Noche Buena
Christmas Eve in Sto. Niño smelled of kare-kare, ham, and leche flan. The street outside was alive with kids banging tansan tambourines, neighbors exchanging tupperware of spaghetti, and parols glowing from every window. Inside the small sala, the TV played a muted MMFF commercial while Sharon and Susan argued over who got to slice the queso de bola.
Mama stirred the pot, side-eyeing the clock. "Malapit na ang alas-dose. Bilisan niyo na."
Then came the knock.
Sheryl opened the gate, her breath catching. "Rafi?"
He stood there, travel-worn but radiant, a small wrapped box in one hand. The street fell silent for a beat, neighbors gawking, before Sharon screamed like she'd won the lotto.
"You made it," Sheryl whispered, stunned. "But the flights—"
"I almost didn't," he said, pulling her close. "But nothing could keep me from you tonight."
Her arms went around him before she could think. Behind them, Mama sighed, "Ay Diyos ko. Ayusin niyo 'yan, may kapitbahay na naman!"
Inside, the noise exploded—Sharon clapping, Susan pretending to gag, Savier muttering thanks for his scholarship again as though in a dream.
Outside the Gate
Later, when the laughter softened, Rafi drew Sheryl outside under the glow of the parol swaying in the December breeze.
"You shouldn't have," she said, shaking her head. "The house, the car, the phone, the tuition—Rafi, it's too much."
He touched her cheek, gentle but firm. "They're not just gifts, Sheryl. They are my family too. If I am to be your husband, then their happiness matters as much as yours."
She opened her mouth to argue—but his gaze had dropped to her hand.
His breath caught.
"You're… wearing it."
Color rose in her cheeks. "Since the day you left for Jakarta. I couldn't take it off. Not even once."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then joy broke across his face, raw and boyish. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, laughter spilling between them.
From inside, Mama's voice cut sharp: "Oy! Tama na 'yan, noche buena na! Kumain muna kayo bago maglambingan!"
Sheryl laughed against his chest, clutching the ring. For the first time, she didn't feel torn in half. She felt whole.
Christmas Morning
The next day, sunlight spilled across the street where kids showed off new toys and neighbors compared fruit salad recipes. Sharon paraded her car keys like a crown jewel; Susan fiddled with her brand-new iPhone; Savier slept late, grinning even in dreams.
Mama, still in her duster, tidied the dishes from last night, muttering, "Hay naku, parang fiesta na naman dito."
Then came the sound—low, sleek, commanding. Engines humming in harmony, tires gliding on asphalt.
The family rushed to the gate just as three black cars rolled to a stop, gleaming in the morning light. Chauffeurs stepped out in unison, opening doors with practiced precision.
One car for Aling Aida and Savier.
Another for Sheryl and Rafi.
A third for Sharon and Susan—since Sharon still didn't have her license.
The barangay buzzed like a fiesta. Neighbors spilled out, mouths open, phones raised. "Sino 'yan? Para bang artista!"
Mama pressed a hand to her chest, half-scandalized. "Rafi… motorcade pa talaga?"
He only smiled, taking Sheryl's hand. "They deserve to see where their new home is."
Sheryl's pulse raced. She looked at the diamond glinting on her finger—the same one she'd hidden, then worn in secret, and now finally shown to the world.
And as the convoy purred, ready to take them to BF Homes, she realized:
In the span of one December morning, her world had shifted forever.
And this time, she wasn't hiding it.