I was certain it had been real. His breath against my neck, the lingering smell of sampaguita on his shirt, the faint taste of peppermint when he kissed me. I remembered how Miguel always wore that faded blue hoodie I teased him about, the one that made him look like a boy who refused to grow up. He laughed when I said it, held me tighter, whispered I love you in Tagalog, and promised we would marry soon.

But when morning came, the bed was empty.

I reached for him but felt only cold sheets. I told myself he must have gone for an early jog through the quiet streets of Quezon City. His cologne clung to the pillow, and my body still remembered his touch. Nothing about it felt like a dream.

When my calls went unanswered, I tried again and again. That afternoon, my best friend Clarissa walked in without knocking. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Isla,” she whispered, “you do not know?”

My voice cracked. “Know what?”

Her tears spilled as she spoke. “Miguel is dead. The accident on EDSA during the storm. He died two nights ago.”

The words made no sense. I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “He was here. Last night. I have his messages, his voice note. He said he was coming to me.”

Clarissa grabbed my phone. Her hands trembled as she stared at the screen. “Isla, he could not have sent these. His body was already in the morgue.”

My knees gave out. I clung to the bedpost, the world spinning around me.

That night I saw him again. Sometimes he stood at the foot of my bed. Sometimes he whispered in my ear. One night, when I broke down and begged for strength, I heard his voice clearly. “Do not be afraid. Our child is coming.”

At first I thought it was grief. But when my period never came, I grew uneasy. Once. Twice. Then came the sickness. I bought the test with trembling hands. Two bold lines appeared. Positive.

The only man I had been with was Miguel. And Miguel was gone.

I forced myself to visit a clinic in Manila. I lied about the dates, pretending he had visited me earlier. The doctor’s questions grew cautious. When she pressed the stethoscope to my belly, her expression shifted.

“There is movement,” she said, “but no heartbeat.”

During the scan the technician kept frowning, adjusting the screen again and again. Finally she whispered, “There is a fetus. But it looks… luminous.”