LENS

I am alone in my room, changing my clothes because I got dirty and sweaty from cleaning the house. I want everything to be spotless before Duke arrives home from work, since I know he’ll be tired. Duke is always traveling, delivering goods for his clients. He works for a logistics company, while I work from home.

I run an online business selling cosmetics and clothes, and at the same time, I teach English lessons to Korean students. Duke and I are engaged, and we live together in the house my parents gave me before they moved to Canada. They also left their car in my name, which makes us feel incredibly lucky. We’re starting a new life together without having to build everything from scratch.

Duke works hard to save money, and so do I, because we plan to open a restaurant-bar business. Our goal is for him to no longer have to work every day so we can have the freedom to manage our own time. No bosses, no reports, because we’ll be our own bosses. It sounds like a dream, and I’m beyond excited to achieve it all with the man I love.

I understand that Duke is often away from home, but I know he’s doing it for our future. We want to establish a stable life before having children because we want to give them the best possible future.

As I was changing out of my dirty, sweat-soaked clothes, I suddenly noticed a man standing behind me. He wore a black mask with a red, painted smile stretching across it, concealing his entire face. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was watching me.

A chill ran down my spine. My body froze, and my breath hitched as I slowly turned to face him. Even without seeing his gaze, I felt the weight of his stare, piercing and unrelenting. Every hair on my body stood on end, and my heartbeat pounded in my chest. Fear gripped me in an instant.

The man remained silent, motionless, yet he held a gun in his right hand. The sight of it sent a wave of terror through me. His eerie stillness made me want to scream, to run, but I was afraid that the slightest movement would make him pull the trigger.

I clenched my eyes shut, my hands trembling as I whispered a desperate plea. “Please… don’t shoot.” My voice barely escaped my lips, though he hadn’t even raised the gun toward me.

I know he’s just standing there, staring at me with a gun in his hand. I don’t know what he wants. He hasn’t taken anything valuable. My phone is right there on the mini table beside me, within his reach. If he wanted it, he could have grabbed it in an instant. But he doesn’t.

This isn’t a burglary. He isn’t after my belongings.

Then what does he want?

The question echoes in my mind as he continues to watch me in eerie silence. His gaze, though hidden behind that unsettling black mask with its red-painted smile, feels like it’s burrowing into me.

I can’t just stand here. I need help. Slowly, I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling as they inch toward it.

Before I can touch it, he raises his free hand and moves his index finger side to side, a silent “no.”

I freeze.

I step forward.

He steps forward, too.

I step back.

So does he.

As if he already knows my every move before I make it.

I shake my head, and in response, he does the same.

I want to cry. I want to scream. But what if I do? What if he pulls the trigger?

I swallow my fear and force myself to look at him.

And he just stands there, watching.

“No, please,” I whispered, my voice trembling. I was begging him, not knowing what he planned to do, but fearing the worst.

“No, please,” I repeated, locking eyes with him despite the terror surging through me.

He stepped closer.

Before I could react, the gun cracked against the side of my head.

A sharp, searing pain exploded through my skull as dizziness took over. My vision blurred, and warmth trickled down my face. Blood. My blood. My white shirt turned crimson, soaking in the horror of what had just happened.

I wanted to scream, but no sound escaped my lips.

I wanted to run, but my body refused to move.

Then, he grabbed my left ankle and yanked.

I collapsed onto the floor, my hip slamming against the hardwood with a sickening thud. Pain shot through my body, forcing a choked sob from my throat. My head pounded, and my blood left a trail on the floor. The first evidence of the crime unfolding.

He didn’t care that I was barely dressed. He didn’t care that I was bleeding.

All he cared about was dragging me out of the room.

I clawed at the floor, reaching for anything—anything—to hold onto, but my fingers met nothing but smooth wood slick with my own blood. I could see the front door approaching, a streak of red leading right to it.

Outside, a truck was waiting.

The back was open.

A large box sat inside.

My stomach twisted with a sick realization.

He was going to put me in there.

My heart slammed against my ribs as he lifted me, throwing me inside the cramped space like I was nothing. My body folded awkwardly, the small hole in the box barely allowing me to breathe.

Before I could scream, he pressed a strip of duct tape over my mouth, silencing me.

Then—darkness.

The box was sealed shut with packing tape.

The truck engine roared to life.

We were moving.

To where, I didn’t know.

But I knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t a robbery.

It was me he wanted.

And in that moment, I realized, I had been kidnapped.

The truck came to a stop.

Voices.

I heard the deep murmur of a man speaking outside, followed by another voice—firm, authoritative. A checkpoint.

My heart pounded with a flicker of desperate hope. This was my chance.

I tried to scream.

Nothing.

My throat tightened, but no sound escaped. The duct tape over my mouth, the weakness consuming my body. It was all working against me. I thrashed, or at least, I tried. My limbs were numb, my body drained from blood loss and fear.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t scream.

I was trapped.

I squeezed my eyes shut as frustration and terror twisted inside me. I was so close to help—so close.

Then, a door slammed shut.

Laughter.

The men outside chuckled as they finished their conversation.

The truck engine roared back to life.

We were moving again.

A sob escaped my throat, muffled beneath the tape. Tears burned down my cheeks as I gasped for air through the tiny hole in the box. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

I had missed my chance.

No one knew where I was. No one knew what had happened to me.

I was alone.

I wanted to believe Duke would come for me, that somehow he would figure out I was gone. But how? How would he know where to look?

I was lost, trapped in the back of a stranger’s truck, being taken to a place only he knew.

And I had no idea if I would ever make it back.

After what felt like an eternity, the truck finally stopped.

I heard the rusted creak of the lock being undone, followed by the groan of the truck door swinging open. Light seeped into the box as it was ripped open, and before I could process what was happening, rough hands grabbed me.

The masked man hoisted me onto his shoulder like a lifeless carcass from a butcher’s shop. My body hung limp, my mind spiraling with fear. If he was taking me somewhere instead of killing me back at my house, it could only mean one thing. He wanted me to suffer first.

I swallowed back the rising terror.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He removed his mask.

I struggled to focus, desperate to see his face, to etch it into my memory. But my vision blurred, and my head pounded, making it impossible to make out his features.

A door creaked open.

And then—he threw me.

My body slid across the filthy floor, colliding hard against a wall. A sharp, searing pain shot through my bones. I tried to move, to push myself up, but my legs trembled violently beneath me. My arms throbbed, blood dripping onto the dust-covered floor.

I winced, my breath hitching as he crouched in front of me.

A wicked smile stretched across his lips.

“Stay quiet,” he murmured, lifting his gun slightly as a chilling reminder of what he could do.

His dark eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he stood up, turned, and walked out.

The door slammed shut.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

I am Trapped. The silence that followed was deafening. My head was still bleeding. My vision swam. Every breath felt heavier than the last. I fought against the darkness creeping in, but my body betrayed me. My eyelids fluttered. Then, everything faded to black as I collapsed onto the cold, dirty floor.

I was hopeless now.

But still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I held onto one last thought—

Duke, please… find me.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, despite the cold night air. My breath came in uneven gasps as my heart pounded against my ribs.

It was just a dream.

I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, and whispered a silent “thank you” to God. But the terror still clung to me, the nightmare lingering as if it had been real.

Then—I heard it.

A noise.

Downstairs.

I froze, my pulse quickening once again. Was my mind playing tricks on me, still trapped between sleep and reality? I wiped the sweat from my forehead, forcing myself to focus.

I wasn’t dreaming anymore.

The sound came again. A faint shuffle, something moving below.

I sat still, listening, my body awake but my mind still clouded with sleep. Is it him? The man from my nightmare? Or am I still trapped in a dream?

Swallowing hard, I slowly slipped out of bed. My hands trembled as I reached for my slippers, the soft fabric of my pajamas clinging to my damp skin.

Step by step, I crept toward the door.

Then, gathering my courage, I slowly made my way downstairs.

“How was work?” I asked, my voice soft as he stepped inside.

“Not done yet. I need to go again,” he replied, his tone flat, almost distant.

Without another word, he headed upstairs to our room, his bag slung over his shoulder. I followed, my chest tightening with unspoken frustration.

“But you just got home,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He sighed, pausing for a moment before turning to me. “What should I do?” he asked, his gaze searching mine. “Tell me.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but hesitated. What could I say? I had no answer.

“We’re going to Pampanga,” he said abruptly, stuffing his belongings into his bag without sparing me a glance.

“Until when?” I asked, watching as he moved in a rush.

No response.

He was too focused on packing his briefs, toothbrush, toothpaste, perfume, razor, soap, shirts, wallet and everything he needed, all shoved hastily into his bag.

He had just come home only to leave again.

No rest. No pause. No time for me.

His urgency unsettled me. Was this really just work? Or was it something else? He hadn’t even taken a moment to breathe, let alone take a bath or relax.

I stood there, watching, unsure of what to think. Unsure of what to do.

But what could I do?

Nothing.

Except trust him.

Because I love him.

“Love,” I called softly.

He didn’t respond.

He was too busy, too caught up in packing, moving like I wasn’t even there. I watched him, my chest tightening as he rushed to leave again, straight from one job to another, barely stopping to breathe.

“Did you have dinner?” I asked, my voice quieter this time, watching him shove more things into his bag.

I wanted to grab it, to pull it away from him, to force him to stay, even just for one night. He’d been working for almost forty-eight hours, and I missed him. I missed us.

But I knew better.

I knew he would only get mad.

“Where did you eat?” I tried again, hoping for something, anything, but still, no response.

I thought about asking him to eat with me, but I already knew his answer. He would refuse. He always did.

He reached for his comb, running it through his hair as he stared at himself in the mirror. Then, without hesitation, he sprayed on his perfume, the strong scent quickly filling the room.

“How long will you stay in Pampanga?”

No answer.

“Love,” I called him again.

Silence.

I tried once more, my voice softer, more pleading. “Love.”

Still, he acted as if I weren’t even there. As if I were invisible.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Can you please stop asking?” His voice was sharp, laced with irritation. He paused, exhaling heavily, like my questions were a burden, like I was suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temple as if I had just given him a headache.

“I’m in a hurry. Ray is waiting for me.”

And just like that, he went back to packing.

I didn’t say another word. I didn’t want to make him angry.

So, I stood there, watching in silence as he finished stuffing the last of his things into his bag.

I stood there, watching him in silence, a lump forming in my throat.

I felt sorry for myself—for asking, for caring, for worrying about him when he didn’t seem to care about himself.

Duke had been working for almost forty-eight hours with no real rest, and yet, here he was, choosing to leave again. No pause. No break. Just work, work, work.

What if he got sick? What if he collapsed from exhaustion?

But what could I do?

He wouldn’t listen.

He never did.

I wanted to stop him, to beg him to stay, but the words never left my mouth. Instead, I just stood there, rooted in place, as he leaned in and kissed my forehead. A fleeting touch, a routine gesture that felt more distant than ever.

Then, without a word, without even looking back…

He walked away.

And I just watched him go.

He didn’t touch the chicken and steak I had cooked for him.

The food sat untouched on the table, growing colder by the minute.

With a quiet sigh, I wrapped everything up and placed it in the fridge. At least it wouldn’t go to waste. If he came home while I was out meeting my buyer tomorrow morning, he could just heat it in the microwave. If he even bothered to eat.

I lay back down, shutting my eyes tightly, willing myself to sleep.

But no matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come.

Frustrated, I sat up and decided to prepare the order for tomorrow instead. A red dress and a bottle of perfume, both neatly placed inside a paper bag, totaling P785.00.

Mark, my buyer, said it was for his sister. We agreed to meet at a café about thirty minutes away. It wasn’t far, and I didn’t mind the drive.

Still, I wished Duke could come with me.

I missed him.

I hoped he’d be home before I left.

As I packed the order, my mind drifted back to him. Lately, he’d felt… distant.

We shared the same bed, yet every night, he turned his back on me.

His phone was always in his hands, locked with a password he had never used before. He had never hidden calls or messages from me—until now.

He was changing.

And I knew it.

But I refused to see it.

I kept justifying it, brushing it off, telling myself he was just busy, just tired.

Because Duke was my everything. My partner, my best friend, my love. We had been together for almost fifteen years. Our families knew each other. We were childhood best friends who grew up side by side, dreaming of a future together.

And I still wanted that future.

I trusted him.

Because I loved him.

And I believed despite the distance, despite the changes. That he loved me too.

We were planning our wedding next year. We were supposed to build an empire together, to become king and queen of our own world.

That was all that mattered to me.

Even if I had to turn a blind eye.

Even if I had to pretend nothing was wrong.

Even if, deep down, I knew he was slipping away.

No matter how much I deny it, I can feel it.

Something has changed.

And no matter how hard I try to ignore it, the feeling lingers, this quiet, aching loneliness, even when he’s right beside me.

But I keep telling myself that things aren’t the same as when we were teenagers.

They’re not supposed to be.

We’re adults now. We have responsibilities, plans, and dreams of a family. A future.

He wants twins. Or, if not, a baby girl first.

That’s why he works himself to exhaustion, barely stopping to breathe.

That’s why he’s been gone for almost 48 hours straight.

Yeah… maybe he’s just tired. Maybe that’s all it is.

I want to believe that.

Even if I wish he would quit his job, I know he won’t. He’ll remind me of our goals, of the life we’re building, of why he has to keep pushing forward.

And deep down, I know the truth, he enjoys it. The work, the company, the travel. Even if he never talks about the office, even if I have no idea what his workdays actually look like…

I don’t ask.

I tell myself I don’t care.

Because I love him.

Because I trust him.

Because he would never betray me. Never.

Because we are forever.

And forever doesn’t break.

I lie down on the bed again, alone—without Duke.

After preparing the order for tomorrow’s appointment, my thoughts drift back to him.

I take a deep breath.

Tonight is cold, and without his arms around me, only the blanket offers warmth.

I miss him.

Lately, he feels so distant. Maybe he’s feeling pressured about our wedding next year. I get it. I feel the pressure, too—the excitement, the weight of it all.

I let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

I try to push away the lingering fear from my dream. It was just a dream. Nothing more. But the unease it left behind still clings to me.

To distract myself, I switch on my reading lamp and reach for a book from the bedside table. The angels & demons by Dan Brown.

Duke gave it to me last Valentine’s Day. He knows how much I love reading. It came with a heart-shaped bracelet and a teddy bear, small but thoughtful gifts that made me smile.

I run my fingers over the worn cover and start reading, letting the words pull me into another world.

I read until sleep takes over.

And as my eyes grow heavy, I hold on to one last hope that's when I wake up, he’ll be here.

Beside me.

Holding me close.

Warming me with his embrace.