo.”
“Ano po ang sasabihin ninyo, Father?”
“Michael,” he corrected. “Dito, Michael lang.”
I sat beside him. Not too close. But close enough to feel the warmth coming from his body.
“Ana,” he began, his voice trembling, “hindi ko na kaya. Araw-araw kitang iniisip. Tuwing magmimisa ako, ikaw yung hinahanap ko sa mga tao. Tuwing magdadasal ako, ikaw yung nasa isip ko.”
“Father—”
“Michael. Please.”
I swallowed hard. “Michael, alam mo namang hindi pwedeng—”
“Alam ko. Alam ko.” He took my hand. His was cold. “Pero hindi ko na kaya ang magpanggap. Ang magsimba at magturo ng pag-ibig sa iba, pero ako mismo hindi makaranas ng pag-ibig.”
I didn’t pull my hand away.
“I left my last parish because I was dying inside,” he continued. “Araw-araw, naglilingkod ako sa Diyos. Pero sa gabi, mag-isa ako. Walang kausap. Walang kasama.”
“May Diyos naman po—”
“Oo, may Diyos. Pero Dios lang? Hindi sapat. Kailangan ko rin ng tao. Kailangan ko ng pamilya. Kailangan ko ng—” He stopped. His eyes met mine. “Kailangan ko ng katulad mo.”
I felt tears burning my eyes. “Michael, may asawa ako. May mga anak ako.”
“Alam ko. At alam kong mali ang nararamdaman ko. Pero hindi ko mapigilan.” He squeezed my hand. “Ana, umalis na ako sa pagkapari. hindi ko na kaya. gusto kitang makasama.”
The words hit me like a truck.
“Ano?” I whispered. “Hindi mo pwedeng—”
“Nagpadala na ako ng sulat sa bishop. Hindi ko pa ito pinirmahan. Pero ginawa ko na.” He pulled out a folded paper from his pocket. “Handa na akong umalis. Hindi na ako magpapari. Para sa’yo.”
I stared at the paper. His resignation. All for me.
“Michael, hindi mo pwedeng gawin ‘to,” I said, my voice shaking. “Hindi dahil sa akin. Hindi dahil sa—”
“Dahil sa’yo.” He cupped my face with his hand. “Dahil mahal kita. Mahal kita mula pa noong high school. Pinilit kong kalimutan. Pinilit kong maglingkod sa Diyos para mawala ang nararamdaman ko. Pero nung nakita kitang muli—Ana, parang gumising ang puso ko.”
I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him to stop. But the words wouldn’t come out.
Because part of me—the part I had been trying to kill for twenty years—wanted this. Wanted him.
“I’ll resign,” he said. “Lalayo ako. Hahanap ako ng trabaho. Hindi ako mayaman, pero I can take care of you. Hindi na kita pakakawalan.”
“Pero ang asawa ko—”
“Hindi ka niya mahal.” His voice was firm. “Nakikita ko sa mata mo. Nakikita ko sa kung paano ka niya tignan. Wala siyang pakialam kung nasaan ka. Wala siyang pakialam kung masaya ka.”
Tears started falling down my cheeks. Because he was right. Eddie didn’t care. Eddie hadn’t asked me how my day was in years. Eddie didn’t notice my new haircut. Didn’t notice when I was sad.
“Michael, hindi ganun kadali—”
“Alam ko. Alam ko.” He pulled me into his arms again. “Pero hindi ko kayang magpanggap na wala ang nararamdaman ko. Hindi ko kayang araw-araw kang makita at hindi kita mahawakan.”
We stayed like that for a long time. His arms around me. His heartbeat against my ear.
“Gusto kong sumama sa’yo,” I whispered.
And I meant it. In that moment, I meant every word.
But then I thought of my children. My three children who were sleeping in their rooms. My youngest who still asked me to tuck her in at night.
“Mga anak ko,” I said, pulling back. “Hindi ko sila kayang iwan.”
“Hindi ko sinasabing iwan mo sila,” he said quickly. “Pwede naman tayong maghanap ng paraan. Pwede natin silang dalhin—”
“At iwan ko ang asawa ko? At sasabihin ko sa mga anak ko na iniwan ko ang tatay nila dahil sa isang pari?”
He fell silent.
“Michael, mahal mo ba talaga ako? O mahal mo lang ang ideya na may kasama ka?”
He looked at me. His eyes were full of pain. “Mahal kita, Ana. Hindi lang ideya. Ikaw mismo.”
“Pero paano kung mali ito? Paano kung pinagsisisihan natin ito balang araw?”
“Hindi ko alam,” he admitted. “Ang alam ko lang, ngayon, mahal kita. At ayokong mawala ka.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him.
But something in my chest—maybe my faith, maybe my fear—told me to stop.
“Michael,” I said softly, “hindi ako pwedeng sumama sa’yo. Hindi ngayon. Hindi sa ganitong paraan.”
“Why not?”
“Kasi kung gagawin ko ‘to, pati pagmamahal ko sa Diyos, masisira.”
He looked like I had slapped him.
“Michael, magdasal tayo,” I said. “Magdasal tayo na gabayan tayo ng Diyos. Hindi natin kayang magdesisyon ng ganito nang mag-isa.”
I knelt down right there in the pew. He hesitated. Then he knelt beside me.
“Lord,” I prayed, my voice shaking, “tulungan mo po kami. Gabayan mo po kami. Kung mali ito, ipakita niyo po sa amin. Kung tama naman po—” I stopped. “Kung tama naman, sana po ay maging malinaw sa amin.”
When I opened my eyes, Father Michael was crying.
“Ana,” he whispered, “hindi ko alam kung kaya ko—”
“Maghintay tayo,” I said. “Maghintay tayo ng sagot.”
And then, as if God Himself was answering, my phone rang.
It was Eddie.
“Ana, nasaan ka?” his voice was panicked. “Umuwi ka na. May problema.”
“Anong problema?”
“Si Ate Baby. Yung kasambahay ni Father dati. Nandito siya sa bahay. May sinasabi siya—”
I froze. “Anong sinasabi niya?”
Eddie’s voice lowered. “Ana, buntis po si Ate Baby. siya po yung dati niyong kasambahay sa dati niyong parokya.”
I looked at Father Michael. His face was white as the altar cloth.
“Ano?” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me.
And in that moment, everything I thought I knew crumbled.
—
**End of Chapter 3**
—
## Chapter 4
I walked home in the dark. The streets were quiet except for the barking dogs and the distant sound of videoke from the next barangay.
My legs felt like they were made of cement. Every step was heavier than the last.
Ate Baby was sitting on our bamboo couch when I arrived. She was younger than me, maybe thirty, with a round face and sad eyes. Her belly was small but unmistakably rounded.
“Ana,” she said when she saw me. Her voice was soft. “Pasensya na po sa abala.”
I didn’t sit down. I couldn’t.
“Anong ginagawa mo dito, Ate Baby?” I asked.
Eddie was standing by the door, arms crossed. He looked confused. Angry. Scared.
“Ikaw,” Eddie said to me. “Paano mo kilala si Ate Baby?”
“Kasambahay siya ni Father Michael sa dati niyang parokya,” I said automatically. “Nabanggit niya sa akin.”
“Father Michael?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Yung bagong pari? Kailan ka naging close sa pari?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Ate Baby stood up slowly, holding her belly. “Nakakahiya man po,” she said, “pero kailangan ko pong sabihin sa inyo ang totoo.”
“Saan?” Eddie asked.
“Si Father Michael po ang ama ng anak ko.”
The words hung in the air like smoke from a fire.
I felt the blood drain from my face. My vision blurred.
“Ano?” Eddie said, his voice rising. “Pari ‘yon! Paanong—”
“Hindi ko rin po alam kung paano nangyari,” Ate Baby said, tears streaming down her face. “Nagka-developan po kami nung naglilingkod ako sa kanya. Isang gabi, uminom po siya. Malungkot siya. Nagkwento siya tungkol sa buhay niya. At ako naman—” She wiped her face. “Naging mahina po ako. Nagkasala po kami.”
“Bakit ngayon mo lang sinasabi?” tanong ko. My voice was cold. Even I didn’t recognize it.
“Kasi po, itinago niya ako. Binigyan niya ako ng pera. Pinaalis niya ako sa parokya. Sabi niya, magsisimba daw ako sa ibang lugar. Tapos nalaman ko pong buntis ako. Hindi ko na po alam ang gagawin ko.”
“Eddie,” I said, turning to my husband, “pwede ba tayong mag-usap sa loob?”
“Hindi,” he said firmly. “Dito. Sasabihin mo sa akin kung ano ang nangyayari. Bakit mo kilala ang pari? Bakit ikaw ang tawagan niya? Bakit sa’yo siya nagkukwento?”
“Eddie—”
“Sinabi sa akin ni Aling Mila,” he said, his voice breaking. “May nakita daw siya. Sa simbahan. Magkayakap daw kayo.”
My heart stopped.
“Anong—”
“Totoo ba?” He stepped closer to me. “Ana, totoo bang may nangyayari sa inyo ng pari?”
I looked at Ate Baby. She was crying quietly. I looked at Eddie. His hands were shaking.
And in that moment, I realized how deep the hole was that I had dug.
“Opo,” I whispered. “May nararamdaman po ako sa kanya.”
Eddie stepped back like I had pushed him.
“Ano?” His voice was barely audible.
“Pero wala pong nangyari,” I said quickly. “Nag-uusap lang po kami. Nagkukwentuhan. Minsan po, yakap. Pero wala pong—”
“Yakap?” Eddie’s face twisted. “Yakap? May asawa ka na, Ana! At pari siya!”
“Alam ko! Alam ko!” I screamed. “Alam ko ang kasalanan ko! Pero hindi mo ba naiintindihan na—” I stopped. I couldn’t say it.
“Na ano?” Eddie demanded.
“Na ikaw,” I said, my voice cracking. “Ikaw, kailan mo ba ako huling hinawakan? Kailan mo ba ako huling tiningnan ng may pagmamahal?”
Eddie stared at me.
“Twenty years tayong kasal, Eddie. Twenty years. Pero parang wala na akong halaga sa’yo. Parang appliance na lang ako. Yung taga-luto. Yung taga-alaga ng mga bata. Pero ako? Si Ana? Wala na.”
Eddie didn’t say anything. He just looked at me.
“Ikaw, may nararamdaman ka pa ba sa akin?” I asked.
“Siyempre naman—”
“Bakit hindi mo ipinapakita? Bakit kailangan ko pang humingi sa iba ng atensyon na dapat sa’yo ko natatanggap?”
Eddie was quiet for a long time. Then he sat down on the couch, his head in his hands.
“Hindi ko alam,” he said softly. “Hindi ko alam na ganyan ang nararamdaman mo.”
“Kasi hindi mo ako tinatanong,” I said, crying now. “Hindi mo ako kinakausap. Parang wala akong kwenta sa’yo.”
“Ana, mahal kita—”
“Mahal mo ako, pero hindi mo ako gusto.” I shook my head. “Malaking pagkakaiba ‘yon, Eddie.”
Ate Baby stood up quietly. “Pasensya na po,” she said. “Hindi ko po alam na ganito pala ang sitwasyon ninyo. Aalis na po ako.”
“Hindi,” I said. “Dito ka na muna. Hindi ka pwedeng umalis ng ganito.”
“Pero—”
“May sasabihin ako sa iyo.” I took a deep breath. “Si Father Michael, may plano siyang umalis sa pagkapari. Para sa akin.”
Eddie looked up. “Ano?”
“Opo. Gusto niya akong isama. Gusto niya akong pakasalan.”
“Ana, hindi—”
“Alam ko. Hindi ko gagawin.” I looked at him. “Kasi kahit anong mangyari, ikaw ang asawa ko. At ang Diyos ang pinakamahalaga sa buhay ko.”
I turned to Ate Baby. “Pumunta tayo sa simbahan bukas. Sasabihin natin kay Father Michael ang tungkol sa anak mo. At haharapin natin ang lahat.”
Ate Baby nodded, tears still falling.
That night, I didn’t sleep again. I sat on the floor of the living room, staring at the crucifix on the wall.
“Lord,” I whispered, “bakit nangyari ito? Bakit mo ako dinala sa ganitong sitwasyon?”
But even as I asked, I knew the answer.
Because I was weak. Because I was lonely. Because I let my heart wander instead of fixing what was broken at home.
At 3 AM, I opened my phone. There were messages from Father Michael.
“Ana, kailangan kitang makausap.”
“Please, reply ka.”
“Alam mo ba kung nasaan si Ate Baby?”
I typed back: “Nandito siya sa bahay ko. Alam na ni Eddie ang lahat. Bukas, pupunta kami sa simbahan. Lahat tayo, mag-uusap.”
His reply came immediately: “Ana, mahal kita. Alam kong mali ang ginawa ko kay Ate Baby. Pero ikaw—”
“Mahal mo ba talaga ako?” I typed. “O naghahanap ka lang ng babaeng mag-aalaga sa’yo?”
He didn’t reply for five minutes. Then: “Hindi ko alam. Hindi ko na alam ang totoo.”
I put the phone down.
In the morning, I woke Eddie up. “Mag-ayos ka na,” I said. “Pupunta tayo sa simbahan.”
“Ano?”
“Ate Baby, ako, at ikaw. Haharapin natin si Father Michael.”
Eddie stared at me. Then he nodded slowly.
We walked to the church together, the three of us. People stared. Some whispered. I didn’t care.
Father Michael was waiting at the altar. When he saw Ate Baby, his face went pale.
“Baby—” he started.
“Michael,” I said, using his name for the first time in front of others. “Ano ang totoo? Anak mo ba siya?”
He looked at the floor. Then he nodded.
“Opo,” he said. “Anak ko siya.”
“And mahal mo ba ako? O ginagamit mo lang ako para takasan ang problema mo?”
He looked at me. His eyes were full of tears.
“Hindi ko alam,” he admitted. “Akala ko mahal kita. Pero ngayon—” he looked at Ate Baby, “—hindi ko na alam kung ano ang totoo.”
“That’s your answer,” I said. “Hindi mo alam. At hangga’t hindi mo alam, hindi tayo pwedeng magdesisyon.”
“Ana—”
“Father Michael,” I said, “kailangan mong harapin ang kasalanan mo. Hindi lang sa akin. Hindi lang kay Ate Baby. Sa Diyos.”
He knelt down right there in front of everyone.
“Lord,” he prayed, “patawarin mo po ako. Patawarin mo po ako sa lahat ng kasalanan ko.”
I stood there, watching him cry. And in my heart, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Peace.
—
**End of Chapter 4**
—
## Chapter 5
The bishop came two weeks later.
I heard he was furious. That Father Michael had broken his vows, not just with Ate Baby but with the emotional affair he had with me.
But when the bishop arrived at our small parish, he didn’t scream. He just looked sad.
“Ana,” he said to me, “can we talk?”
I nodded. We sat in the church garden under the acacia tree.
“I know what happened,” the bishop said. “And I know you didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Father—”
“He’s being transferred. A faraway province. Mountain area. No phones. No internet. He needs to be alone. To heal.”
I nodded. “And Ate Baby?”
“She’ll be taken care of. The church will help her. Father Michael will support the child financially. But he won’t be part of the child’s life. It’s better that way.”
“Better for him or for the child?”
The bishop looked at me. “Sometimes, Ana, we have to make hard choices. Father Michael made many wrong choices. Now he has to face the consequences. But the child—the child doesn’t need to suffer.”
I nodded. I understood.
“That day,” the bishop continued, “when you went to confession to another priest—when you confessed everything—that was brave.”
“I was just following what I knew was right.”
“Not everyone does.” He smiled. “You have a strong faith, Ana. Stronger than you realize.”
I thought about Father Michael. About his smile. About the way he hugged me in the sacristy.
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
“He will be. It will take time. But he will be.” The bishop stood up. “And you? Will you be okay?”
I looked toward the church. Eddie was waiting for me by the tricycle. He had started coming to mass with me again. Every Sunday. We sat together in the front pew.
“Opo,” I said. “Okay na po ako.”
The bishop left. Father Michael left that same week. I didn’t see him go. I didn’t want to.
But I wrote him a letter before he left.
“Dear Michael,
I’m not angry. I’m not even hurt anymore. I’m just… sad. Sad for the both of us.
We were two lonely people who found each other at the wrong time, in the wrong way. But maybe that was God’s way of telling us we needed to find ourselves first.
I will always remember you. Not as the priest who almost made me fall. But as the boy from high school who made me feel seen for the first time in twenty years.
But I have to let you go. We both need to serve God separately. I have my family. You have your calling.
May God bless you, Michael. And may He give you the peace you’ve been looking for.
Sincerely,
Ana”
I sent it to the bishop’s office. I don’t know if he ever got it. I don’t know if he ever read it.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters is what happened next.
Eddie came home early one evening. He was holding a small bouquet of roses.
“Para sa’yo,” he said, handing them to me.
“Eddie, bakit?”
He sat down beside me. “Sabi mo, hindi na kita hinahawakan. Hindi na kita tinitignan. Hindi ko napansin. Pero nagbago na ako.”
“Ano?”
“Simula nung nangyari ‘yon—narealize ko kung gaano kita mahal.” He took my hand. “Hindi ako magaling magsabi ng salita. Hindi ako marunong mag-romansa. Pero mahal kita, Ana. Mahal na mahal. At ayoko na ulit mawala ka.”
I started crying.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry sa lahat. Sorry na hindi ko napansin. Sorry na hinayaan kitang mag-isa.”
“Eddie—”
“Magsisimba na ako lagi. Kasama mo. Magkakape tayo sa umaga. Mag-uusap tayo.” He squeezed my hand. “Magbabago na ako. Promise.”
I hugged him. For the first time in years, I hugged my husband like I meant it.
“Mahal din kita, Eddie,” I whispered. “Nagkamali ako. Lumayo ako. Pero mahal kita.”
We held each other for a long time. And for the first time in years, I felt like I was home.
The next Sunday, I joined the gardening ministry. I was assigned to clean the church garden. It was hard work—pulling weeds, planting flowers, watering the plants under the hot sun.
But I loved it.
Because while I was working, I could pray. I could talk to God. I could think.
And slowly, I started to heal.
I wrote another letter. This time to myself.
“Dear Ana,
You almost made a huge mistake. You almost left your family for a man who was also lost. You almost threw away everything you worked for because you felt empty.
But you didn’t.
You chose to stay. You chose to fight. You chose to fix what was broken instead of running away.
That is faith.
Not the faith that shouts in church. Not the faith that prays the loudest. But the faith that stays when it would be easier to run.
You are not the woman who seduced a priest. You are not the woman who destroyed her family. You are Ana. A woman who made a mistake, admitted it, and chose to do better.
And that is enough.”
I kept the letter in my Bible. I still read it sometimes. When I feel lonely. When I feel invisible.
Eddie kept his promise. He started coming to church with me every Sunday. He started talking to me again. Not just about the kids or the bills. About life. About dreams. About us.
We started going on dates again. Just simple dates—walking in the plaza, eating halo-halo, watching the sunset.
He held my hand again. He looked at me like I mattered.
It wasn’t perfect. We still argued sometimes. We still had problems. But we were together. Really together.
And the loneliness? It didn’t go away completely. But it became smaller. Manageable.
Because I found the answer to my emptiness. Not in a priest. Not in another man. But in God. And in myself.
And sometimes, the hardest thing to do is also the right thing.
One day, I was working in the garden when a little girl approached me. She was maybe six years old, with big eyes and a familiar face.
“Ate,” she said, “may bulaklak po kayo?”
I smiled and gave her a yellow rose. “Para sa’yo.”
She smiled and ran away.
I watched her go. And I thought about Ate Baby. About her baby. About the life that Father Michael left behind.
I prayed for them. Every day. I prayed that they would be okay. That the child would grow up knowing she was loved.
And I prayed for Father Michael. That he would find peace. That he would heal. That he would finally understand that God’s love was enough.
My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
“Ana, I read your letter. Thank you. I’m okay now. I’m learning to be okay. Please don’t worry about me. Just take care of your family. And take care of yourself. – M”
I didn’t reply.
I just looked up at the sky and smiled.
Because I knew, in my heart, that everything would be alright.
Not because we got what we wanted. But because we accepted what we needed.
True faith is not about the priest. It’s about God.
And not all love should be followed. Some love comes to test how strong your vows are.
I learned that lesson.
I learned it the hard way.
But I’m still here. Still standing. Still believing.
And that, I think, is the greatest miracle of all.
—
**THE END**
*Note: This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.*
