Two years have passed since my husband went to work; when he returned, he had a baby in his arms and a secret that would change my life forever.
We live in a small town in Pangasinan, in the northern Philippines. Two years ago, he told me he was going to Manila to work in construction, that he would earn money to send back to me and our daughter. When he said goodbye, I believed him completely. I thought that if we endured a couple of years of hardship, our lives would be better.
During that time, his calls were short, almost cold:
—“I’m fine, don’t worry.”
—“When I have enough savings, I’ll come back.”
Meanwhile, I worked hard cultivating rice on a small plot and raising our daughter Mika, then four years old, alone. At night, when she slept, I would look out into the dark courtyard and repeat to myself, “He’ll be back soon.”
The day he told me he was coming back, I couldn’t sleep from excitement.
The next morning I got up early, cooked a delicious sinigang, and placed a vase of fresh flowers on the table. It would be our first family dinner after two long years.
Mika, wearing a new pink dress, ran back and forth, her eyes sparkling:
—“Mom, isn’t Dad coming back today?”
But when the bus stopped in front of the door, my heart sank.
Beside her was a little boy, barely a year old. She was holding his hand, a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness on her face.
—“I found him abandoned in the street… I felt sorry for him and decided to bring him home to raise him.”
I froze, but I still tried to smile and hugged him after so long apart.
That night, he slept between Mika and me, holding us both close. But in the way he cared for the baby preparing his milk with precision, changing his diaper with ease, cradling him tenderly. I knew he wasn’t a “lost child.”
Days later, while he was helping a friend in the fields, I opened his suitcase to get some clothes and found a child’s vaccination record among his things. The first page clearly stated:
“Mother’s name: Marites L.”
“Father’s name: Antonio R.”
That was his name.
My hands trembled and tears fell onto the sheet of paper. All the trust I had built up over two years crumbled in an instant. Not only had he che:ated on me, but he had fathered a child with another woman.
That night, when I left the notebook on the table, he remained silent for a long time before confessing:
—“At first it was just a fling… I didn’t plan it. But when she gave birth and disappeared, I couldn’t abandon the child.”
I looked at him and smiled bitterly:
—“So your ‘street child’ is the result of your nights away from home.”
I picked Mika up and took her to her room. Innocently, she asked,
“Mommy, who is that baby? Why does Daddy seem to love him more than me?”
I didn’t answer. I just hugged her tightly so she wouldn’t hear me crying.
The next day, I filed for divorce.
Not because I had stopped loving him, but because I couldn’t continue living a lie. He could be the father of two children, but I couldn’t continue being the wife of a traitor.
When she packed her things and went out the door with the child in her arms, the sun was shining brightly. But my heart was shrouded in shadows.
I know it will take time to heal this wound, but at least I no longer have to live a lie day after day.
Now, every time I see Mika smile, I feel peace. Life can take many things from us, but never the respect for a woman who dares to stand up when she is betrayed.
