Chapter 5

I needed to get out.

I had no plan, no money, no identity—but every assassin knows when it’s time to vanish. I couldn't take the crying, the stickiness, the weird emotional landmines these tiny humans kept throwing at me. It was only a matter of time before someone expected me to do taxes or attend a PTA meeting or a children birthday party.

So, I did what any trained professional would do.

I ran.

Correction: I tiptoed. Stealth mode activated. Baby sleeping in the crib. Maya distracted by cartoons about building an apocalypse banker. The middle one—probably chewing on drywall or licking the faucet. Whatever. I had exactly ten seconds of freedom.

I managed to throw on a yellow hoodie, mismatched socks, and shove my new soft, bouncy chest under a jacket that absolutely didn’t zip.

Still. Freedom was at the door.

I was just about to unlock it when—

“CATHERINE!”

The voice hit me like a bullet to the kneecap.

I froze. Eyes wide.

Who the hell is Catherine?

Then—

Bang bang bang!

The front door shook like it owed someone rent.

And then it opened. I didn’t even know it was unlocked.

In barreled a five feet woman with the energy of a freight train, arms full of reusable bags, a toddler under one armpit, and a gallon of something pink in the other.

“Oh my gaahd, girl, you ALIVE!”

I blinked.

She blinked back, then squinted suspiciously. “You look like crap. Like, ugh. Did someone die again?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I just stared. Like a possum caught in headlights.

She put the toddler down—who immediately began licking the TV—and shoved a bag of what smelled like dried fish into my hands.

“You didn’t answer your phone yesterday! Or the day before! I was about to call the police—or the priest—oh wait, I did call the priest but he’s out of town. Funeral in London.”

She sniffed. “You’ve got dead face. You been crying again, ha? You want me to slap your depression out? Sayang ang ganda mo, Catherine!”

Wait. Catherine?

So… that’s this body’s name.

Of course it is. Catherine. Of all the names in the universe, I get reincarnated into a Catherine.

Meanwhile, the woman was already helping herself to a banana from the counter and yelling at my children in Tagalog.

“Hoy! ALIYA bata ka! What did I say about feeding my Ivy weird things?!”

So the middle child’s name was Aliya…

Then a small, suspiciously quiet voice called from the hallway.

“Auntie Jhing-Jhing, she liked it…”

Jhing-Jhing?

A Filipina? From her looks and her amazing accent, I think I'm not wrong. I've been in the Philippines twice and I know for sure the woman who barged in like a tornado was a Filipina.

The said woman whirled toward me like a hurricane in pink leggings.

“She gave my daughter—my Ivy—a DRY DRAGONFLY. A DRAGONFLY, CATHERINE. Like it’s dried mango or something! And the worst part? IVY ATE IT! She didn’t even SPIT IT OUT. JESUS WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR KID”

I choked. “She ate it?!”

“YES! Like pulutan! And now she keeps looking for more in the window! She thinks it’s a snack!”

There was a loud giggle from behind the couch, and a chubby toddler popped her head up, proudly showing off a wing stuck to her cheek.

“Ivy, NO!” Jhing-Jhing sprinted after her daughter, who squealed and disappeared like a greased piglet behind the furniture.

I stood there, still gripping the bag of dried fish, wondering how my life went from underground bunkers and bulletproof suits to this—dragonfly cuisine and flying toddlers.

Jhing-Jhing popped back up. “Anyway, are you going to the townhall’s meeting later? They’re  talking about trash segregation and free dental checkups and Mr. Axel’s rooster again. If that chicken crows at 2am one more time, I’m going to cook it myself.”

I opened my mouth to speak but she was already digging through my fridge like she lived here. “Also, tell Maya to stop giving my eldest horror stories about the closet monster. My kid hasn’t pooped in three days. She’s scared the monster will bite her butt.”

“I…” I blinked. “I’ll handle it?”

Jhing-Jhing gave me a suspicious squint, then shrugged. “Good. Ay, your face really looks tired, ha? Did you even brush your hair today? No wonder you always cry in the kitchen. And Catherine—please feed your kids actual food. Bread from under the mattress is not a snack.”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you, Jhing-Jhing.”

Who on earth told her that?

She gave me a loud kiss on the cheek, pinched the baby on her way out, and disappeared with a final, “DRAGONFLY! You really raised a whole witch, Catherine! You need to tell your daughter to stop feeding the neighborhood insects. I already forgave her for the wet sardines sandwich last week, but dragonflies? That’s TOO MUCH!”

The door slammed.

Silence.

Maya poked her head out from behind the hallway. “Mommy? Is aunt Jhing-Jhing mad again?”

I collapsed on the couch, tossed the dried fish bag onto the floor, and stared at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, Maya. I think the dragonfly made her emotional.”

Aliya appeared, licking her fingers. “It was crunchy.”

“Aliya!”

She shrugged. “I saved one in the freezer for later.”

I gave up.