The first time Camille Veluz met Mary Isla Reyes, it had been at a coffee shop, one of those small, dimly lit places where the scent of roasted beans mixed with the chatter of strangers. Camille had been buried in her law books, a habit she could never quite shake, when Isla bumped into her table, nearly knocking over her coffee.
“Shit—sorry!” Isla gasped, catching the cup just in time. Her eyes, warm and deep, locked onto Camille’s, and in that moment, something shifted.
Camille had scoffed, wiping the spill with a napkin. “Maybe look where you’re going next time.”
Isla grinned, unbothered. “Maybe don’t put your coffee so close to the edge.”
That was how it began. A series of accidental meetings that turned into intentional ones. Coffee shop encounters led to late-night walks, shared secrets, and a love that felt unstoppable.
Their wedding had been small but perfect. A beachside ceremony, waves crashing behind them as they exchanged vows. Isla had worn a simple white dress, hair loose and kissed by the wind, while Camille had opted for a tailored suit. They had been happy. Genuinely, deliriously happy.
“Sigurado ka na ba?” Camille had whispered that night as they lay in bed, fingers tracing Isla’s wrist.
“Sa ano?” Isla murmured sleepily.
“Sa akin. Sa lahat ng ‘to.”
Isla had laughed softly, pressing a kiss to Camille’s knuckles. “Ikaw lang, Camille. Ikaw lang lagi.”
IVF had been a journey filled with hope, anxiety, and endless waiting. Camille remembered holding Isla’s hand in the clinic, whispering reassurances even when doubt clawed at her own chest.
“Gagana ‘to,” Isla had said, voice unwavering.
And it did. When Isla’s pregnancy test came back positive, they had cried in each other’s arms, a mixture of joy and disbelief.
Months passed in a blur of doctor’s appointments, nursery decorations, and whispered conversations in the middle of the night.
“Magiging mabuti ba tayong mga magulang?” Camille had asked once, staring at Isla’s growing belly.
“Of course,” Isla had said, no hesitation in her voice. “Basta magkasama tayo.”
But love wasn’t always enough.
Camille’s obsession with her career grew, the need to provide—to prove herself—consuming her. Late nights at the firm turned into missed doctor’s appointments. Court cases took precedence over baby shopping. Financial stress loomed over them, thick and unrelenting.
“Hindi ko na kaya, Camille,” Isla had whispered one night, sitting across from her at the dining table. “Parang… parang mag-isa kong ginagawa ‘to.”
Camille sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m doing this for us, for our baby.”
“Pero kailan ka magiging nandito para sa amin?”
Silence.
It was the beginning of the end. Arguments turned into cold silences. The distance between them became insurmountable. By the time their daughter was born, the cracks in their marriage had turned into irreparable fractures.
The divorce had been ugly. Custody battles, mediation meetings filled with resentment, words they could never take back. Camille fought for shared custody, but Isla, exhausted and heartbroken, had won primary guardianship.
“Hindi kita hahadlangan,” Isla had said one day as they finalized the papers. “Pero hindi ko na kayang hintayin kang piliin kami.”
Camille had watched her walk away, their daughter sleeping soundly in her arms, and for the first time in her life, she had no words.
Over time, they lost touch. Isla focused on raising their child, while Camille buried herself in work, in cases that filled the void but never truly replaced what she had lost.
Until now. Until she stood in that courtroom, defending a man accused of the unthinkable, only to see Isla’s face in the gallery, tears in her eyes.
And in that moment, Camille knew.
Fate had never truly let them go.
———
Camille Veluz sat in her dimly lit office, fingers drumming against the mahogany desk. Bills stacked neatly on one side, unopened and demanding attention. The weight of her financial troubles pressed against her temples, a dull ache that never quite disappeared.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“Come in,” she called, voice sharper than intended.
A tall, suited man entered, his presence commanding. “Attorney Veluz,” he greeted, taking a seat without invitation. “I have a case for you. High profile. Well-compensated.”
Camille exhaled, leaning back. “I don’t take just any case.”
The man smirked. “You’ll want to take this one. Victor Salazar. Accused of murdering a child.”
Silence stretched between them. Camille’s stomach twisted. Murdering a child? That wasn’t just another defense case. It was the kind that left permanent stains on the soul.
“I’m not interested,” she said firmly, already standing. “You can find another lawyer.”
The man didn’t budge. Instead, he slid a piece of paper across her desk. A figure written in bold ink.
Camille’s breath hitched.
That amount could clear her debts. Give her some breathing room.
She clenched her fists. “Why me?”
“Because you need this. And because you’re damn good.”
She took the case.
_______
The courtroom felt colder than usual.
Camille adjusted her suit, steeling herself as she stepped inside. The judge, the jury, the eyes of the public—she could handle them. But the moment she spotted the gallery, her breath caught in her throat.
Mary Isla Reyes.
Tears welled in Isla’s eyes, lips trembling as she stared at Camille in disbelief.
Camille’s breath caught. Isla was here.
Memories flooded her mind—Isla laughing as she held their newborn, Isla asleep on the couch after a long night of feeding, Isla whispering ‘I love you’ before everything fell apart.
And then—Camille saw the grief in Isla’s expression, the unbearable sorrow etched into her face.
———
The courtroom buzzed with hushed whispers and shifting bodies, the air thick with tension. The accused, Victor Salazar, sat at the defense table, his expression impassive. Across from him, the prosecution prepared their opening statements, their presence formidable. But none of this registered to Isla Reyes.
She sat stiffly in the gallery, her hands clenched together in her lap, fingernails pressing into her palms. Her grief was a storm, raging just beneath the surface, barely held back by the walls of the courtroom. The woman standing by the defense table—her ex-wife—had no idea she was there.
Camille Veluz adjusted her suit, her face as unreadable as ever, the practiced composure of a lawyer who had long since learned how to keep emotions at bay. She stood, buttoning her blazer, and stepped toward the jury.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Camille began, her voice steady and practiced, "the burden of proof lies with the prosecution. My client, Mr. Victor Salazar, is innocent until proven guilty. The law does not demand your emotions; it demands your judgment."
Isla swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat as she listened to the woman she once loved defend the man who had taken everything from her.
She wanted to scream.
Her mind drifted to memories of another time—a time when Camille stood beside her, a time when they had fought for something together, rather than against each other.
“Isa lang ang gusto ko, Camille,” Isla murmured as they lay together in bed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Camille’s arm.
Camille hummed, pressing a kiss to Isla’s forehead. “What is it?”
“A baby,” Isla whispered. “Gusto kong magkaroon tayo ng pamilya.”
Camille stiffened, the weight of their responsibilities pressing down on her. "Isla, our careers—our financial situation—"
“Hindi ako takot sa hirap, Camille. Basta kasama kita.”
Camille sighed, pulling Isla closer. “Then we’ll do it. We’ll make it happen. Kahit anong mangyari.”
But promises made in whispered moments often shatter under the weight of reality.
Isla’s fingers trembled as she gripped the wooden armrest of the bench. The woman who had once sworn to do anything for their child was now standing before her, defending the man who had stolen their daughter’s life.
And Camille—
She had no idea.
Camille had felt an unease settle over her since the moment she stepped into the courtroom. There was something in the air, something that sent a shiver down her spine. But she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not now. She pressed forward, delivering her argument with precision.
Yet, as she turned slightly, scanning the room out of habit, her breath hitched for just a second.
There was someone watching her.
Eyes heavy with sorrow. Eyes she hadn’t seen in years.
But she ignored the feeling, brushing it off as courtroom tension.
The storm had yet to break.
_____
The courtroom emptied for recess, but the heavy air lingered like an unspoken accusation. Camille sighed, rolling her shoulders as she packed up her notes. It had been a long morning. The prosecution was aggressive, but she held her ground.
This was nothing new.
She started toward the hallway when hushed voices caught her attention. A group of journalists whispered among themselves, their murmurs carrying fragments of a conversation that sent an icy chill down her spine.
“The mother—she’s here. Watching everything. Imagine the pain...”
“Yeah. They said she’s been silent since her daughter’s murder. I can’t believe she’s sitting through this.”
Camille slowed her steps, her breath catching.
Mother? Daughter?
A sensation like ice water trickled down her spine. She turned slightly, catching sight of the woman who had been sitting in the gallery, quiet, motionless.
Then the realization struck her like a violent storm.
The victim… the child...
Her child.
The courtroom walls seemed to close in around her, her vision tunneling as she struggled to breathe. She turned fully now, eyes locking onto the woman in the gallery.
Isla.
Tears shimmered in Isla’s eyes, her face pale, devastated. The moment stretched into eternity.
A rush of memories assaulted Camille, crashing over her like relentless waves. Isla's laughter, warm and full, filled her mind—the way she had cradled her growing belly, how her hands had trembled the first time they felt the baby kick.
“Cam, our baby—she moved!” Isla had gasped, eyes wide with wonder as she grabbed Camille’s hand and pressed it against her stomach.
Camille had stilled, her usual confidence replaced by something raw and unguarded. Then, she felt it—the tiniest flutter beneath her palm.
“She’s strong,” Camille had murmured, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. She bent down, pressing a kiss to Isla’s belly.
“You hear that, baby girl? Mommy’s going to make sure you have the best life. I promise.”
Isla had cupped Camille’s face then, her voice thick with emotion. “Tayo lang ang kailangan niya, Camille. Ikaw at ako. We’ll be enough for her.”
Camille staggered, the weight of that long-buried promise suffocating her. She had sworn to give their daughter the best life—and now, she was standing in defense of the man who had stolen it.
Her legs felt unsteady, her grip tightening on the table before her as nausea coiled in her stomach. She looked back at Isla, whose gaze was no longer just grief-stricken but filled with a seething betrayal.
Then, for the first time in her career, Camille Veluz did not know what to do.
The storm had finally broken.
Camille barely made it to the restroom before her knees buckled. She braced herself against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror—except she barely recognized the woman looking back at her.
Her usually sharp, composed gaze was gone, replaced with wide, panicked eyes and the unmistakable tremor of someone unraveling.
Her child.
She was defending the man who killed her child.
A strangled sound escaped her throat, part sob, part disbelieving laugh. She turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto her face, willing herself to snap out of it, to regain control. But how could she? How could she step back into that courtroom and speak for that monster, knowing the life he had stolen?
Her mind reeled back to Isla’s face. The betrayal in her eyes. The silent accusation. The agony she had carried alone all this time. Camille clutched the sink as another wave of nausea hit her.
She needed to get out. She needed to fix this.
With unsteady hands, Camille grabbed her phone and dialed her assistant. The call barely rang before the other end picked up.
“Cancel the rest of today’s session. File a motion—I need to withdraw from this case.”
Her assistant hesitated. “Camille… are you sure? That’s not—”
“I don’t care what it takes. Just do it,”
Camille snapped, ending the call before she could be talked out of it. She sucked in a breath and steadied herself before stepping out into the hallway.
Then she saw her.
Isla was waiting just outside the courtroom doors, arms crossed, her entire body radiating barely contained fury. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, locked onto Camille’s with devastating force.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their shared history, their grief, their broken promises all hung in the charged silence between them.
Then Isla took a step forward. “How could you?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it struck Camille harder than any scream ever could.
Camille swallowed hard. “Isla, I—I didn’t know.”
A bitter laugh escaped Isla’s lips. “You didn’t know? You’re defending the man who murdered our daughter, Camille. You’re standing next to him, speaking for him, fighting for him. And you expect me to believe you didn’t know?”
Camille flinched. “I swear, if I had—”
“Would it have made a difference?” Isla cut her off, stepping closer now. “Would you have turned it down if you knew? Or would you have still put your career first, like you always did?”
The accusation stung, because once upon a time, Camille had done exactly that. When their marriage was crumbling, she had chosen work over Isla. She had chosen success over family. And now, she was standing in front of the woman she once called her wife, defending the man who had shattered what little remained of the life they built.
“Camille…” Isla whispered one night as they lay in bed, her head resting on Camille’s shoulder. “Do you think we’ll be good parents?”
Camille pressed a kiss to Isla’s forehead.
“Of course we will. I’ll work harder, make sure our baby has everything. You won’t have to worry about anything, mahal.”
Isla sighed, playing with Camille’s fingers. “I don’t need everything, Camille. I just need you. And I need you to be present, not just providing.”
“I will be,” Camille had promised, holding Isla tighter. “For you. For our child.”
But that promise had shattered, just like everything else.
Isla’s voice trembled as she spoke again. “You said you’d do anything for our child. But here you are, Camille. Standing next to the man who took her from me. From us.”
Tears burned Camille’s eyes. “I swear, I’ll fix this.”
“You can’t fix this,” Isla whispered, shaking her head. “Not this time.”
Before Camille could say another word, Isla turned and walked away, leaving Camille standing in the empty hallway, drowning in the wreckage of her own choices.
For the first time in her life, Camille Veluz felt truly, irreparably lost.
———
The courtroom was suffocatingly silent as the jury filed back in, each member carrying the weight of their decision in their expressions. Camille sat rigid in her seat, her fingers curled tightly around the edges of the defense table. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears.
The judge’s voice barely registered. The only thing that mattered now was the verdict.
She chanced a glance at Isla, seated in the gallery, her hands clenched together so tightly they were turning white. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes—those eyes that once looked at Camille with so much love—now held nothing but quiet devastation. Camille had spent years mastering the art of detachment, but nothing in her career, in her entire life, had prepared her for this moment.
She had already lost Isla. She had lost their child. And now, with this verdict, she would lose whatever fragile piece of herself remained.
The foreperson stood, clearing their throat. "In the case of The People vs. Victor Salazar, we, the jury, find the defendant..."
Time slowed. Camille squeezed her eyes shut. The words echoed through the room, but her mind refused to process them. It didn’t matter. No outcome could undo the damage that had been done.
There was a sharp inhale from Isla, barely audible, but Camille felt it like a knife to the gut. The grief, the pain, the sheer injustice of it all—nothing could mend what had been broken.
The gavel struck. The judge dismissed the court. A flurry of movement erupted around her, reporters whispering, lawyers murmuring, people rising from their seats. Camille sat motionless, numb, her heart a hollow cavern in her chest.
Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, she turned toward Isla.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, Camille saw everything—every lost dream, every shattered promise, every ounce of love that had turned to agony.
Isla’s lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she stood, her shoulders squared, and walked out of the courtroom without looking back.
Camille remained seated, her hands now trembling as she exhaled a shuddering breath. The weight of her actions, of everything that had led her here, pressed down on her like a collapsing ceiling.
She barely noticed when her assistant approached, whispering something about reporters waiting outside. None of it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.
Hours later, Camille found herself outside the courthouse, her resignation letter gripped tightly in her hand. The law had been her purpose, her entire identity—but now, it was nothing more than a cruel reminder of what she had lost.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, before walking inside to submit the letter. There was no going back now.
Elsewhere, Isla stood before a small gravestone, tracing the name with trembling fingers.
In loving memory of heaven’s new angel…
Camilla Marshel R. Veluz
February 14, 2020- January 1, 2025
You will be in Mommy and Momma’s heart, forever and always.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she whispered, "She used to love you, Camille. But I don’t think she ever will again."
The wind carried her words away, leaving only silence in their wake.