Chapter Text
The sharp trill of the doorbell sliced through the quiet of Sylvia's tiny apartment, its persistence drilling into her barely-there consciousness.
“Bwesit,” she muttered under her breath, eyes still half-lidded from sleep as she trudged across the cramped living room. Her limbs were heavy, her body still aching from the late-night rehearsals that ended just an hour ago.
When she opened the door, she barely had time to register what was happening.
Two men in crisp suits stepped past her without ceremony, each carrying a bulky parcel. One of them glanced at her, all polite efficiency.
“Hello, ma’am. Paki-receive na lang po.”
Still dazed, Sylvia blinked as a pen and tablet were gently pressed into her hands. Her fingers, moving on autopilot, scrawled her signature across the screen.
The suited men left the moment the pen lifted, silent and brisk, not sparing a second more than necessary.
Sylvia shut the door behind them with a soft thud. Her eyes drifted to the boxes now occupying her living room floor. She squinted at them, trying to recall if she had ordered anything, when she might have clicked something in a haze of fatigue or boredom. But nothing came to mind.
Shrugging, she dropped herself onto the couch and closed her eyes again. The hum of the city beyond her windows faded as sleep took her, the mysterious parcels sitting like quiet sentinels in the room, waiting.
Sylvia stirred, brow twitching at the sharp, high-pitched sound that pierced through the comforting fog of her sleep.
A baby crying.
She turned her head toward the noise, frowning in annoyance, her face crumpling. “Kaninong anak na naman ‘yon?” she muttered, dragging the words out in a groggy complaint.
She tried to settle back into the couch, pulling the throw blanket higher over her shoulder, willing the sound away.
But it didn’t fade. If anything, it grew louder, closer. Not the usual muffled wails dulled by a wall or distance. No, this cry was oddly present, almost echoing in her own living space.
Her eyes snapped open.
She sat up, the weight of the strange parcels earlier tugging at her memory.
A strange feeling gnawed at her chest as she rose to her feet and crossed the room to her window. She drew the curtain aside, expecting to find someone outside, maybe a neighbor or a passing stroller.
But there was no one. No mother, no child on the street.
And yet, the crying hadn’t stopped.
It was coming from inside.
Sylvia turned away from the window and sank back down onto her couch, rubbing her temples. Maybe she was imagining things, just exhaustion messing with her senses.
But then— movement.
She froze.
Something shifted in her peripheral vision. Not once, but twice. Tiny, subtle movements, barely there but enough to rattle every nerve in her body.
Her gaze snapped toward the parcels.
They weren’t parcels.
Now that she could see them clearly in the faint gray light, they weren’t the neat brown boxes she remembered. One was a large, strange-looking luggage, sleek, almost medical in design, with unfamiliar markings. The other, her heart began to pound—was a bassinet.
Sylvia didn’t breathe. Her fingers scrambled for the wall switch.
Click.
Warm yellow light filled the room, casting away all illusion. And there it was.
The bassinet moved again. A gentle, rhythmic shift, then a tiny leg kicked against the air.
And then she saw it. A baby. Inside her apartment.
Crying.
Alive.
Real.
Sylvia blinked at the infant in disbelief, the sound no longer distant but piercing and immediate, reverberating through her bones.
“Anak ng—” she whispered, standing slowly, uncertain whether to approach or run.
But her feet moved on their own. One step. Then another.
She reached the edge of the bassinet and peered over.
The crying baby looked up at her with flushed cheeks, damp lashes, and the undeniable fragility of someone freshly plucked from safety.
She stared.
The baby cried harder.
And all Sylvia could think was—what the hell is going on?
She stared at the baby, unblinking.
For a moment, Sylvia genuinely questioned reality.
Was she high?
No.
She wasn’t even that famous yet to spiral into whatever shabu-fueled hallucination this could be.
But this? This was real.
The cries were real. The weight of the air was real. The baby, still red-faced and trembling, was real.
“What the heck is happening…” she whispered, voice cracking at the edges.
Still, something pulled at her. A strange calm under the confusion, like instinct taking over.
She reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the baby’s skin, the shift was immediate. The child let out a soft gasp then quieted. A small, breathy coo followed, like the touch made perfect, necessary sense.
Sylvia stilled.
That sound, so small, so trusting, unlocked something in her chest, something she didn’t know was there. Or maybe something she had buried a long time ago.
Without thinking, she scooped the baby up. Her arms moved like they already knew what to do, cradling him against her chest, his warm cheek pressing into her collarbone. She gently tapped his back, her hand moving in slow, calming rhythms.
The crying stopped completely.
Sylvia stood frozen in that new silence, her breath shallow, afraid to move too fast in case this moment shattered.
Then her knees wobbled. Reality caught up.
She walked stiffly, carefully back to the couch and sat down, her body folding around the infant like it had done it a hundred times before.
Her heart thundered. The baby’s breathing steadied.
And all she could do was stare ahead, the weight of him in her arms and a thousand unanswered questions heavy in her chest.
The baby lay curled on the same couch where Sylvia had been passed out barely an hour ago, now fast asleep like nothing in the world had ever made it cry. Its tiny fists were relaxed, one resting near its cheek, the other barely brushing the blanket she’d clumsily tucked around the baby.
Sylvia crouched near the odd-looking luggage, casting a glance back at the baby every few seconds. Her mind still raced from earlier:
Sindikato? No. Sobrang premeditated neto. You don’t just leave a child this well-prepared.
The thought of going to the police flickered through her mind, what any normal person should probably do. But something deep in her gut said no.
If she turned the baby in, he’d end up with DSWD. In the system. Alone.
Kung sino man ‘yung nag-iwan sa kanya dito, alam ‘nila address ko. Ibig sabihin, they can find me if they want to.
She needed to wait. At least for now. Someone would come. Someone had to.
Still uneasy, she took out her phone and checked local social media, scouring for missing baby reports. But none of the shared posts matched the round-faced, bald little baby on her couch.
When a motorcycle roared by outside, the baby stirred. Sylvia tapped its leg gently, instinctively.
“Sshh…” she whispered. The baby stilled again.
She turned back to the luggage and finally opened it.
Inside, everything was carefully arranged. Several sets of baby clothes. Soft, clean, obviously picked with care. Diapers. A stack of fresh blankets. A sealed container of formula and a pair of sterilized baby bottles. Everything he might need, neatly packed, thoughtfully chosen.
This baby wasn’t unwanted. This baby was loved.
Which only made the question louder: Then why leave it?
Sylvia was already taking the formula and bottles out, arranging them neatly on her low table, when her eyes caught something tucked inside a slim side pocket.
An envelope.
It stood out immediately. High-quality paper, clean edges, heavy in her hand. It looked expensive, deliberate. Like it was meant to be found.
There were no frills, just clean lettering on the front:
For Sylvia Sevilleja— Urgent & Confidential
Her chest tightened.
She looked at the sleeping baby. Then back at the envelope.
Carefully, with trembling fingers, she broke the seal.