On the wedding day, neighbors from the barrio came to congratulate me, and everyone was amazed at how lucky I was to become a señora in one step. The husband – a man much older than me – seemed gentle and quiet. His family promised to give me a full life, without the hardships of working in the corn and rice fields of my hometown.

However, just one week after arriving at my husband’s house in Taiwan, I was shocked to discover the shocking truth: the man who was called “asawa ko” was actually… the biological father of the marriage broker who had personally brought me here.

I was stunned. That marriage certificate not only made me the wife of a strange old man, but also the stepmother of the marriage broker herself. It turned out that her puzzled looks, her insinuations, and her cold attitude over the past few days all had a reason.

I was both terrified and humiliated, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. The dream of “sitting back and enjoying a golden bowl of rice” is nowhere to be seen, only a life of hardship and uncertainty waiting for me ahead…

Part 2: The Secret Behind the Marriage

From the first morning after knowing the truth, I felt the atmosphere in my husband’s house was colder than ever. The broker girl – now officially anak ko sa turing

“Hindi ka bagay dito…” – she said softly but loud enough for me to hear. I blushed, my heart pounding.

During the family meal, my husband’s relatives also showed their distance. Someone whispered:

— “So ito pala ang napili ni Don Ernesto, isang batang babae mula sa baryo?”
I was speechless, only knowing to lower my head and quickly eat my rice. But the most bitter thing was the way the broker girl treated me. Before, she used to call me sweetly, “ate, ate”, but now she called me empty, even giving orders like a superior.

One time, while I was doing the laundry, she threw a bunch of dirty clothes into the sink, sarcastically:

“Kung gusto mong manatili dito, gawin mo ang trabaho ng isang tunay na asawa. Hindi ka pwedeng umupo lang.”

I was both humiliated and resentful, but did not dare to argue back.

Then, one night, I accidentally heard a conversation between father and son. In the dark living room, a whisper came through the crack in the door:

“Tatay, bakit siya? Wala na bang iba? Gagamitin mo lang ba siya para sa mga papeles?”

“Anak, kailangan natin. Kung hindi, mawawala lahat ng negosyo sa atin…”

I was stunned to understand: this marriage had no love, nor was it to give me the “golden bowl” life as promised. I was just a pawn in their plan — a legal shield for him to keep his rights and assets before the law.

I returned to my room, my whole body trembling. Tears streamed down my pillow, my heart was in turmoil:
So I was no different from a puppet. I was deceived…

From that day on, everything became more and more suffocating. My stepdaughter openly ignored me, and my old husband was cold as if we were just a contract.

But I knew that if I didn’t find a way to escape this vortex, my life would be buried in a strange house, where every day was a humiliation…

Part 3: Fire in the Heart

After many sleepless nights, I realized a truth: if I kept on enduring silently, my life would be buried forever in this house. Kung hindi ako lalaban, mamamatay ako sa hiya at lungkot.

I began to carefully observe every action, every word of father and son. From the bills left on the table, from the contracts forgotten in the drawer, I realized that Don Ernesto’s business was on the verge of bankruptcy. It turned out that he married me not out of love or pity, but because he needed an “asawang Pinay” to legalize his investment and apply for a business franchise in the Philippines.

Once, when his daughter – the broker – scolded me in the middle of the dinner table:
— “Kung wala ka, mas madali ang lahat. Ikaw ang sagabal!”
I looked up, not bowing my head for the first time:

“Kung sagabal ako, bakit ba napilitan kayong manghila sa isang babaeng mahirap mula sa baryo? Dahil kailangan ninyo ako.”

The room suddenly fell silent. I saw Don Ernesto’s eyes darken, and she was speechless.

From that day on, I began to change. I secretly contacted another Filipino woman in the neighborhood who had also experienced marrying a foreigner. She showed me how to find an organization that supports migrant women. I secretly collected evidence: fake papers, shady contracts, and even recordings of their father-daughter conversations.

The night before the decision, I confronted Don Ernesto directly.

“Hindi ako mananatili dito bilang laruan ninyo. Hindi ako alipin. Ako ay tao.”

He laughed coldly, thinking I was just bluffing. But the next morning, I brought all the evidence to the women’s organization and the authorities.

A week later, Don Ernesto’s house was raided by the police. His daughter was pale, and he was furious and shouting. I stood outside the gate, my eyes filled with tears, but my heart was light: For the first time, I was no longer a puppet in their hands.

I knew the road ahead would not be easy — I had to face the law, the harshness of a foreign land. But at least I had regained control of my life.

And I swore, from the depths of this humiliation, I would stand up and start over, no one would ever take advantage of me again.