After my husband’s funeral, my son drove me to the edge of town and said, “Get off the bus here.” But he didn’t know the surprising secret I had brought inside of me…

The day my husband was buried in a small cemetery in Quezon City, it was raining. A black umbrella is not enough to hide the sadness in my heart. I shuddered as I held the incense, staring at the newly dug grave that hadn’t dried yet. My partner of almost 40 years – now a handful of cold.

After the funeral, I had no time to mourn when my eldest son – Marco, whom my husband trusted so much – quickly took the keys to the house. I remember, a few years ago when my husband was still healthy, he said, “We’re getting old, let’s put it all in Marco’s name. His name alone is accountable.”

I didn’t object, because I thought every parent loved their child. All the documents of the house and the land, the red book, were transferred in his name.

On the seventh day after the funeral, Marco asked me to take him for a walk to breathe some fresh air. I didn’t expect the bus ride that day to be a heartbreak. The bus stopped on the edge of the town of Caloocan, Marco said coldly:
— “Get off here. My husband and I can’t support you anymore. From now on, you have to take care of yourself.”

My ears were ringing, my eyes were dizzy. I thought I heard it wrong. But his eyes were determined, as if he wanted to push me down right away. I sat on the side of the road, with only a small cloth bag and a few clothes in my hand. The house – where I lived, where I took care of my wife and children – now belongs to him. I have no right to go back.

As people say “when you lose a spouse, you still have kids”, but I’ve come to realize that sometimes having kids feels like nothing. I was pushed to the end of my own child. But Mark didn’t know: I wasn’t empty.

In my chest pocket, I always carry a savings book from the BDO bank, the money my husband and I have saved all our lives – more than 10 million pesos. We keep it a secret, not letting our kids or anyone else know. My husband once said to me:
“People are only nice to you when you have something in your hand.”

That day, I was silent. I’m not going to beg, I’m not going to reveal a secret. I want to see how Marco and this life treat me.

A New Life in a Strange Land

The first day I left, I was sitting in a café by the side of the road. The owner took pity on me and offered me a hot bowl of salad. I told her that I had lost my husband and left my kids. He just sighed:
— “There are a lot of situations like this now. Kids value money more than love.”

I rented a small room in Tondo, paying with interest from my savings book. I lived a simple life: wore old clothes, ate simple food, and didn’t attract attention.

During the day, I asked for help selling at the market, washing vegetables, and serving. People paid a small amount of money, but I didn’t think about it. I wanted to stand on my own two feet. The vendors at the market called me “Mama Rosa.” Unbeknownst to them, every night I would open my savings book to look at it, then I would keep it safe.

One time, I met an old friend – Aling Teresa, my childhood friend. She was surprised to see me staying at a motel. I just told her that my husband had died and that life was hard. She took pity on me and invited me to come and help with the family carinderia. I agreed. The job was hard, but in return I got a place to sleep and eat. I had more reason to keep it a secret.

Bad News About My Son

In the meantime the news of Marco was still ringing in my ears. He was living with his wife and children in a spacious house in Quezon City, had bought a new car, but had entered gambling and betting on football. An acquaintance whispered:
— “I suppose he has mortgaged the title to the land.”

I felt pain in my heart, but I decided not to contact her. She chose to leave her mother, so I had nothing more to say.

One afternoon, while cleaning the restaurant, a strange man passed by. I met him—Marco’s old drinking friend. He looked at me and groaned:
— “Are you Marco’s mother? He owes us millions of dollars. He’s in hiding now. If you still love him, pay him.”

I was stunned. I just smiled faintly:
— “I’m so poor, I can’t help him any more.”

He hated leaving. But from that day on, I was devastated. I loved my son, but I also hated him to the core. He left me heartless on the side of the road, and now he’s getting what he deserves, isn’t that fair?

A belated plea

A few months later, Marco came to see her. He was thin, haggard, and his eyes were red. When he saw me, he fell to his knees, exclaiming:
— “Mother, I was wrong. I am a bastard. Please save me once. Otherwise, my whole family will be lost.”

My heart was broken. I remembered the nights I cried for him, I remembered the scene where he left me. But I also remembered what my husband told me before he died: “No matter what, he’s still my son.”

I was silent for a long time. Then I went into the room and took out a savings book with more than 10 million pesos. I put it in front of Marco, my eyes cold:
— “This is the money my parents left me. I kept it because I was afraid you didn’t know how to value it. Now I give it to you, but remember: if you trample on your mother’s love, no matter how much money you have, you will never raise your head again.”

Marco accepted it tremblingly, crying like rain.

I know it might change, maybe it won’t. But at least I’ve fulfilled my last responsibility as a mother. And the secret of the £10 million has finally been revealed, just in time.

Marco embraced the savings book of more than 10 million pesos that I had given him and hurried to pay off his debt. I figured that once the financial burden was settled, his life would be peaceful again.

But I was too naïve.

A month later, the people who lent Marco came back. Not only did they want the old money, but they also demanded “interest on interest” – the illegal interest they fabricated to get blood from him.

Marco trembled and fell before me:
— “Mother… I have paid for everything. But they said if I didn’t give me more money, they would hurt my wife and kids.”

I didn’t keep my mouth shut. I understood clearly – it was no longer a question of money, but a psychological fear from gangsters.

One night, as I slept in my small room in Caloocan, the sound of stones being thrown at the door echoed. I ran outside and saw a knife hanging from the wooden door, with a piece of paper written on it:
“Pay more money, or else beware of bloodshed.”

I shuddered and hugged the paper, my eyes widening. Over the years, I’ve endured enough pain – the loss of my husband, the abandonment of my children. Now, just when I held out my hand to forgive, the whole family was put in danger.

This time, however, I couldn’t keep quiet.

The next morning, I went to see Arnel, an old friend of my husband’s who was a former police officer. I told him everything, and also showed him the threatening role. Arnel’s brow furrowed:
— “Mama Rosa, this is a group of loan sharks in Tondo. They specialize in cheating, forcing debtors to re-borrow, and then using violence to control them. If you don’t cut them to the root, your family will haunt them forever.”

Arnel advised me: “You must report it. Pero ang pumipirma sa petition ay dapat ikaw – ang nanay, ang hindi direktang sangkot sa utang. Mag-iingat sila dahil wala kang mawawala.”

Nag-isip ako ng matagal. Sa wakas, tumango ako. Matanda na ako, ngunit kung mananatili akong tahimik, masisira nila ang buhay ni Marco, ng kanyang asawa, at mga inosenteng apo.

Nung araw na nagsubmit ako ng petition sa Manila, nanginginig ako. Pero nung pumirma ako, biglang gumaan ang loob ko. Alam kong tama ang ginagawa ko.

Makalipas ang ilang araw, nakipag-ugnayan at tinambangan ng lihim na pulis ang karaoke bar kung saan madalas na nagtitipon ang gang. Noong gabing iyon, inanyayahan akong kumilos bilang “pain”, na nagpapanggap na nagdadala ng pera upang bayaran.

Nang ilapag ko ang bag sa mesa, ngumiti ng masama ang pinuno:
— “Good job, old lady. Kung alam mo kung ano ang mabuti para sa pamilya, magiging ligtas ang buong pamilya.”

Pagbukas pa lang niya ng bag, sumugod ang mga pulis. Ang sigaw ng “Pulis!” umalingawngaw, diretsong nakatutok ang mga baril. Ang buong gang ay napasuko sa lugar.

Nakatayo ako doon, nakatulala, tumutulo ang mga luha ko.

Matapos ang paglilitis, ang grupo ng loan shark ay natunaw, ang pinuno ay nasentensiyahan sa bilangguan. Opisyal na nakalaya si Marco sa pagkakagapos ng utang. Niyakap niya ako, humihikbi:
— “Nanay, ang dami kong pagkakamali. Kung hindi dahil kay Nanay, nawasak ang buong pamilya ko.”

Tahimik kong hinaplos ang buhok niya, bumulong:
— “Hindi mabubuhay si Nanay para sa iyo, ngunit kaya kitang protektahan hanggang sa aking huling hininga. Tandaan, ang pera ay maaaring mawala, ngunit ang pagmamahal ng isang ina ay hindi mawawala.”

Simula noong araw na iyon, nagbago si Marco. Nakahanap siya ng isang matatag na trabaho, at kasama ang kanyang asawa, nag-alaga sa mga bata. Gabi-gabi, nagtitipon ang buong pamilya, nakita ko ang mga ngiti sa mukha ng aking mga apo at gumaan ang loob ko.

Maaaring marami akong naranasan, ngunit sa huli, iningatan ko rin ang pinakamahalagang bagay: isang nagkakaisang pamilya.