Amber Gatmaitan lay in darkness, her eyes open though the clock insisted it was long past midnight. The hum of the city was faint beyond her window, softened by the curtains she had pulled tight, but inside her apartment silence pressed in like a weight. She had stripped herself of her courtroom clothes, changed into a shirt and cotton shorts, but nothing about her body felt lighter. The words she had given on the stand remained etched into her like carvings on stone, impossible to erase.
She turned onto her side, hugging the pillow to her chest, trying to squeeze her breath steady. It was useless. Memory replayed with relentless force.
The gavel’s echo. The prosecutor’s sharp questions. Her own voice trembling then regaining composure. And above it all, his face. Harry Bolaños seated at the defense table, the accused, the man whose life now balanced on scales of evidence. His gaze had met hers, quiet and unbroken, a gaze so magnetic that she had felt it burn through the professional facade she wore. She hated herself for remembering it now, for wondering what truth might live behind it.
She shut her eyes tighter. Sleep would not come.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She flinched, grabbed it, and found a message from Ernie Cabello.
Still awake?
Her fingers hovered. She could lie. Pretend she had finally found rest. But her pulse betrayed her, her need for someone to cut through the echo chamber of her mind. She typed back. Yes. Cannot sleep.
Another buzz. Want me to come over?
Amber hesitated, staring at the screen. The rational part of her wanted to decline, to spare him the burden of her turmoil. But the hollow inside her chest insisted otherwise. She wrote back a simple Yes.
Half an hour later came the knock. She padded barefoot to the door, heart hammering. Ernie stood in the hallway holding two cups of coffee, his tie gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face bore the exhaustion of the day, yet worry softened his features.
“You should be resting,” he said, stepping in. “Not pacing yourself sick.”
Amber closed the door behind him. “Rest avoids me. My mind keeps circling.”
They settled on the couch. Ernie handed her a cup. She clasped it like an anchor though the steam scalded her fingers.
“You were strong today,” Ernie said. “Do not let them steal that from you.”
Amber stared into the black liquid. “I admitted there was a chance I misheard. That weakness will be exploited. They will paint me uncertain.”
“Everyone knows a witness is human,” Ernie replied. “It made you believable. You told the truth.”
Amber shook her head. “Not all of it. When they asked about my feelings toward him, I lied. I said I had none. That I was neutral. But neutrality does not live in me.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her lips shut, as though the confession might retreat. But it hung between them like a flame.
Ernie set his cup down with care. “Amber, do you know what you are saying.”
Her hands trembled. “I am saying that when I looked at him, I did not see only the accused. I saw something else. Someone else. And I do not understand why.”
“You see what you want to see,” Ernie said sharply. “Not what he is. That man is charged with crimes that ruined families. He does not deserve your sympathy.”
Amber whispered, “Then why does it feel as if he knows me. Why do his eyes say something more than guilt.”
Ernie’s jaw tightened. “Because men like him survive by weaving illusions. They let you feel visible, cherished, singular. But it is a trick, Amber. Nothing more.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Perhaps. Yet I cannot command my feelings to vanish. They rise without my permission.”
Ernie leaned closer, his voice gentler. “Then you must fight them. Promise me you will. Because if the court senses even a shadow of bias, your testimony is broken. And if Harry Bolaños senses it, he will use it.”
Amber dropped her face into her hands. “I do not know if I can be that strong.”
For a long moment, silence filled the room. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint whisper of tires on asphalt outside, the ticking of the wall clock. Ordinary sounds, yet they seemed amplified against the heaviness of her words.
Finally Ernie asked, “Tell me honestly. When you looked at him, what did you feel.”
Amber lifted her head. Her eyes glistened. “Like he saw me. Not as a tool. Not as a witness. As if he looked past everything and touched the marrow of me.”
Ernie’s brow furrowed. “That is how people like him draw others in. They make you feel singular when you are just another piece on their board.”
Amber swallowed. “And yet if guilt lives in him, why do I not see it. Why does he look more haunted than monstrous.”
“Because guilt hides,” Ernie said. “Because charm often cloaks rot.”
They sat in silence again, sipping from cups that had turned lukewarm.
Amber’s voice came at last, fragile as glass. “Tomorrow Annie Dalisay will testify. She will twist every word I spoke. And I fear that when I see him again across the courtroom, my face will betray me. My heart will show.”
Ernie reached for her hand. His grip was firm. “Then confess it here tonight. Spill the poison before it spreads. Tell me everything, even what shames you.”
Amber stared at their hands joined. Her lips trembled. “I feel drawn to him. I feel a thread that ties me no matter how I try to cut it. Each glance feels like a confession spoken without words. And it terrifies me, because I know it is wrong. I know it is dangerous. It could destroy both of us. Yet a part of me clings to it, unwilling to sever it.”
Ernie’s grip tightened. “Then let me hold you until you are strong enough to sever it yourself.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She leaned into him, allowing herself the mercy of a friend’s embrace. But even as she wept, memory betrayed her, returning again and again to the courtroom, to Harry’s quiet gaze, to that strange tether she could neither explain nor escape.
Amber did not sleep even after Ernie left at dawn. She lay in the dim light of morning, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion draped over her. She tried to replay the hearing, to focus on the strict order of question and answer, but her mind rebelled. It played his face instead.
The prosecutor’s voice: “Did you clearly hear the conversation.”7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmas3uo4uJ3
Her own answer: “I believe I did, though there was noise nearby.”7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR055kg7GxM
The defense lawyer: “So you admit there was uncertainty.”7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk9SUDuLziC
Her own faltering: “Only the uncertainty that comes with distance.”
She turned, burying her face in the pillow. She could almost hear the judge’s gavel, could almost feel the weight of oaths pressing on her again.
She whispered into the fabric. “Why you. Why now.”
Her eyes burned with fatigue. Yet within that haze her heart carved its confession in secret. That she was not only afraid of Harry. She was afraid of herself, of how her soul leaned toward him even as her mind screamed warning.
The city awoke outside, indifferent. Amber remained trapped in the night that had not ended, a night of confession that gave no absolution.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2oWQ0QdTsa
and then Add to home screen.