He came rumbling up the dirt driveway on an old farm tractor, engine coughing, tires thick with dried mud. He wore a sun-faded shirt, a woven palm hat, and boots so caked with soil they looked carved from the field itself.
The Reyes family reunion was meant to be grand — a celebration at their ancestral home in the province, where mango trees shaded the yard and the air smelled faintly of rice and earth.
The youngest, Ricky, arrived first. His brand-new Ford Everest gleamed under the afternoon sun as he parked confidently near the front steps.
Sheila followed, stepping out of a spotless Fortuner in heels that sank slightly into the gravel.
She adjusted her sunglasses and smoothed her blazer.
Then came Ben, carefully aligning his Honda Civic beside the others, checking twice before locking it.
Inside the garage, the boasting started before the hugs did.
“Another new car, Ricky?” Sheila teased, admiring her reflection in the polished door.
“Project Manager now,” Ricky replied with a grin. “Comes with the territory. And look at you, Doc.
That ride suits you.”
Ben laughed. “Degrees, promotions, bonuses. Not bad for kids from the province.”
Their laughter echoed against the concrete walls.
Then the eldest arrived.
Kuya Carding didn’t park — he rolled in slowly on his old tractor and turned off the engine with a steady hand.
Dust floated around him like a quiet announcement.
The younger siblings stared.
“Kuya, seriously?” Ricky muttered. “This isn’t harvest season.”
“You’re going to track mud everywhere,” Sheila added, wrinkling her nose.
Carding removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I came straight from the fields.
Didn’t want to be late.”
Ben shook his head. “Good thing we studied hard. Scholarships saved us from… that.”
“Look at us,” Sheila said coolly.
“Careers. Cars. Stability.
And you still smell like soil.”
Carding didn’t argue. He simply walked past them into the house and headed straight for the kitchen, where their mother was stirring a pot of stew. He washed his hands and began helping her slice vegetables.
He absorbed their words the way fields absorb rain — silently.
Halfway through the meal, a siren pierced the air.
A convoy of black SUVs rolled into the yard.
Doors opened in synchronized motion. The mayor stepped out, flanked by councilors and security.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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