His mother was asleep. No, she was unconscious. Maybe sedated. She lay in a position no sleeping person would ever choose: flat on her back, legs straight and parallel under the sheet, arms stiffly at her sides.

A clear tube fed oxygen through her nostrils, while three insulated wires from the monitoring machines snaked under her white hospital gown. Another tube connected her left arm to a dextrose bottle hung above the bed.

After a few moments, Ethan sensed someone behind him. He turned to find a woman about his age, short and flabby, with a kind round face framed by curly hair. A nurse. She stood there quietly, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

"You're family?" she asked.

"I'm her son," Ethan replied.

"They think she's going to be alright," the nurse said softly. "It seems to be a heart issue. Dr. Peralta's nearby if you want more details."

"A heart attack?" Ethan's voice tensed.

The nurse glanced at Leonila, then at the monitor, and finally at the chart in her hands. "They're still waiting for test results, but when they brought her in, we were treating her for severe chest pains. It happened at the domestic airport. Luckily, the ambulance got there in time."

Ethan exhaled slowly, relief battling the unease in his chest. "Has she told you anything about what happened? Why she was at the airport?"

"Not to me," the nurse said. "Maybe Dr. Peralta knows more, but she didn't seem up for much talking."

Ethan frowned, adjusting his glasses and running his hand through his hair. "I don't understand. She lives in Olongapo City—three hours from here. Her husband is bedridden, hooked up to a breathing machine. She never leaves his side. Then I get a call saying she was boarding a flight to Davao. She doesn't even know anyone there."

His words trailed off as memories of his mother's past came rushing in—how distant he'd become from her life over the years. When he and his brother Eldon were teenagers, Leonila had friends, though none that ever interested them. She had business contacts all over Olongapo too, especially after she opened an internet café, a project meant to help Ethan find his footing after he quit the army.

But that was years ago.

"All I know is that the ambulance brought her in from the airport," the nurse said gently. "Have you checked her clutch bag? Maybe there's something in it that could explain why she was here."

Ethan nodded and went to retrieve his mother's bag from the hospital's check-in counter. After showing his ID and signing for it, he returned to her room, holding the small, silk clutch in his hands. He sat on the sofa in the corner, the bag resting on his lap. The airline security had sealed it with tape.

For some reason, he hesitated to open it.

He stared at the bag, trying to recall if he'd ever seen his mother use it before. It was cheap-looking and didn't seem like something she'd carry, not with the lifestyle she'd had after marrying his wealthy stepfather, Ricardo Uy. Ethan thought of the sprawling four-story mansion Ricky had built for her—complete with a roof garden, a swimming pool, and even a bell tower. It was a pompous display of wealth, the kind that suited Ricky's personality: an ugly, but obscenely rich man.

After nearly an hour of staring at the bag, Ethan could no longer wait for his mother to wake up. He decided to open it. He tore the tape and began sorting through its contents, hoping to find something that would shed light on her sudden trip to Manila.

The first thing he pulled out was a thick black leather pouch bearing the PCI bank logo. It was already opened, so he peered inside and found several one-thousand-peso bills stacked into 100s, along with an ATM card. He counted the stacks— five. Five hundred thousand pesos! All in crisp, new bills.

His heart raced. Another mystery.

He placed the pouch back into the bag and pulled out a small white envelope. This one had no return address, but the stamp was military—issued by the Armed Forces of the Philippines. As he lifted it out, a photograph slipped from the envelope and fluttered to the floor.

Ethan's glasses almost fell as he stumbled to pick up the photo. It showed a young boy, dressed in pajamas, his face muddy and streaked with tears as he gazed directly into the camera.

Eric...

A shiver ran through Ethan as a sense of foreboding washed over him. He unfolded the letter inside and began to read. It was typed, dated October 15, 2014—just yesterday:

------------------

Armed Forces of the Philippines

Office of the Chief of Staff

To Mrs. Leonila Uy,

We regret to inform you that as of today, we have a confirmed report that your grandson, Enrico Labrador Gutierrez, is being held captive by the terrorist group Al-Qadah Malayah inside their command center on Pangutaran Island in Sulu.

The rebels are demanding Five Million Pesos (P5,000,000) in exchange for the safe return of your grandchild.

The AFP assures you that every effort is being made to rescue your grandson without complying with the demands of the terrorist group, in accordance with the Philippine Constitution.

Arrangements for a rescue mission are currently underway, and we will keep you informed as the situation develops.

God bless you and your family.

Sincerely,

Gen. Miguel Cortez

Chief of Staff, AFP

------------------

How the hell did this happen? Ethan's mind raced as his heart hammered in his chest. What could the Al-Qadah possibly want with Eric? What could they possibly want from our family?

He didn't know what to feel, or how to process any of this. For a moment, it seemed like a terrible nightmare, one he might shake off by mere force of will. He read the letter again as if needing the printed words to anchor the chaos in his mind. Then, slowly, he refolded it and placed it back in the bag.

There was another envelope inside—this one handwritten, with the name "Miriam" on the return address.

------------------

October 14, 2014

Dear Mom,

I'm writing to let you know that Eric was taken by four armed men on the way to school two days ago. They're believed to be soldiers of Al-Qadah Malayah, the same group that killed Eldon. I'm sorry, but I don't know any other way to say it. I'm still in Iligan City now, praying for Eric's safe return. Soldiers from the Philippine Army have visited us and promised to rescue him as soon as they can. The rebels are said to be demanding 5 million pesos. But as you know, the government doesn't allow ransom payments.

We're lost, Mom. We don't know who to turn to. We believe you're the only one who can help us. A sort of good news is that they know where Eric is.

This morning, a rebel soldier called me and gave an ultimatum—one week. They'll kill Eric if we don't pay them by the 21st. That's why I'm writing to you now. We can't wait for the army's rescue. We have no choice but to meet the terrorists' demands. Please, Mom. You're our only hope.

Miriam

------------------

One week? Ethan's mind spun. October 21—just five days away. How are we supposed to come up with five million pesos in five days?

Panic surged, but he fought to stay calm. This was no time for him to retreat into the detached indifference he often projected, the one his mother knew him for. He couldn't afford that now.

Ethan dug through the bag again and found a folded Air Philippines ticket. It was in his mother's name—Mrs. Leonila Uy—bound for Davao City. The connection was clear now. The five hundred thousand pesos, the ATM card—it was all part of his mother's desperate attempt to rescue Eric herself when her heart had failed her at the airport.

* * *

The first words Leonila Gutierrez-Uy uttered when she regained consciousness were, "They have Eric..."

"Yes," Ethan said softly, leaning closer. "I read the letters in your bag. How are you feeling?"

"How long have I been here?"

"Just since this morning. Don't try to move, Mom. You need to rest."

"I have to get him," Leonila said, struggling to sit up, but her strength failed her. Her skin was pale, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Ethan gently took her hand—it felt cold and fragile in his grasp.

"They're going to kill him if we don't pay," she whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes.

"Shhh..." Ethan soothed. "I know. I know about Eric and the deadline. Please, don't wear yourself out. You need to take it easy."

Leonila turned her head slightly, her gaze blank as if she wasn't fully present. "I called Miriam," she said, exhaling heavily. Her eyes closed, and there was a long pause. Ethan nervously glanced at the monitor screen. The lines on it moved in a steady, regular rhythm, assuring him that she was still alive. She must have fallen back asleep, he thought, relief washing over him.

But then she spoke again, her voice barely audible. "You have to go and give her the money, Ethan..."

"Okay," he said, nodding.

"And take the card too. Do whatever it takes to get my grandson back. You only have days." Leonila began to cry.

Your grandson. My nephew. The words echoed in Ethan's mind. He was surprised by his mother's trust—surprised that she believed he could actually handle this. "I'll go, Mom. Don't worry. Just please focus on getting better."

"Don't rely on the army," she murmured. "You know better than that."

Ethan took a deep breath, watching her closely. He could see that she was entrusting him with this because she had no other option. A faint sting pricked his heart.

Leonila grimaced slightly, her lips moving as if she were trying to say something else. "How... how can I not worry?" she seemed to murmur, though her voice was too weak to make out clearly. Ethan thought he might have imagined it.

"I'll get Eric back, Mom," he said under his breath as if talking to air."I swear."