Chapter 9: The Visit That Never Came, and the Vow That Might

Stephen always believed she’d visit.

Not because she promised.
Not because she owed him.
But because he knew her — deep down, past all the masks and silences and cultural walls.

She loved him.
Even if she didn’t always know how to show it.
Even if the world around her made it easier to retreat than to return.

He waited.
Not with desperation. But with readiness.

Each time he cleaned his room, he imagined what it would be like if she walked through the door.
He even planned what he’d say:
“You made it. I knew you would.”

But the visit never came.

There were moments when it almost happened.
She asked him once:
“When are you coming back?”
And another time, quietly:
“What if… we had a civil wedding? Just simple, for the papers.”

It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t cinematic.
But for Stephen, it was everything.

Because even that quiet whisper meant:
Somewhere inside her, the door wasn’t shut.

He started thinking seriously about it.
Not about dying — about living.

If his body gave him another year, he’d go back to the Philippines.
He’d rent a place in Cebu, near the hospital. Maybe bring a nurse.
He’d pay her to help with errands — quietly, respectfully — without expecting anything in return.

But in his heart?
He still dreamed of standing in front of her, and saying words he had never gotten to say out loud:
“Will you be my wife?”

He wasn’t naive. He knew it might not happen.
That his health could collapse too fast.
That the silence might win.
That she might never feel brave enough to step through that door again.

But he also knew something else:

Honey had once told someone — maybe without even realizing the weight of it —
“I won’t marry again.”

And when Stephen heard that, his heart paused.

Because the way she said it wasn’t bitter.
It was final.
And strangely, it felt like a vow.

Not that she’d be alone.
But that no one else would ever be him.

In quiet moments, Stephen practiced what he’d say if the time ever came.

Not a grand proposal.
No kneeling.
No jewelry store ring.

Just this:
“I don’t need forever. I just need true. And if we only have a little time left — let it be real.”

He even thought about what he’d wear.
How he’d say Shema under his breath as they stood before the judge.
How she might wear something red — not for show, but for covenant.
And how the ring she once mentioned — the one he thought was for Joe — might’ve actually been meant for him all along.

The visit never came.
But the vow? It still might.

Because with Honey, everything important was always unsaid —
until it mattered most.