Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 51 - MAKING AMENDS

My breath caught.

"You can't undo what you did. But you can choose who you'll be next."

A pause.

Then, like it cost him something to say it:
"And maybe... if she ever opens the door again, even a little, you be the kind of man who's worthy to walk through it."

The wind shifted, warm and heavy with the scent of someone's dinner. We sat there in it, letting the words hang between us. Then he did something he hasn't done in years. He reached over and pulled me into a hug. It wasn't stiff, like the ones we used to fake in front of relatives. It was solid. Safe. Like a roof over my head in a thunderstorm.

And for a moment, I let my eyes close. Because maybe I couldn't fix the past. But maybe, I wasn't beyond saving either. I pulled back from the hug but stayed close, searching his face for something, hope, maybe, or permission.

"Dad," I said quietly, "should I... win her back again?"

He looked at me like I'd asked the biggest question in the world, like it wasn't just about chasing a girl but chasing a second chance at something real.

"James," he started slow, "winning her back isn't just about showing up with flowers and apologies. It's about showing you've changed. That you understand what she needs, whether she knows it yet or not."

I swallowed hard. "But what if she doesn't want me? What if I'm already too late?"

His eyes softened. "Then you wait. You respect her space. Love isn't a race or a fight to win. It's patience. Faith. A prayer that she'll see you for who you are now, not who you were."

I looked away, the weight of the moment settling over me like a shadow.

"So, no grand gestures? No rushing?"

"No," he said firmly. "No rushing. Actions over words. Consistency over drama. And above all, humility. Because sometimes, the greatest thing you can do for someone is to let them heal without you breathing down their neck."

I nodded. "I want to be worthy of that. I want to be worthy of her."

He smiled, a tired but genuine smile, and ruffled my hair like I was still that kid who used to sneak out to shoot hoops in the backyard.

"Then start there. One day at a time."

I let the silence stretch between us, feeling the weight of his advice settle deep inside me.

Maybe this time, I'd finally learn what it meant to love without breaking.

After a while, my dad stood and went inside, leaving the door open. An invitation. A reminder that I still belonged somewhere. I didn't go in right away. I sat a little longer, listening to the hum of nighttime, the rustle of trees, the bark of a dog a few houses down, the low thud of music from someone's open window. The world moved on. It always did. But this time, I wasn't letting it move without me. I unlocked my phone again. Not to watch the video, God, no, but to delete it. It took three seconds. A swipe. A tap. Gone. Not because I wanted to forget, but because I didn't want to feed the version of myself that clung to punishment like penance. I already knew what I did. I'd carry it forever. I didn't need a replay.

I opened my messages. There she was.

Betty

Still pinned at the top, like my heart didn't know how to unpin her even after everything. I didn't type anything. Not yet. I just stared at her name, thinking about what my dad said. Consistency over drama. Actions over words. So I pocketed my phone. Inside, the house smelled like something warm. Maybe nilagag baboy. Maybe tinola. My mom was in the kitchen, pretending not to have been watching me through the blinds. She glanced up, and I could see the relief flash in her eyes before she turned back to stirring the pot.