Over the Dotted Line

Five months and it will be over. Twenty-one weeks. Only one hundred fifty-two days and it will be over. I can do this!

I look at the paper that chained me for the past four and a half years. Yes, I can’t be wrong. It clearly states that we’d get an annulment after five years. How hard can another five months be when the only time I saw my husband was at the courthouse on our wedding day?

He fled the room as soon as he signed over the dotted line. We did not even kiss. Thank goodness—I did not want my first kiss to be so unromantic.

Yes, ours is a marriage of convenience. I don’t know what his deal is, but for me, it’s saving my mother’s life. Cliché, right? I know. I’ve read more than a dozen novels with this plot. Girl agrees to an arranged marriage to save her family. I, too, find the situation surreal. But what can I do? Story of my life.

I grew up well-off. We lived in an exclusive gated community in the city. My dad owned a thriving motorcycle shop, among other ventures. My mom, although a simple homemaker, was conscientious about handling finances. But all these changed in a blink of an eye.

I got kidnapped, and the ransom was for my dad to hand over his businesses and properties to his adoptive brother.

Another cliché—his adoptive brother was behind the kidnapping.

Dad did not have to think twice. The choice was plain as day. He picked me and gave in to their demands.

Not only did our life downgrade after that, but my dad’s health suffered. His brother’s betrayal depressed him and weakened his body. The money my mother saved financed my father’s hospitalization.

But money could only do so much. It could pay for hospitalization, doctor’s fees, and medical expenses, but it could not bring back a person’s will to live. After years of going back and forth in the hospital, Dad succumbed to his illness.

After Dad’s death, our simple life further downgraded. We could no longer afford to rent an apartment in the decent part of the city and had to move to a shanty in the ghetto. I also missed my chance to get into college.

Against my mother’s advice, I worked in the factory as soon as I finished high school. Our life was tough, but Mom and I were content.

The little income I got from the factory and the money she received from doing our neighbor’s laundry put food on our table. It wasn’t the life I dreamed of, but it was okay.

Didn’t I say my mom was smart about money? I didn’t know she had been saving money for my college tuition. I was beyond happy when she gave it to me and asked me to enroll in the nearby state college. Finally, a chance to better myself and help us get out of this rut.

Then again, life has its own way of screwing us when we think things are swimming.

One day, after a long day’s work at the factory, the sight of my unconscious mother on our kitchen floor welcomed me.

Stroke. It was not fatal, but it paralyzed her left arm and leg. I used my college fund to pay for the hospital bills.

Perhaps it was because I could not always afford her medicines, but she did not fully recover. Again, I found her passed out on the floor, but this time was not as forgiving as the first. She needed heart surgery to remove the plaque buildup in her coronary artery.

Hearing ‘heart surgery’ alone brought me nightmares. Where in the world would I get the money to finance that? I am neck-deep in debt and could hardly afford three meals a day. I’d probably have to work until I was ancient to pay off the principal of those and please don’t get me started on interest.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. I begged the only relative I knew— my uncle. Yes, the same one who was behind my kidnapping.

The bastard asked me to kneel in front of him and kiss his feet. I mustered all the patience I had, swallowed my pride, and did what he asked. If it was the only way my mom could get her heart surgery, then so be it. To hell with pride.

All that was for naught. Not only did he give me the cold shoulder, but he said my whore of a mother deserved to die.

Mom used to work in a nightclub. It was where she met Dad. Theirs is a story of a rich heir marrying a poor girl. Everyone was against her, but my father stood by her. They prospered through the years, proving everyone wrong.

My mother’s imminent operation loomed in my mind ever since her doctors talked to me. The gears in my head worked non-stop to find a solution for my predicament. I was in such a state when I saw an old woman crossing the street one night. I’d just come from the hospital and was walking towards the bus stop to go home. She took her time walking and did not care about the world. It was almost midnight, and there were hardly any vehicles. At this hour, drivers drove like they owned the road. True enough, from a distance, I saw a truck approaching, and from the rate the old woman was walking, she was bound for a bloody accident.

My feet moved on their own and sprinted towards the old woman. My arms hugged her as I pulled her to my side of the road.

Her eyes were round as she looked at me as if to ask what I was doing. But then the gust of wind from the passing truck answered her question. Her face turned pale when the realization hit her.

Her shaking hands hugged me and thanked me for a good couple of minutes.

“Grandma, why are you out this late? Where are you trying to go?” I asked as I tidied her blouse, which I wrinkled when I held her. From the material of her clothes, I knew she was well off.

“I was looking for a restaurant, but they’re all closed,” she explained. Her eyes looked around us as if trying to know where she was.

“Oh, shops in this area close early. Only convenience stores are open at this hour. Would you like me to walk you to the closest one?” Grandma’s eyes scanned every feature on my face. It felt like she was counting every blackhead on my nose or wrinkle on my forehead. I never felt so uncomfortable in my life.

But I couldn’t blame her. Although I’d saved her life, it was natural to be wary of strangers. Especially for an obviously wealthy old woman like her, she was an easy prey for thugs. I may not have looked like a thug, but I knew my scruffy appearance did not scream ‘trust me’ either.

“Okay,” she smiled at me, and her soft hand clutched onto my arm. We talked as we took a leisurely walk towards the closest convenience store. The five-minute walk took longer than it should not only because of the grandma’s pace but because of all the stops we did. She was animated when telling stories and would sometimes stop walking to gesture with her arms.

She was a widow with a son who was a lawyer. She also had a grandchild whom she said was close to my age.

“Grandma, it would be safer if you waited for your grandson inside the store,” I said as I prepared to leave the store.

“Thank you again, dear. By the way, I forgot to ask for your name.”

“It’s Corrine. Corrine Enriquez.”

“Nice meeting you, Corrine. I’m Carmella Hidalgo.”

The following days had been the same. I worked my ass off doing overtimes at the factory then would visit Mom after I got my four-hour sleep. After staying with her for a couple of hours, I’d go back to work. Work-home-hospital. Repeat.

“Corrine,” my mother called weakly, her voice almost inaudible. She no longer sounded like the boisterous woman I knew. I’d die if only to hear her laugh again.

“Ma, I’m here,” I said through the surgical mask I wore. My hand squeezed hers.

“Bring me home, dear. I am well now.”

“Ma, the doctor said you needed surgery.”

“We don’t have money for that, Hun. Besides, I feel better now.” She tried to smile at me, but her stroke paralyzed one side of her mouth. Half of her mouth stretched upward while the other half remained partly closed, making her smile lopsided. I felt my tears gather at the rim of my eyes, so I had to close them to keep my tears from falling. Mama hated seeing me cry.

“Ma, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll find a way. I got this.” My hand patted hers. She looked at me. Her eyes looked into mine as if reading my mind. After a while, she nodded and closed her eyes to sleep.

I had not yet taken ten steps away from my mother’s ward when a group of nurses rushed to her room. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my entire body getting cold. I turned around to check where the nurses were going and felt my soul leave my body when I confirmed they were going into my mom’s ward.

I was outside my mother’s ward in seconds. My heart pumped in my throat as every hair on my body stood on its end as I watched a flurry of nurses gather in the room.

Nurses and attendants pushed my mother’s hospital bed from the ward to the operating room. One nurse almost straddled her as he pumped her chest.

“Ma!” I said, crying as I followed them down the corridor.

My tears were non-stop as I paced the hallway of the operating room. I prayed using the rosary for the umpteenth time. The prayer beads had already lost their color from the many times I used it. I was not sure if these beads worked, but praying kept me sane.

Praying saved me when I felt I lost and weak. It not only calmed me but knowing that somebody eternal is with me in my battle gave me strength. But tenacity alone is not enough. I wanted results. Fast.

“Corrine?” The calm voice of a woman cut through my thoughts. My tear-filled eyes looked at the voice’s owner.

“Mrs. Hidalgo?” I hiccupped and wiped my tears with the back of my hand.

“Why are you here, dear?” she asked as held my hand, squeezing it tight. Her tender eyes scanned my face, and her smile reflected her kindness.

“My mother’s in the operating room, ma’am,” I said between sobs and almost choking from my tears.

“Hmm” is all she said. With no words between us, we sat on the bench, waiting for news about my mother’s condition. She held my hand and from time to time patted it with her soft wrinkled hand.

I had no memories of my grandparents. My mother was an orphan, and my paternal grandparents died even before I was born. They said they died because of the pain and disappointment they felt when Dad married Mom.

The operating room opened, and Mom’s doctor came out from it looking haggard. I approached him as soon as he got out of the room.

“Doctor, how’s my mom?”

“We need that heart surgery, Ms. Enriquez. Your mother has a better chance at survival the sooner we get it done.”

“Then let’s do it. Let’s do whatever it takes to save your mother’s life, Corrine.” I looked at Mrs. Hidalgo. I had forgotten that she stood beside me or that she was holding my hand. It was easier said than done, I wanted to tell her but bit my tongue.

“Transfer the patient to St. Mark. They have better facilities there,” she ordered. Mrs. Hidalgo spoke with so much authority as if she were a relative of the patient. The doctor only nodded his head.

“Mrs. Hidalgo, St. Mark is a top tier private hospital, I can’t…”

She held out her hand to stop me from talking and looked at the doctor. “Get everything ready for the transfer. Let’s give her the surgery as soon as possible.”

The doctor left us after nodding at Mrs. Hidalgo.

“Ma’am…”

“Let’s get things done first, Corrine. As the doctor said, your mother’s life is on the line. Hurry, fetch her things, and I will meet you in the lobby.”

I did as instructed and gathered my mother’s things. To my confusion, none of the nurses or the guards stopped me when they saw me going out of the ward with my mother’s stuff. No one stopped me either when I boarded Mrs. Hidalgo’s car and left the hospital.

“Don’t think about it, Corrine. Your bills are settled.”

“Ma’am?” I asked, staring at her like grew another head.

She only smiled at me and patted my hand.

Like Mrs. Hidalgo said, my mother had her heart operation as soon as St. Mark’s top specialists cleared her. I waited for her in the private room Mrs. Hidalgo got for us.

The old lady was a godsend. She was the answer to the many prayers I’d uttered. Like a miracle, the heavens sent her my way.

A week after my mother’s operation, Mrs. Hidalgo visited us. My mom thanked her endlessly, and the older woman only answered her with a smile.

“Have you had lunch, Corrine?” Mrs. Hidalgo asked me when my mom fell asleep.

“Are you hungry, ma’am? Do you want me to get you food from downstairs?”

“Joining me for lunch would be better,” she said, smiling.

I smiled back and went to the nurse’s station to let them know that I was going out. I left them my contact number in case they needed me.

It was naïve of me to think a woman like Mrs. Hidalgo would eat at a hospital cafeteria. Of course, she only ate at fine dining restaurants.

We ate in silence. For her age, Mrs. Hidalgo still ate with gusto.

“Corrine,” she said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I hope you do not hate me for asking you this.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Hidalgo. After what you did for Mom…”

She smiled, then gestured to her assistant who brought over her purse. She rummaged through her Hermes, took out a folder, and pushed it to me.

My eyes switched from the older woman to the folder in front of me. With shaky fingers, I opened the folder and read through its contents.

I only finished high school and did not know about legal gobbledygook, but I was not a complete ignoramus either.

The document in my hands was an agreement. It stated that she wanted me to marry her grandson. We were to stay married for five years, and at the end of the five years, we could get an annulment if we so wished.

As her grandson’s wife, I would receive a monthly allowance deposited to my bank account. My mind automatically did the math. With that allowance, I could get my mom a caregiver, and it could also cover her medical expenses.

It also mentioned that in those five years, I must stay as a faithful wife to his grandson; otherwise, I would pay for the price of my mother’s hospitalization and for the ‘reputational damages’ to their family. The amount had so many zeros, I did not bother counting. I knew I could not afford it.

My eyes locked on the older woman’s gaze. Quid pro quo. It was clear as day.

My father ransomed his riches to save me; now, I was giving away five years of my life to save my mother. My hand shook as I took the pen beside the folder.

Mrs. Hidalgo’s hand stopped me. “Hija, did you understand the document?” Her eyes searched mine, and I met them with all the courage I had left. I nodded. My head felt heavy with each nod I made.

“Let my secretary explain each clause to you,” she said.

“There’s no need for that, Madame,” I said and uncapped the pen I held in my hand. Each stroke the pen made against the paper felt like chains tightening around me. I couldn’t help but sigh when I dotted my i’s and put the covered fountain pen on the table. It was the heaviest pen my hand ever lifted.

“Thank you, Hija. My lawyer will get in touch with you soon.”

I nodded at the older woman, feeling the weight of my death sentence. No matter how underhanded the situation may seem, I did not feel hate or anger towards Mrs. Hidalgo. She saved my mother, and that was all that mattered.

A week after my mother’s discharge from the hospital, Mrs. Hidalgo’s lawyer sought me out. He first brought me to a condo where I got styled and dressed up.

I wore a simple beige summer dress that exposed a little of my shoulders and showed my collarbone. A hairdresser fixed my hair in a neat low ponytail with soft curled ends while a makeup artist applied light makeup on me. When everyone was happy with my appearance, the lawyer appeared again. We drove me to what looked like the courthouse.

I took a deep breath as I followed the lawyer out of the car. This must be how death row inmates felt as they walked towards their death. For every step I made, flashes of my mother’s face appeared before me. The sound of her hearty laughter rang in my ears. They somehow made each step bearable.

When the lawyer opened the heavy wooden door, I saw Mrs. Hidalgo, an older man in his late forties or early fifties, and a tall man with a scowl on his face. At the center of the room was a middle-aged, potbellied man.

“Everyone’s here; let’s get started.” Mrs. Hidalgo said, clapping her hands together. She was the only one who looked excited in the room. The rest of the men either looked somber or had disdain written on their faces.

I bowed my head as I followed the lawyer forward. I stood beside the scowling man whom Mrs. Enriquez addressed as her grandson. So, this was he, my husband, for five years? He looked my age or a couple of years older. Tall and broad-shouldered with black hair that almost touched his shoulders. His eyes looked like a hawk’s, and they stared at me like I was his prey. Except for the long hair, he looked like the younger version of the man beside him.

The ceremony started and ended in a jiffy. We both signed our name over the dotted line.

“You may now kiss your wife,” the judge said, his voice sounding jolly. I would have loved his personality had we met in under different circumstances.

“That’s unnecessary,” spat out the man beside me. He said it like I had halitosis. Fine with me, I didn’t want to kiss him either. In fact, I’d like to thank him for ensuring my first kiss wasn’t in this unromantic setting. “Are we done here? Can I go now?”

When Mrs. Hidalgo and his father said nothing, he stormed out of the room and made sure he banged the door on his way out.

That was the first and last time I saw Julio Andres Hidalgo, my husband. Served me right too because I lived my life in peace all these years.

Ever since I scrawled my signature on our marriage contract, I have not seen nor heard from the Hidalgos. Their silence is a gift I never knew I needed. My life returned to how it was before my mom’s surgery. I used the monthly allowance the Hidalgos deposit into my bank account to pay for my mother’s medication and for her care giver.

My life would have been perfect had my mother lived longer. She died in her sleep a year after she had her surgery. Her death shook me. She’s the only one I had and gave me a sense of direction and meaning. Without her, I’m like a sailor, lost at sea without a compass, on a starless night.

I’ve always been a fighter. Life was my contender. Some days I won, other days, I lost, but I kept on punching and blocking. Rock bottom taught me to keep on fighting despite feeling that all is lost.

For a while, I lived without a sense of meaning and direction. I existed but not lived. In my period of grief, I’ve let myself to fully take in my new reality. I am alone. I have no one. The only family I have is gone.

When I’ve finally come to terms with my mother’s passing, I pursued my education and took a degree in advertising.

After my marriage with Julio Andres Hidalgo, money shouldn’t be an issue anymore. The monthly allowance I received from the Hidalgos could let me live a worry-free life as a student, but idle moments were the worst for me.

My thoughts wandered to a dark place whenever my mind is unoccupied. To keep me occupied, I kept a part-time job in the school library and on Saturdays, I sang at my friend, Bryce’s restobar.

My jobs kept me sane. They made my mind busy and diverted my attention from my misery.

The focus and dedication I gave on my studies allowed me to fast track my degree, finishing it for two years instead of four. This made up for the time that I lost when we did not have money for my education.

The company I interned offered me a job at the end of the internship which I have accepted. I worked as a graphics artist in their marketing department.

Tyler, my boss, is a dream. He’s emphatic and has a sense of humor. He knew the right words to say at the right time and had a personality that put everyone at ease. Add to that his good looks and natural charm, he’s definitely every woman’s dream.

My mind is engraved with the words of my agreement. I must stay as a faithful wife to my husband while we are married. Otherwise, I must pay they a heft amount for “reputational damages”. But the heart is such a stubborn organ, even the brain could not dictate for whom it should beat for.

My simple crush or admiration for Tyler became infatuation then unrequited love. I have cherished each moment he had to discuss a project with me, or he had to mentor me. His gentle voice echoed in my mind even when I sleep.

Only my office friend Marla and Bryce knew about what I feel for Tyler. I told Bryce about it in one of my drunken moments. While Marla picked it up from my actions.

As far as I know, it’s harmless. I knew my place and never misbehaved. I kept it professional around him, apart from the clandestine glances during meetings. Loving him in secret wouldn’t be breaking the agreement, would it?

“You were ogling Prince Charming again,” Marla whispered in my ear while we were in a meeting and Tyler was discussing something.

Of course, I wasn’t listening. And yes, I was ogling him.

Only during meetings could I openly look at him. I elbowed Marla and looked down at my empty notebook and pretended to scrawl some notes.

“I’d like you to hear it from me first before you do in the grapevine. Yes, Summit Media bought our company,” said Tyler in his deep and clear voice. None of us reacted. The silence of the room was so sharp it could slit somebody’s throat.

“But we are assured that in the period of transition, all of us will keep our jobs. So long as we perform and deliver, Summit Media will keep us.”

A part of me worried about my job security. Mergers and acquisitions would often mean somebody’s job could get cut. Although I am on my own, and would suffer less impact from a job loss, this job provided me with a sense of family.

We left that room feeling dejected. Our silence continued until we reached our workstations.

The general ambiance in our department is sluggish at best. Tyler didn’t call us out when we worked slower than usual. We liked that about him. He knew when to crack the whip and when not to. Today is not the day for whipping.

I think most of us, if not, all of us searched about Summit Media to get an idea who our new owners were. But their corporate site offered no information about its leaders.

Just as I was about to end my day, my phone rang and displayed a number I have not seen in a long time. The Hidalgo’s lawyer called and asked me to meet with him. Mrs. Hidalgo wanted to discuss something with me.

At exactly five thirty in the afternoon, a black sedan stopped in front of our company and asked me to get in. I did as I was told and sat there in silence not knowing where the driver would take me.

We entered a sprawling property outside the city. Towering trees lined the periphery, shading it from the outside. The private driveway led us to a Spanish-style mansion with white walls and terracotta roofs. The red perfectly contrasted the white. On one of its arches climbed a bougainvillea plant in full bloom.

When the car stopped in front of the house, the lawyer and I got out of the car. Like the first time I met him, each step I took felt like a walk to death row. I wondered why I was summoned this time. Did they find out about my unrequited love for Tyler and would ask me to cough out the money stated in the contact? I hope not. I don’t have that amount of money.

The lawyer knocked on the gigantic hardwood door and in seconds it opened from the inside. The interior of the mansion looked opulent as its facade. There were antiques everywhere and trinkets from all over the world littered the place. One side of the wall opened to a garden and a pool. Every corner of the place, as they say is instagrammable.

“Hija,” called Mrs. Hidalgo. She did not look like she aged at all. It’s as if time has frozen. Mrs. Hidalgo looked exactly as she did almost five years ago.

“Madam, good evening.”

“It’s grandma, hija,” she corrected me, smiling. For the life of me, I could not call this regal woman, grandma. So, I just smiled at her. “Attorney Cruz let’s have dinner first. Everyone is at the dinner table.”

Mrs. Hidalgo walked in front of us and guided us to the dinner table. A long dining table is in the middle of the room. On it is a spread of food, enough to feed a battalion. Seated around the table are Mrs. Hidalgo’s son, Andres Hidalgo, and her grandson, Julio Andres, my husband. Like our first meeting, he looked at me like I have a contagious disease. He did not bother to hide his grimace.

I was about to sit in the farthest seat possible, but Mrs. Hidalgo gestured to me to sit beside my dark-faced husband. My chivalrous husband did not bother to stand and help me with my chair. Not that I need it. I just thought that it’s common manners expected from people from the one percent.

“Hija, I know it’s almost two years too late, but congratulations on your graduation. Magna cum Laude at that.” She raised her glass at me.

“Thank you, Madame.” Her brow arched at my address but said nothing. She brought her wineglass to her mouth and took a sip. I did the same.

“What did you take up, hija?” asked the usually quiet Andres Hidalgo. His eyes darted at me as his hands sliced his buttery steak.

“Advertising, sir.”

He nodded his head as he chewed his food. “Are you employed?”

“Yes sir. The company I interned offered me a job when my internship ended.”

“Good, good.” He nodded while he chewed on his food.

“Can we fast track the annulment?” The man beside me said. I could feel all their eyes were on me, but my face showed nothing. His statement did not affect me at all. Like him, I wanted freedom.

“What’s your take, hija?” asked Mrs. Hidalgo. Her eyes pinned me on my seat.

“I have no objections, madam.” I answered, then I heard a scoff come from the man beside me.

“Of course, you have no objections, you came in here empty-handed yet you’re leaving a multi-millionaire,” he said sneering. I felt my cheeks burn from his words. Of course, I knew he thought I’m a gold digger. Who wouldn’t? Who would marry a person she has not seen at all?