Pinalayas ng masuwaying anak ang kanyang matandang ama upang sakupin ang bahay sa pangunahing lansangan. Ang akala niya ay masaya na siyang makabili, ngunit makalipas ang 1 buwan ay nabigla siya sa katotohanang laging itinatago ng kanyang ama…

The unfilial son chased his old father out of the house to take over the house on the street, thinking he was happy to get a bargain, but a month later he was shocked by the truth that his father had always hidden…
In a small barangay along Maharlika Highway in San Pablo, Laguna, there was an old man everyone called Tatay Lando. He was hunched over, had dim eyes, and lived alone in an old bahay na bato with his youngest son Jun and his family. Jun, forty years old, was doing odd jobs at the night market, his business was unstable, so his temper became more and more irritable. Tatay Lando used to be a simple farmer, now he was old and weak, hanging around the corner of the porch telling stories of the galleon day to his grandchildren, which made Jun angry.

“Damn it, you’re old, you’re wasting your rice here, go live outside!”—Jun shouted, chasing his father out of the house on an afternoon when the rain was pouring down along the highway.

Tatay Lando quietly carried an old cloth bag—a few clothes, some change—and walked out into the street. He didn’t cry, just turned back to look at the roof he had built when he was young. The neighbors whispered: “Kawawa naman si Tatay… what unfilial children.” But Jun ignored it. Lina, Jun’s wife, even urged: “You were right to chase him away. A house facing the street like this, if you sell half of the lot, you’ll have millions.”

A few days later, an acquaintance took Tatay Lando to Bahay Kalinga—a nursing home in the suburbs. He lived quietly, sitting by the window every day watching the clouds drift over Banahaw Mountain, remembering the rice harvest, remembering the sound of jeepneys passing by. He didn’t blame anyone, just wondering how people’s hearts changed so quickly.

Jun was elated. He called workers to dig the foundation and raise the floor, dreaming of opening a storefront for rent. “Without a decrepit old man, I’ll have a big business!”—Jun thought to himself.

A month passed. That morning, when the workers were drilling deep into the cement floor under the old kitchen, the hammer hit a secret tunnel. Jun rushed out. The wooden lid popped open, and before his eyes were… wooden chests stacked close together: gold bars, silver ingots, antique jewelry, and even Spanish coins in oilcloth bags. The foreman estimated: more than ₱270 million if auctioned. Jun was stunned, his hands trembling as he touched the glittering gold. He remembered the times Tatay Lando had secretly dug in the backyard, thinking he was crazy—who would have thought it was a treasure trove.

Rumors flew around the barangay, and Jun became the center of attention. But at that moment, he was filled with only regret: “I chased Dad away… where is he now? I have to bring him back!”

Jun hired people to inquire, running around. Finally, he stood in front of the Bahay Kalinga gate, kneeling before his father:

“Dad, I was wrong! I found treasure under the house—₱270 million—all yours. I’m sorry, come home with me!”

Tatay Lando looked at his son, his eyes sparkling, but he did not smile. He slowly said:

“Son, that treasure is not mine. It is an ancestral legacy. I only kept it for you. I knew you were greedy, so I tested you. I buried it, to see if you would turn around.”

Jun smiled, thinking his father had forgiven him. But then the twist came: Tatay Lando pulled out an old stack of papers from his pocket—a copy of the Last Will & Testament with the notary public stamp at the Municipal Hall and the signatures of the Barangay Captain and the priest as witnesses.

“Before you kicked me out, I signed a will transferring all the treasure to the Barangay San Isidro Development Fund: to build a new elementary school, a library, a health center for poor children and the elderly. You kicked me out, and I filed the paperwork the next day. Legally, what you dug up belongs to the fund; you only get a small portion—enough to live on, enough to make amends. I’m not rich. I just want you to understand: money can’t buy affection.”

Jun was stunned. He covered his face and burst into tears right in the middle of the nursing home. It turned out that Tatay Lando had foreseen this, using the family’s assets as a mirror, shining directly on his son’s greed.

From that day on, Jun changed. He welcomed his father to live in a room overlooking the plum orchard, and went to his father’s regular checkups at the new health center—where a sign “Sponsored by the Barangay San Isidro Foundation” hung. Every weekend, Jun volunteered to go to the village school to paint the gate, plant trees, and make lunch for the students. He took the initiative to tell his story at the Sangguniang Barangay meeting, considering it a public lesson for the young.

The treasure of the past year did not make Jun’s family rich, but it did make the barangay bright: new classrooms opened, the school drums resounded; the health station had an ultrasound machine, people did not have to go to the provincial hospital. People said that Tatay Lando was the poor man who kept the village’s wealth; Jun was the son who almost lost everything because of greed, but finally found his father—and himself.

One afternoon, Jun took his father for a walk past the newly inaugurated library, on the wall mounted a bronze plaque:

“Rolando Family Heritage – For the Future of San Isidro Children.”

Jun held his father’s hand and whispered: “Dad… thank you. I have learned the most expensive lesson in life—true wealth is knowing how to keep the people you love.”

Tatay Lando smiled, his old eyes dimmed in the afternoon sunlight of Laguna:
“You can go home. The remaining treasure is in your heart..

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