Chapter 2: Be Her

Two days later, the house was packed with faces that Lara barely recognized.

The funeral had ended hours ago, but mourners lingered like ghosts, murmuring condolences that never quite reached the heart. Black umbrellas dripped on the front porch. Soggy shoes left marks on the floor. The smell of candles, lilies, and brewed coffee mixed with quiet sobs and whispers behind cupped hands.

Lara stood in the kitchen, numb in a black dress lora once wore to their grandmother’s wake. It clung to her body like memory. Her makeup had been done by one of Andrie's aunts—too heavy, too exact, as if she were being repainted into someone else.

"You look just like her," someone said behind her.

She turned to find Tita Minerva, one of the old Almonte matriarchs, staring at her with narrow eyes and a forced smile. "Sometimes I forget she’s really gone."

lara forced a small nod. "Thank you."

Minerva leaned in. "But no matter how much you resemble her, hija, you are still not Lora. Remember that."

With a brittle smile, Lara excused herself and walked away.

She escaped to the hallway where Vrex’s tiny laughter echoed from the nursery. He had no idea what today was. He only knew he was surrounded by faces, new hands to lift him, new voices to sing to him. She peeked inside.

Andrie sat on the carpet, letting Vrex crawl into his lap. He looked tired—beyond tired. Haunted. His eyes met Elena’s for a second, then dropped to the floor. No words passed. No comfort either.

lara stepped in slowly.

"He hasn't cried for her," Andrie said quietly, as if confessing something ugly. "Not once."

"He's too young."

"Still... I thought he'd feel it."

Lara sat beside them, watching Vrex giggle as he tried to climb onto Andrie’s chest.

"He won’t remember her. Not really," Andrie murmured. "And that scares me more than anything."

Lara reached out and took Vrex’s small hand. "Then we’ll help him remember. In whatever way we can."

Andrie didn’t answer.

---

Later that evening, after the guests had gone and the house fell into a dreadful silence, Andrie knocked on Lara’s bedroom door. She was packing the last of her things. She’d decided to move into the Almonte residence—Lora’s old home—as the final step to fulfilling the promise.

He stepped in without waiting.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

She looked up. "I already said yes."

"They’ll talk. They already are."

"Let them."

He nodded, then walked over to the window. His hands were clenched into fists.

"I don’t expect you to pretend to love me," lara said softly.

He looked back, startled.

"I know why you're doing this. And I’m not asking for anything more than that."

Andrie exhaled sharply. "I wish she didn’t make us promise this."

"Me too. But she did. And we said yes."

He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he paused. "We’ll do a civil ceremony. No guests. No press. No drama. Just for the records."

lara nodded.

That night, she looked at her reflection once again. She had tucked lora’s favorite cardigan in her suitcase.

“Just for the records,” she whispered to herself. “Not for love.”

---

The wedding was done in a dusty city hall office three days later. Lara wore a pale cream blouse and black skirt. Gabriel wore a pressed gray suit. They stood before a judge with stiff backs and empty hands. No rings. No kiss. Just ink on paper.

“You may now sign,” the judge said.

Lara picked up the pen.

She hesitated.

Then she wrote: *lora Ramos-Almonte.*

Outside, rain fell again.

As they walked to the car, Andrie opened the door for her without looking. Vrex slept in the backseat. His cheeks flushed from a cold he’d picked up from all the hugging at the wake. lara turned back once to glance at the courthouse. It felt like she’d left herself behind on the marble steps.

In the weeks that followed, she began her life as lora.

She moved into lora's room. Wore lora’s clothes. Woke up at 5:00 a.m. like lora used to. Learned the routines by heart—Andrie's morning coffee (no sugar), Vrex’s favorite lullaby, the housekeeper’s schedule. Everything had a rhythm, and she adapted.

Andrie stayed out most nights. Sometimes at work. Sometimes nowhere she could place. They barely spoke beyond co-parenting.

Vrex, however, clung to her like a vine.

“Mommy,” he called her one morning, just before turning two. Her hand froze over the spoon stirring his cereal.

She looked at him, startled.

He smiled at her, dimpled and sweet.

“Mommy,” he said again.

She should have corrected him.

But she didn’t.

She smiled back and whispered, “Yes, baby?”

And in that moment, for the first time, something real flickered in her chest. Something both beautiful and horrifying.

She wasn’t lora. But for Vrex, maybe she had to be.

Even if it meant losing herself completely.

Even if it meant living as a ghost of the woman everyone else loved more.

---

That night, lara stood at the doorway of the master bedroom. Andrie was inside, unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He didn’t protest.

She turned and left.

In the guest room, she opened lora’s old journals. Her sister had written everything down—Vrex’s milestones, her hopes, her fears, her love for Andrie. Pages and pages of words Lara had no right to read. But she read them anyway, crying silently into the night.

By morning, she had memorized the last line Lara ever wrote:

*"If I die tomorrow, I want Lara to be the one to hold my son."*

And she did.

Every single day after that.

Even when no one else saw her.

Even when she no longer saw herself.

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