"Sweetheart, have some veggies too — they're good for you." Mrs. Silvanus added a few to her plate, wearing the smile she always kept for her family.
But that day, she noticed something different. Sandra — usually as bright as sunlight — hadn't smiled once since coming home from Bugis.
Her eyes were hollow, fixed on her plate. The fork hadn't moved since she picked it up. She felt nothing but emptiness — and it had swallowed even her usual routines. Her smile. The way she teased her brother. The chaos she usually brought into a room. Ever since she'd come home at midnight, all of it had gone quiet.
"Sandra?" Mrs. Silvanus called. No response. Sandra was somewhere else entirely.
"San." Andrew said gently, draping an arm around her shoulders. She blinked back to the present, looking around before settling on him. "You okay? You haven't eaten anything."
Sandra glanced at her plate and stayed there. "You shouldn't have added those lentils, love," Mr. Silvanus said. Mrs. Silvanus immediately turned to her. "You don't like them, sweetheart? Should I make something with meat instead?"
Sandra gently moved Andrew's hand away, shaking her head. "It's fine. I'm just not hungry." All the energy had drained from her voice — the dimness, the cold distance, impossible to ignore now. Andrew watched her closely, reading every flicker of expression, while their parents exchanged worried looks.
Her heart felt heavier than it ever had. She curled into the corner of her bed, replaying the same conversation over and over, again and again.
"Why...? Just why, Glenda."
Knock.
A faint one. It didn't pull her out — but the voice that followed did. "San. I don't know what's going on, but remember — you have us. You can talk to us. We won't judge you, San." Those words did.
"Please. Talk to us, San," he whispered.
The door creaked open. Sandra and Andrew looked at each other — really looked, for the first time that night.
Sandra tried to swallow her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks anyway. Her teeth trembled, lips pressed tight — and everything she'd been holding back came pouring out.
Andrew pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back. "Okay. Okay. Your big brother's here. It's okay, San." He swallowed down his own tears, trying to stay strong. Little did he know — she could hear it anyway, in the racing of his heart.
They settled onto the floor, backs against the door. "What happened?" Andrew asked quietly. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he listened closely.
"I've been carrying... too much. I didn't know how to deal with it, so I just let it pile up inside me. Now I regret it."
She let out a dry, humorless laugh. He glanced at her, head resting between his knees. "What kind of burden, San? Is the company too much right now?" he asked, in his usual soft tone.
"No. Work, the staff — everything's exactly how any boss could hope for." She leaned forward. "You know what's painful?"
"What?"
"When the people closest to you think you can't shape your own future — without their help. Or their sacrifices."
He nodded slowly, his thoughts sinking past anything hopeful.
"So, is help a burden for you?"
"Not exactly. But sacrifice — yes."
"Why?"
"Because I... can't pay it back." Her gaze dropped. Something about that truth didn't sit right with her.
"It's hard enough when someone gives up their own passion, their own career, just to help guide yours — that alone is something you spend forever trying to repay. But it gets even harder when that same person sells her own house to keep you from going bankrupt... and moves into some run-down condo instead."
"I think I know who you're talking about. So... Glenda gave up something else, too?"
Both their heads dropped back against the door at once. "Yes. Her sexuality," she whispered. His eyes went wide with shock.
"What...?"
"And that's why I'm so deeply broken."
"...That must be hard for her too. She really cares about you — maybe that's why she risked it."
"I know. But what kind of friend wants someone to give up their own happiness for them?" Andrew nodded slowly. "I just want her to live for herself. Not give everything up for me."
He reached over, gently stroking her hair. "Then talk to her."
"Will she listen to me?"
"She always has. She will this time too."
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
The café held an unusual quiet that day. Sandra watched the handful of people scattered inside — quiet glances, heavy silences, solitary cups of coffee. A few with laptops, a few with books. With the school term back in session, the usual buzz had drained out of the place. Her hands paused on the counter, mid-wipe.
Whatever had happened the night before still clung to her — and it only blended into the quiet around her.
"Have you finished cleaning, Sandra?" Tristian called from across the room, refilling the empty containers.
"Almost," she replied.
"Want me to water the plants too?" she added.
He shook his head. "Already done. Just take the orders."
"There's no—" Before she could finish, a voice cut in.
"Excuse me?" Sandra turned — and froze. "...Yes?" The word slipped out on its own, eyes hollow, locked on the person in front of her.
"Cold coffee, please." Glenda said. Sandra's pen hovered over the notebook, unmoving. The words just hung there in her head.
Tristian walked over, resting a hand on Sandra's shoulder. She snapped back, blinking.
"Hey, Glenda — long time no see, man." Tristian's smile widened, leaning over the counter.
"Same here," Glenda said.
"Ordered yet?" he asked. She nodded. He glanced at Sandra. "Sandra — her order's on the house."
"That's fine, Tristian. I can pay."
"Already decided — on the house." He winked. She smiled, glancing at Sandra.
"Two cold coffees."
Sandra noted it down. "Trying to take advantage of the free stuff?"
"Nope. It's for me and Sandra."
Sandra arched her brow. "What do you mean?"
"Let's talk, Sandra."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because you want the same."
Sandra walked over with the two cold coffees. She stopped beside Glenda, who turned to her with the faintest curve of a smile.
"What is it this time?" Sandra said flatly, jabbing her straw into the tall cup. "You're right. It was my fault — I decided things without ever asking what you wanted." Glenda said, fingers lingering on her own straw.
"Realization always comes late for you. Typical." Sandra said, still cold, sipping her coffee.
Her eyes drifted off, then came back — Glenda hadn't even touched her drink yet. "Hey—" Sandra grabbed the straw and poked it into the cup for her.
"You're so slow, Glenda."
"Are you calling yourself a hare now?"
"Yupe! Any problem?"
"As if I care."
"Hey— that's my line." Sandra stopped short. So did Glenda. Something flickered across both their faces, and they broke into laughter — the kind that comes after something's been broken and somehow still holds.
Glenda glanced at her quietly.
"I'm sorry, Sandra." A small, quiet admission. Sandra paused mid-sip, lips curving into the sweetest smile.
"That's alright, Glenda." She set her cup down, lacing her fingers together on the table. "But Glenda... I want you to leave my company. After the fashion event." The laughter drained instantly. Glenda's cup lowered slowly, her smile fading into confusion.
Everything had been looking... okay. And now, it was right back to square one.
"What... what do you mean, Sandra?"
"I'm not asking you to leave because of what you did for me. I'm asking because of what you gave up for me." Sandra said, eyes shimmering with concern. She took Glenda's hand into hers. "I want you to live your life, Glenda. You did a lot for me — and now I want to do something for you."
Glenda's eyes searched Sandra's face, confused — until Sandra reached behind her, pulling out a few documents and sliding them across the table.
"You never agreed to take the house Dad offered you, back then." Sandra said. "So instead — I bought back the house you sold. To save me. Your house." She placed the keys down beside Glenda.
Glenda sat frozen, stunned. Her gaze moved from the papers to the keys and back, never settling on Sandra. Her hand hovered over the keys, shaking. She bowed her head, emotion rising in her throat.
"You didn't have to do this... Sandra." she whispered, breath catching.
"How could I not? That house was the last thing your father left you." Sandra patted her hand gently as Glenda broke down, quietly sobbing into her own hands.
She wiped her tears, sniffling. "...Wasn't that expensive?" her voice wavered.
Sandra smiled softly, shaking her head. "Not even half of what you've done for me."
Glenda turned her head away, hiding a smile. "So juvenile."
Sandra tilted her head, smirking. "I'll take that as a compliment, Ms. Linohour."
"You're just—"
"Unpredictable. I know."
Glenda arched a brow, chuckling as she watched her. For a moment, things felt almost normal again. Sandra glanced at the time.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the airport?" Glenda checked her watch — brows shooting up, a gasp escaping her.
"Oh! I have to pick up my mom." She started shoving things into her bag, then paused. "...Wait. How do you know my mom's coming?"
"...Because tomorrow's your dad's memorial." The silence that followed was brief — Glenda didn't let it linger. She just nodded. "I'm glad you remembered."
"I remembered. That's why I bought the house a day early." Sandra said it simply — but to Glenda, it meant everything.
Sandra stood, offering her hand. Glenda eyed it, confused.
"Just take it." Glenda grinned, taking her hand. "Sometimes, you're just—"
"Unpredictable. I know. How many times do you wanna repeat that?"
"But you never let me finish saying it."
"Because I can read your mind."
"As if I care."
"Woman!"
***