My old mother has a pension of 30 Philippine pesos but still goes to the city to take care of her grandchildren. When I saw my daughter-in-law save her mother-in-law’s 4-letter name in her phone, I immediately packed my things and went back to my hometown. /dn

My old mother has a pension of 30 Philippine pesos but still goes to the city to take care of her grandchildren. When I saw my daughter-in-law save her mother-in-law’s 4-letter name in her phone, I immediately packed my things and went back to my hometown.

I am a 67-year-old retired mother with a pension of 30 Philippine pesos a month — not much, but enough to live comfortably in the countryside. However, when my son called me to the city to ask me to look after his 6-month-old grandson because his wife went back to work after giving birth, I couldn’t bear to say no.

I packed my things, bought some local specialties, and went to the city. The first few days were quite confusing, but I told myself: “My child is struggling, I will help in any way I can.” I didn’t ask for any money, took care of all my living expenses, from breakfast to joint supplements, just hoping for a peaceful atmosphere in the house.

But then, one afternoon I accidentally saw my daughter-in-law’s phone on the table, the screen lit up because of an incoming call. I was stunned when I saw that  she saved my number as: “Mother-in-law in the countryside” .

Not “Mom”, not “Mother-in-law”, not even any kind of affectionate address — but four cold, distant words that hurt:  “Mother-in-law in the countryside” .

I didn’t say anything. I just quietly went back to my room to pack my things. I left the key, didn’t wake anyone, then took a bus back to my hometown that night.

A week later, I was picking vegetables in the garden when my neighbor ran over and handed me the phone:

“Grandma, your son called and cried so much…”

I shook holding the phone.

“Mom… my wife had postpartum hemorrhage and needed emergency care. I don’t know what to do, the baby has been crying all night… can you come home, please…”

I stood still. The wind from the fields blew through my silver hair. A lump rose in my throat—not from anger, but from love.

Love my child, love the little one, and love myself — the mother who is willing to put aside her old age to be a support, but is only called by a strange name in her own home.

I didn’t answer right away. But I knew I would come back. Because more than sadness,  I am a mother.