My sister and brother-in-law – a marriage that was awaited for many years and then ended in bitterness

My sister got married at the age of 26 – not too young to dream, not too old to hesitate. My brother-in-law – Manuel – is not romantic, not good at talking, but hard-working, diligent and creates a sense of security. That is why my sister – Elena – feels secure to entrust her life to him.

The first three years after the wedding passed peacefully. Two children were born: a boy and a girl. Life in Bulacan, although not rich, was not lacking either. Manuel worked as a construction worker, Elena stayed home to sell online and take care of the children. Both sides of the family loved him.

Then in the fourth year, Manuel suddenly proposed to go to Japan to work, with a three-year contract. He said he wanted to pool his capital to build a house and open a repair shop. At first, my whole family was worried, my sister was also hesitant. But before the firm promises, she nodded.

In the first months, everything was as expected: regular remittances, frequent calls. But from the second year, the frequency of contact gradually decreased. The calls were short, always “busy at night”, “tired”. The remittances were also irregular. When the three-year contract ended, the whole family was waiting for him to come back, but Manuel announced that he would stay for a few more years to “gather capital at once”.

Elena was sad, but then she agreed: “If people wait a year, I can wait a few more years.”

The news hit her hard

She shouldered everything: two small children, sales work, taking care of her elderly parents-in-law, taking care of the death anniversaries of both her paternal and maternal families. She never complained. She never asked for anything, except hoping that her husband would keep his promise.

But in the eighth year he left, and the fifth year he had not returned home, my sister fell ill.

At first, she was just tired and dizzy. When she went to the provincial hospital for a check-up, she discovered: terminal leukemia. The news hit her hard. I still remember her sitting on the hospital bed, stroking her youngest son’s hair, tears falling nonstop.

My family called everywhere, but she refused to stay in the hospital for long. She asked to come home to be near her child. We called Manuel many times, but he made excuses about work and paperwork. When she was dying, he still did not come.

Elena died on a drizzly afternoon. Her two children cried by the coffin, but their father did not appear until a week later.

He returned to mourn for exactly seven days, then packed his bags and went to Japan. Before leaving, he divided the two children: his youngest son Mateo was sent to his grandparents, and his eldest daughter Angela – who was in 4th grade at the time – was sent to my parents’ house. He said he could not take care of the children because he was working far away.

The quiet years

From then on, almost no one mentioned Manuel anymore. He did not call, did not send money. My grandparents had to sell their daughter’s wedding gold to raise their grandchild. My parents also poured all their love into Angela.

Years passed. We thought everything was over. But exactly 5 years after Elena died, my family received bad news:
Manuel suddenly passed away in Japan from a stroke, when he was not yet 40 years old.

The news came not from the embassy, ​​but from a friend in the same boarding house. That person simply texted: “He’s dead. Stroke. The police have handled it.”

My whole family was stunned. But what shocked us even more: the police said that a woman named Liza, who worked at the same company, came forward to receive the body. She called herself “the unregistered wife”. For 4 years, she lived with Manuel in the last boarding house. She was the one who took care of the funeral and asked for his body to be cremated.

The harsh truth

Manuel had less than 200 thousand pesos left in his account – too little compared to the promise to “save money to build a house”. But his phone still had photos of him and Liza: wedding photos, photos of his travels everywhere, loving messages.

Elena – the legal wife, the one who raised the children and took care of her husband’s parents alone – was never mentioned in that second life.

We chose to be silent. No one had the strength to fight. My sister had died waiting, now the most important thing was to take care of the two children.

Angela was in 9th grade that year, knew everything. She didn’t cry, just asked her grandfather:
“Why is my mother so miserable?”

No one could answer.

Mateo grew up and became more quiet, barely remembering his father’s face, only calling his grandparents “mom and dad”.

There was still hope

Time passed quietly. Angela passed the teacher training college in Manila. Mateo was passionate about drawing and received a provincial art scholarship.

That was the only thing left of Elena’s legacy: two children.

And Manuel – if there is a next life – I hope he understands:
Not everyone who waits is weak. But it is the one who knows how to wait who is often the first to be forgotten.

Part 2 – When children grow up from loss
Angela – the path of a teacher

Angela grew up with more thoughtful eyes than her peers. The pain of losing her mother in grade 4 and her father’s indifference left a void in her heart that was difficult to fill. But instead of giving up, Angela chose to move forward by studying.

The day she received her acceptance letter to the Manila Teachers College, Angela hugged her grandparents and burst into tears. She said:
“I want to become a teacher, so that other children – especially those without parents – can still find faith in school.”

During her four years in college, Angela studied and worked as a tutor, a waitress, and sometimes even distributed flyers. But in every little thing, she saw her mother’s image: a woman who quietly shouldered the burden so that her child could go to school.

The day she stood on the podium for the first time, Angela posted a short message on Facebook: “Mama, I did it.”

Mateo – drawing to heal

Mateo was different. He was a quiet, reserved boy. But when he picked up a pencil and a piece of paper, his whole world lit up. Mateo drew a portrait of his mother from a faint memory, drew his grandparents sitting on the porch, drew Angela standing at the blackboard lecturing.

Mateo’s paintings became more and more profound and emotional. An art teacher at school recognized his special talent and helped him apply for a scholarship. When he was awarded a full art scholarship from the province, Mateo said only one sentence:

“I want to draw so that people will remember my mother.”

In a small exhibition at the school, the painting “Woman under the Oil Lamp” – the image of his mother sitting and mending clothes for her son under the flickering light – brought many people to tears.

Pain turned into strength

Angela and Mateo both understood: they could not change the past. But instead of letting the tragedy bury them, they both turned it into motivation.

Angela chose to teach at a public school in the poor countryside of Bulacan, where students often drop out due to difficult circumstances. She was patient, because she understood the feeling of missing a parent.

Mateo continued his painting career, studying and teaching free painting to children in the village. For him, each painting was a way to talk to his mother – whose memory only existed in short dreams.

A special afternoon

Exactly 10 years after his mother passed away, Angela and Mateo returned to their old house to burn incense. Angela placed a photo of her first class on her mother’s altar, while Mateo placed a portrait of his mother.

Angela whispered:
“Mama, we have grown up. I chose to sow words, she chose to sow colors. But we both chose to live kindly, as you taught us.”

Mateo nodded silently. In his eyes, the sadness did not disappear, but it turned into strength to move forward.

Message

Outsiders may only see these two orphans. But those who know the story are impressed: it was the loss that forged a devoted teacher and a soulful artist.

If they had one wish, Angela and Mateo would ask to hug their mother one more time. But if their mother could see from afar, she would surely smile: because her pain was not in vain. It turned into wings that lifted the two children to fly towards the future