I have two sons, both successful in Manila, with nice houses and cars in the garage. But now, when my hair is white and my bones ache every time the amihan wind blows, I still have to live alone in an old wooden house in Batangas, eating only vegetable soup and dried fish for three meals a day.

It’s not that I don’t want my children to come home, it’s just that… they never take the initiative. Every time I’m sick, I call my eldest son, and on the other end of the line is my daughter-in-law’s curt voice:

“Si Ramon nasa meeting pa, nanay, tawag ka na lang bukas.”
As for the youngest son, his wife won’t let me video call him because “maistorbo ang bata na nag-aaral”, and he doesn’t even bother to reply to my messages. The two of them are more afraid of their wives than they are of the sky.

Their father died when they were young, so I had to sell goods in the market and do all kinds of jobs to raise them to be good people. But now…

One time, I had a fever for several days, my body was so thin, I called and called but none of my children came back. At that moment, I understood… I no longer had a place in my children’s hearts. And then I thought of a plan.

The next day, I called my eldest son, my voice weak:

– Anak… may magandang balita si nanay… nanalo ako sa Lotto! Jackpot! Limampung milyon peso!

He was silent for a few seconds and then asked urgently:
– Totoo ba, Nay? Nasaan ang ticket? Pupunta kami ngayon!

Less than two hours later, both of them were there, laughing and talking. The next day, my youngest son also hurriedly dragged his wife and children from Quezon City, saying he wanted to “maging malapit kay nanay para sa kanyang pagtanda”. My quiet house suddenly became as bustling as a fiesta. Served rice and water, cleaned the house, changed the curtains, bought galing-bulalo and yema cake to nourish me. I pretended to be confused, but inside I smiled bitterly.

One night, I overheard the two daughters-in-law talking in the kitchen:

– Kung may ₱50 milyon si nanay at mag-isa lang siya dito, sayang naman… baka pwede nating kumbinsihin…

– Oo nga, tingnan natin kung kanino siya mas pabor, para alam na natin ang galaw.

I pretended not to hear. A few days later, I intentionally left a fake will on the altar, which said:

“Divide 50 million pesos equally among the two sons, whoever is more filial will receive an additional surprise reward.”

As I had expected, just a few days later, the two of them began to “compete” in filial piety: one bought a massage chair, the other called the family doctor to come and check; Some begged me to move to a high-end condo in BGC, others advised me to go to Laguna to live peacefully.

Then one day, I called the whole family together, leaning on a cane, my voice as light as the Batangas sea breeze:

– Pasensya na, mga anak… Yung tungkol sa Lotto… hindi totoo. Gusto ko lang malaman… kung wala akong pera, may lugar pa ba ako sa puso ninyo?

Both sons and two daughters-in-law stood still. No one said a word. The atmosphere was heavy as if bagyo was about to happen.

I turned away, walking slowly back to my room. Tears were about to fall, but I swallowed them. I didn’t need money to live, I just needed a little love.

The next day, both families packed up and left, no one left a message.

A few months later, I sold the old wooden house, used the money I saved to buy a small plot of land in Tagaytay, built a nice garden house, raised some cats and dogs, and grew clean vegetables. I did not leave a single peso to my children. On the altar, I left a new will… with just one short line:

“To the ones who truly cared – you already have my heart. No need for my money.”

A few years later…
A cool Sunday morning in Tagaytay, the morning dew still lingering on the coffee hills. I was sitting on the porch, making a cup of hot kapeng barako, next to my little dog Kiko curled up fast asleep. The distant crowing of a rooster mixed with the smell of freshly cut grass made my mind feel as light as if I had never been wounded.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps and a familiar voice calling:

– Nay… is it… Mom?

I looked up. At the gate were two middle-aged men — my sons. But this time there was no shiny car, no fake bright smiles. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes were dark, their shirts were wrinkled. I saw both of them looking at me as if I were a stranger… mixed with confusion and regret.

– Mom… we’re… sorry… – Ramon, the eldest son, mumbled. – We came to find you…

I was silent, sipping my coffee. Inside the yard, the dahlia beds I planted myself were blooming brightly, each petal swaying gently in the wind.

“Why are you only looking for me now?” I asked softly, my voice no longer trembling, no longer expectant. “When I needed you most… where were you?”

No one answered. There was only the rustling of pine needles. I walked out of the gate, standing in front of the two children I had raised all my life. My eyes were calm now, no longer resentful… it was just that the distance was too far to fill.

“Mom has a new family here,” I said, gently stroking Kiko’s back. “This family doesn’t wait for your money, as long as you… are still breathing.”

I opened the gate, but only enough for Kiko to run out and play, while I stood in the way.

“Take care of yourself. There’s no room here for people who only come when they smell money.”

With that, I closed the wooden gate. Through the narrow gap, I saw their red eyes. But I didn’t open the door again.

Outside, their footsteps faded into the Tagaytay fog. Inside, I returned to my hot cup of coffee, watching the flowers bloom, and for the first time in my life, I felt… not alone.