My name is Lisa, and Daniel and I have been separated for almost 2 years. The separation was swift—no tears, no chase. She went with the new girl, while I picked up our son and went back to my mom’s house. I started all over again, alone, carrying all the burdens of being a single mother.

 

 

My mother and I have not had an easy life, especially since my income is uncertain and the child is sick. Every time the weather gets colder, he coughs until his lips turn black, he has a high fever. I spent many nights carrying her, driving a motorbike to the hospital while holding back the crying.

By this time, my son had severe pneumonia. He will have to be confined for a week, and the initial payment will amount to more than ₱10,000. I’ve got my wallet—it’s only ₱200. There are some online buyers who are selling, but haven’t paid yet. No matter how hard I tried, it was still not enough.

I felt compelled to think of Daniel—my ex-husband. He was also his son. I didn’t want to ask, but at that point, I had nothing to lean on.

I stood for a long time in front of the door of his house. It was big, new, and spacious—a far cry from my son’s rented small room. My heart skipped a beat as I knocked.

The one who opened it was his new wife. He measured me from head to toe, looked cold, then turned around and shouted:

— “Daniel, someone is looking for you.”

He went out. He paused for a moment, then nodded and nodded.

— “What do you need?”

My voice is weak:

— “Our son is sick. He was in the hospital… I don’t have any more resources. You might be able to help with a down payment.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

— “You are the one who insisted on taking care of the child. Are you going to ask for money now? “Do you think I’m a banker?”

I nodded my head in agreement. I don’t have the strength to argue anymore.

He went inside, and suddenly threw out an old garment—torn shoulders, faded. I remember what he was wearing when he was an electrician.

He said coldly:

— “If you have an empty pocket, take it. That’s the last thing I’ll give. Go away. I don’t want my wife to be distracted by your dramas.”

I took off my clothes as I walked away, as if I had no soul. I don’t understand how he came to be like this. The child was still his son—flesh and blood.

I sat at the bus stop, crying profusely. I was still holding onto the dress, with no hope of opening it. But it was as if someone was whispering to me—a sigh. I slowly slipped my hand into my dress pocket and suddenly stiffened at what I saw…

 

 

I was sitting at the bus stop, seemingly powerless to even breathe. The surroundings were noisy—buses passing by, people rushing by—but I felt isolated from the world. My embrace of the old dress was tight, it felt like it was the last strand of hope.

I really didn’t intend to look into the pocket. What else is it for? What else can I expect from a man who can drive his own child?

But suddenly something clicked on my fingers—like paper, thick, not cloth.

My eyes widened.

I slowly put my hand in my pocket.

And there…
There was a thick envelope.

My hand shook as I pulled it out. Before I opened it, I felt the weight right away. That was not a receipt. It wasn’t a pointless piece of paper.

I opened the envelope.

Inside—
shiny papers. Neatly folded.

💥 ₱50,000 cash.
Along with a small piece of paper, there was a handwriting.

My breathing stopped.

“For the child.
Don’t give back.
Forgive.”

The letter was familiar.
Daniel’s letter.

Suddenly I burst into tears—not the cry that sobbed, but the silent cry that ached to the bone.

“Why?” he whispered into the air.
“If you still have a heart… why did you drive me away?”

I don’t have time to ask why.

I got up, got on the bus, and went straight to the hospital.

At admissions, I put the money on the counter. My hand was still shaking.

“Pa-admit po ang anak ko,” sabi ko. “May down payment na po ako.”

The nurse looked at the receipt, then looked at me.

“Ma’am… that’s enough.”

My chest felt like it was suddenly lightened. It was like a thorn that had been buried for a long time, slowly being removed.

When I saw my son in the hospital bed—on oxygen, on a syringe—I knelt on the edge of the bed.

“Son… we can,” I whispered. “Mommy won’t let you go.”

We were in the hospital for 7 days.

I didn’t go home very much. There I slept in the little chair, hugging the bag, watching my son’s every breath. His condition gradually improved. The color returned to his cheeks. He smiled again.

One night, there was a knock on the door of the room.

When I opened it—
Daniel.

Nanigas like.

There was no old pride. He was hunched over, hat in his hand, like a guilty child.

“How is he?” he asked softly.

I didn’t answer right away.

“Why are you here?” he asked coldly.

Lumunok siya.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “From the moment you left… from the moment I saw you chasing the bus with your clothes on…”

He closed his eyes.

“I heard your cry.”

My eyes widened.

“If you’ve heard… why did you let me go?” he asked tremblingly.

He sat down on the edge of the chair.

“I didn’t kick you out because I didn’t want to,” he said.
“I kicked you out because someone was watching.”

“What do you mean?” he asked in surprise.

He took a deep breath.

“My wife,” she murmured. “I’ve been threatened. If she finds out I’ve helped you openly, she’s going to make a scandal. She’s going to take everything—house, business… and I’m going to be kicked out, too.”

My eyes widened.

“I couldn’t show that I cared any more,” she continued.
“So I used the only way I could—that dress.”

I listened silently.

“I can’t be a good husband,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.
“But I want to be a father.”

Tumayo ako.

“If so,” I said coldly,
“do you know that you have no right to my silence?”

He looked at me, surprised.

“Do you know,” I continued, “how many nights have I cried? How many times have I told our son ‘get well, Daddy will call’ even though I knew you weren’t going to call?”

He was stunned.

“₱50,000,” I said,
“saves lives. But it doesn’t erase the wound.”

Tumango siya.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he replied.
“I’m just asking for a chance to go home—at least from a distance.”

I walked out of the room and left him there.

The next day I got a call from the hospital’s social worker.

“Ma’am Lia,” he said,
“there is a donor who wants to shoulder half of your expenses.”

“Donor?” he asked in surprise.

“Opo. Anonymous po.”

Napaupo how.

I knew right away who it was.

A month later, my son and I returned home.

One night, there was news on the boat.

Daniel and his wife separated.

According to the rumor—the woman said she found out that she was secretly giving money to the child, and disappeared. Daniel admitted everything. He chose to leave.

One afternoon, there was a knock on our door.

And Daniel smells.

No more expensive clothes. No more cars.

“I’m not asking to come back,” he said bluntly.
“I’m just asking for permission … to be a father.”

I looked at my son, who was peeking behind me.

“Daddy?” she called softly.

Suddenly, Daniel’s eyes began to burst into tears.

We never got back together as a couple.

But I didn’t give up on being a father either.

We are in agreement on the Scriptures. Support. Time. Responsibility.

And me?

Worked again. Slowly getting up. I didn’t ask anymore.
Not because someone was going to help—but because I learned to stand on my own.

Once upon a time, my son asked me:

“But… masama ba si Papa noon?”

I smiled, stroking her hair.

“No,” I said.
“He was just weak. But the important thing is—he learned.”

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MESSAGE OF THE STORY

Not all rejection is heartbreaking.
And not all help needs to be shouted out.
But remember: the real responsibility—not hidden in the pocket of old clothes.

And sometimes, the biggest relief in life—
isn’t the money,
but the fact that you’re
no longer alone in the fight.

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