In a remote village in Pampanga where the fields stretch endlessly and the air smells of plants and sun, lived Jenna—a 20-year-old young woman, fair-skinned, modest, and quiet, but with an undeniable charm. But before we continue, please like and subscribe to my YouTube channel. Also, click the notification bell if you enjoy videos like this.

Men in the village would often see her walking home from her uncle’s farm. Wearing an old T-shirt and a thin skirt, she would wave at passersby. One man who couldn’t help but stare was Baldo, a 45-year-old farmer—sunburnt, well-built, and married to Claring. They had no children, so Baldo spent most of his time working the land. Despite being married and much older, he secretly admired Jenna, especially when he’d catch sight of her bathing beside her uncle’s house, water running down her smooth skin.

One afternoon, after a heavy rainstorm, the power went out in the entire village. Jenna was walking home and happened to pass by Baldo, who was pushing a sack of rice on his cart.

“Jenna, are you heading home already?” Baldo asked, pretending to be casual.
“Yes, Mang Baldo,” Jenna replied. She smiled—an innocent smile, yet enough to make Baldo’s heart race.

“Take shelter in the hut; it might rain again,” he said, pointing to a small bamboo hut in the middle of the field. Jenna hesitated but eventually agreed. They sat in silence, broken only by the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and the rustling grass.

“Have you been staying long with your uncle?” Baldo asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“About six months. I’m helping with the harvest, then I might go back to San Fernando,” she replied.

Baldo said nothing. But his eyes discreetly lingered on Jenna—her thighs, slightly visible through the wet skirt, and her nape, exposed by her damp hair.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” Baldo whispered. For the first time, the back of his finger brushed Jenna’s arm. She didn’t pull away but also didn’t speak. She looked at Baldo, and the air between them grew heavier.

“Mang Baldo…” Jenna whispered.
“Yes, Jen?” he responded, but he didn’t move away. Their eyes seemed to speak in silence.

That night, with rain pounding on the hut’s roof, a secret began—one they could never undo.

After that rainy evening, Baldo became unusually attentive to Jenna. During harvest season, he urged her not to work anymore, instead sending her rice, fruit, and other goods. At first, Jenna felt uneasy. But over time, she began to notice that each act of kindness had a price. Baldo visited more often, stared more openly, and offered more help.

One night, Baldo came to her uncle’s house bringing groceries and some notebooks.
“For your studies,” he said, handing her the items.

“I don’t plan to study anymore, Mang Baldo. It’s too expensive,” she softly replied.

“What if I paid for everything?” Baldo offered, his voice low, watching her reaction.
“You won’t need to worry about tuition, allowance, dorm—I’ll take care of it all.” He paused, looking deep into Jenna’s eyes. “Just give me a chance.”

Jenna’s eyes widened. She knew what he meant. It didn’t need to be said. The small living room suddenly felt suffocating.
“I’m not saying now… but think about it,” Baldo whispered. “I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

Weeks passed. One afternoon, Jenna went straight to the hut in the field where Baldo usually was. She wore a simple dress. But to Baldo, she was the most beautiful sight in the entire plantation.

“Mang Baldo…” Jenna softly called.
“Jenna? What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. She simply walked toward him and gently placed her bag down. She looked at Baldo with fear, hesitation, and resignation.

“Is it true? You’ll really help me with school?” she asked.
Baldo slowly nodded. “Yes. I’ll take care of you.”

Jenna moved closer. Her hand touched his arm—her choice this time. And that was the beginning of their arrangement. A night of surrender, desire, and promises to revisit in the coming chapters.

That night, under the pale moonlight, Jenna gave in—not out of fear, but out of hope to escape poverty. And Baldo, despite his age, fulfilled a long-held desire.

Weeks went by. The hut became the setting for their repeated encounters. Each touch, each whispered promise, made Jenna believe that maybe there was a future in it. She convinced herself that if this was the way out, she would endure it.

But one night, resting her head on Baldo’s chest, she asked softly, “Mang Baldo, when will I enroll in school?”
Baldo looked away. He stood up, got dressed, and lit a cigarette outside the hut.

“You never really planned to, did you?” Jenna asked into the silence.
“What are you talking about?” Baldo replied coldly. “Did you think I was rich? I’m just a farmer, Jenna. How could I send you to school?”

Jenna’s eyes widened. It was like cold water splashed over her. All the promises shattered in an instant.

“But you said—”
“Don’t make noise. Don’t report me. You don’t want something to happen to your uncle, do you?”

Jenna went silent. Those words wrapped around her throat like a chain. She didn’t know if she was angry or just scared. But she knew she had been used. That night, she cried in silence, staring at her uncle and facing herself. She couldn’t tell anyone. If Baldo’s threat was real, her only family might get hurt.

From then on, Jenna became quiet. Life went on, but the light in her eyes faded. She no longer passed by the hut. No longer smiled when Baldo passed. But deep inside, a fire was starting to burn. She wouldn’t stay silent forever.

Weeks after Baldo’s final betrayal, people in the village noticed Jenna’s disappearance. She no longer left the house. Her eyes were deep, withdrawn. What no one knew was—she was carrying the result of a sin she never chose.

Jenna was pregnant.

Every night, she cried in her room—afraid to tell her uncle, afraid to be judged, afraid the whole village would know the secret that broke her dignity.

Until one night, while staring at the moon, an idea entered her mind. She could no longer sleep. But she knew she had to end everything. She got dressed and walked through the night. She went to the hut, where Baldo greeted her as if nothing had happened.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he said, stroking her arm.

Jenna was silent. Expressionless. She let him take her again—not for pleasure, but as the final step of her plan.

When Baldo had fallen asleep, she rose, grabbed a gallon of gasoline he used for his irrigation pump, and poured it over the hut’s floor and walls. She lit a match and whispered,
“This is your end, Baldo.”

In a flash, the hut was engulfed in flames. Baldo’s screams echoed into the night. But no one could hear him. In the quiet village, the fire in the middle of the field screamed for all the women who were used and silenced.

Time passed. Jenna was never seen in the village again. Rumors say she moved to Manila, found a quiet job, and raised her child alone. She pursued the dream that Baldo once manipulated.

As for Baldo—once strong, powerful, and deceitful—he now sits in a wheelchair, nearly his entire body burned. He can no longer speak. A broken man, trying to regain the dignity he himself destroyed. His wife left him. The fields are gone. And so is his joy.

The moral of the story: Never use someone’s vulnerability for selfish gain. Deceit always has a price. Those who oppress will one day pay. And the silence of the oppressed does not last forever.