I CALLED MY SON BUT SHE DIDN’T ANSWER—UNTIL I DISCOVERED WHAT HER HIDDEN

When it all started, I thought it was just a simple prank. My daughter Alyssa hadn’t answered my calls and messages for a few days. At first, I thought she was just busy with work. But when two weeks had passed and I hadn’t received even a “seen” or a simple thumbs up, my chest started pounding violently.

One night, as I was lying in the living room and staring at my cellphone over and over, I decided to call her again.

“Lyssa, my daughter, please answer for a moment,” I whispered softly before pressing the call button.

Ringing… ringing… until the call finally declined.

I was in tears from being so nervous. That wasn’t my daughter’s style. Even when we had a fight before, she wasn’t this quiet. Something was wrong. And I had to see her.

—

The next day, I left early to Alyssa’s rented apartment in Mandaluyong. I was holding a bag with her favorite foods—adobo, soup, and ripe mangoes.

When I got to the front of the building, I called again. Still no answer.

I tried to plead with the guard. “Brother, I’m Alyssa Cruz’s mother, she lives in unit 5B. I haven’t been able to contact her for two weeks. Can I come up? I’m worried.”

The guard looked at me from head to toe, clearly hesitant, but when he saw my shaking hands and tears in my eyes, he nodded.

—

As I went up to the unit, I knocked softly.

“Alyssa? Son, it’s me… Mama.”

Silence.

I knocked again, louder. “Alyssa, please…”

A few seconds passed before I heard soft footsteps inside. The door opened slightly, and my daughter peeked out.

She was pale, wearing a hoodie, and I could see the bags under her eyes.

“Mom?” she said softly, clearly surprised.

“What’s wrong with you, son? Why aren’t you answering? Why do you seem scared?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the door completely and said almost in a whisper, “Come in.”

—

As I entered, I immediately noticed the mess. There were medicine bottles on the table, some papers that looked like medical forms, and bags of instant noodles.

I swallowed. “Son…” I could barely say it.

He sat down on the sofa, looking away.

“Mom… I don’t know how to tell you. I don’t want to worry you.”

I went over and held his hand. “Tell me.”

He took a deep breath, his voice trembling.

“Mom… I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and mild depression. I’ve been having panic attacks for the past few weeks. I don’t want you to feel like it’s your fault or that I’m a burden. That’s why I’m not answering.”

My heart felt like it was breaking. I hugged her tightly.

“Son… why are you carrying this alone? I’m your mother. Being sick is no reason to avoid me.”

That’s when she finally cried. I just let her lean on my shoulder, as tears welled up in pity and love.

“I was scared, Mom,” she sobbed. “I don’t want you to see me weak.”

“Never, son, asking for help is not a sign of weakness,” I replied as I stroked her hair.

—

Since then, I’ve accompanied her to check-ups. I helped her eat right, I cooked for her every day, and I talked to her doctor. Slowly, her energy returned.

One night while we were eating together, she spoke.

“Mom… thank you, huh? I thought you’d be angry or hurt.”

“I will never get tired of you, Alyssa,” I smiled. “You are my child. You will never be a burden.”

She smiled—not a big one, but true.

—

After a few months, she gradually returned to work. She also started attending therapy sessions and joining a support group. She was more talkative now, more open to conversation.

One night before I went home, she hugged me tightly.

“Mom… I will never hide my problems from you again. You are my strength.”

I stroked her cheek. “And you are the reason why I don’t give up.”

As I was leaving the apartment, my phone suddenly vibrated. She was calling.

I smiled before answering. “Oh, why are you calling so soon?”

I heard her laugh on the other line. “Nothing. I just wanted to remind you not to worry if I don’t answer right away. But… I will always answer.”

And for the first time after many nights of worry, I fell asleep with a smile on my face—because I knew he wouldn’t have to face the world alone. 

After a few months, everything got better. Alyssa was back to her old self—but now, calmer, able to breathe better, able to say “Mom, I need help.”

And I, as a mother, have learned that there are battles that you don’t have to end for your child… but with him.

One Saturday morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and pancakes. I got up, and to my surprise, I saw Alyssa in the kitchen, smiling as she prepared breakfast.

“Mom, good morning! I cooked something for you.”

I laughed, tears welled up. “Son, this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, pouring coffee into my cup. “But I want to thank you. For all the times you never left me even when I couldn’t understand myself anymore.”

We sat at the table. It was quiet, but the quiet was filled with peace. As I watched him smile, I thought about how many of us parents forget that sometimes, even when your child is older, he still needs to feel safe with you.

A few more weeks passed. Alyssa began volunteering at a mental health foundation. She uses her experience to help young people who are going through the same darkness she went through.

One night, while he was at an event, he called me.

“Mom,” he said on the other line, “a while ago, a woman came up to me. She said she read the article I wrote about anxiety. She was crying, she said—’Thank you, because now I understand, my child.’”

I smiled, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I’m proud of you, son. You didn’t just help yourself—you also helped others who were afraid to start.”

“Mom,” he said softly, “if it weren’t for you, I might still be in the dark.”

“No, Alyssa,” I replied, “you decided to go out in the dark. I was the one who turned on the light.”

A year later, a day came that I will never forget.
The foundation where he volunteered was having a graduation ceremony. They invited me.

When Alyssa took the stage, she was wearing a simple dress, had a smile on her face, and in her hand was a small certificate that read:

“For Courage, Compassion, and Commitment to Mental Health Advocacy.”

I stood up, the people applauded, but I—just cried.
Not because of the award, but because I saw my son who once hid in the darkness whole again.

When he got off the stage, he ran over and hugged me tightly.

“Ma… this one’s for you.”

“No, son,” I whispered as I hugged him. “This is for us.”

That night, as we sat side by side on the veranda of the house, looking at the stars, I felt that one phase of fear was over—and a new chapter of hope was beginning.

Quiet, but whole.

“Mom,” Alyssa said, “do you know I’m not afraid of the nights anymore?”

I smiled. “Why?”

“Because I know that no matter how dark it is, someone will still call out ‘Ma?’ from the other side. And you will answer.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “And no matter what time it is, I will still answer.”

Sometimes, we don’t need to mend all the wounds of those we love.
We just need to make them feel that even though they’re broken, there’s still a hand ready to hold them.

And that night, amidst the silence and the stars, I knew we were healed—mother and daughter, friends, arm in arm against whatever darkness would come.