My family in Quezon City has four mouths to feed: Nanay and Tatay, who are old, my brother and sister-in-law. Ate Mariel does not work and only cooks at home. Every month Kuya Carlo gives her ₱7,000 to go to the palengke market. But at the end of the month, the total cost of food is almost ₱15,000.

One evening, when Ate Mariel came back from the market, I noticed that the bag of vegetables was packed in doubles and triples. I asked:

— You bought so much, how can our family eat it all?

Ate Mariel smiled vaguely:

— Well… there are elderly people in the house, so eating a lot of vegetables is “cooling the stomach”.

But just a few days later, I happened to see Ate Mariel carrying a whole bag of meat, fish, chicken, and duck to her sister’s house in Caloocan. I was stunned. It turned out that all this time she had been secretly using my market money to feed her sister’s family.

That night, I could not hold back any longer. In front of Kuya Carlo, Nanay, and Tatay, I said bluntly:

— Do you know that she spends ₱15,000 on groceries every month? Not only to take care of her own family, but also to support her sister’s family!

Kuya Carlo glared:

— Don’t talk nonsense. I know everything about the family’s expenses!

I smiled faintly, took out my phone and showed the photo of Ate Mariel carrying things to Ate Gina’s house:

— What is this?

The atmosphere was heavy as lead. Nanay was stunned, Kuya was speechless, turned to look at his wife. Ate Mariel turned pale, stammered:

— I… I just feel sorry for my sister. Her husband is unemployed, the children are still young. I took a little food, it’s not worth much…

I gritted my teeth:

— “A little” is ₱15,000 every month? So my brother works hard to support his sister’s family?

The whole room was silent. Kuya’s face was red, and he slammed his hand on the table with a “bang”:

— You’re too much! From tomorrow, I’ll cut the market money in half. If you dare to bring it to your sister’s house again, don’t blame me!

Ate Mariel burst into tears and shouted:

— Is that okay to say? I spend two meals a day taking care of Nanay-Tatay, and you dare to be stingy with a few coins?!

Tatay then leaned on his cane and made a “clack” sound, his voice cold…

— We’re old but not blind. If you consider this house a place to make money for your relatives, then move out. Don’t stand here pretending to be righteous!

Ate Mariel was stunned and trembling. Kuya lowered his head, and I could only see the truth exposed to the point of suffocation…

The news that Ate Mariel used my family’s market money to support her maternal relatives spread throughout the whole family. The next day, my sister-in-law’s real sister (Ate Gina) dragged her husband (Jun) and two children to my house.

As soon as she entered, she pointed at me, her voice shrill:

— You should speak properly! My sister loves you, sometimes she brings some food over, what is it that you are ridiculing and humiliating my whole family?

I laughed bitterly:

— Little food? Try adding it up, last month it was ₱15,000. Is that “little”?

Kuya also said coldly:

— That’s right. I worked hard to support both families?

Jun – Ate Gina’s husband – unemployed, his face red, his neck strained:

— We didn’t ask for it. He brought it over himself. If you want to blame someone, blame your wife, don’t blame my family!

I looked straight at her:

— If you accept it without asking, isn’t that just like being a parasite? Go work and see what ₱15,000 is like blood and sweat.

The atmosphere in the house was as tense as a bowstring. Nanay growled:

— You still dare to come here? From now on, you are forbidden to set foot in this house! Taking advantage of family ties to suck blood is not allowed!

Ate Mariel covered her face and cried, while crying she looked at Ate Gina:

— I just wanted to help you, who would have thought it would turn out like this…

Kuya turned away, his voice choked but determined:

— From today on, I will keep the market money. You can cook whatever you want and take money from me, don’t even think about fooling me again. If it happens again… then let’s get a divorce!

The words fell like a thunderbolt. The house was silent, only the sound of choked sobs remained. Seeing that scene, I was both angry and sorry, and in my heart arose a feeling of unease: was this storm just beginning…

— “Market money, the book and the boundary”

That night, after Kuya Carlo’s “divorce for peace” sentence, my house was as quiet as if someone had turned off the switch. Ate Mariel covered her face and cried until she was exhausted, then moved some clothes to sleep at Ate Gina’s house. Nanay did not stop her. Tatay poured a cup of tea and said exactly one sentence:

— If you want peace in the house, there must be rules. If there are no rules, then close the door.

The next morning, I bought a thick book, labeled it “Market money – Pantry” and placed it in the middle of the dining table. Next to it was a small tin box containing loose change and an A4 piece of paper with four lines written on it:

Market money received – clearly state the date, amount, recipient.

What is spent – ​​write down the item, take a picture of the receipt and put it in a plastic bag

Do not transfer food/money out – exceptions must have Nanay/Tatay/Kuya’s signature.

Violation 2 times – stop spending + discuss divorce.

I know it sounds cold, but if this family continues to use “love” to make up for “rules”, tomorrow it will be broken.

At noon, Kuya Carlo brought ₱3,500 and put it in the box: half a month’s market fee. I helped him write the first line. Nanay said:

— From now on, cook whatever you eat, don’t waste it. If you want to help someone, help them with work, don’t take from the kitchen.

That same afternoon, Ate Gina suddenly pulled Jun over again. I didn’t want to argue, so I suggested:

— Go to the Barangay Hall. There’s a “lupon” sitting there, let’s talk clearly.

In the barangay, in front of Lupon Tagapamayapa, Ate Gina still raised her voice: “My sister only loves you!”. I showed her a photo of the receipt, a handwritten copy of ₱14–₱15 thousand for several months, and a photo of her carrying things. Jun argued: “She didn’t ask for it, she gave it herself!”

Lupon tapped her pen:

— It’s good to love, but the market money is the husband’s family budget. It’s wrong to transfer it out without collective consent.

Then he turned to Jun:

— How long have you been unemployed? The barangay has a job fair next week. Sign up.

And to Ate Gina:

— From now on, all support – if any – must be in the form of scholarships, rice from the DSWD, or money sent by your brother-in-law to you, not from the other family’s kitchen. Don’t drag your sister into a difficult situation.

A reconciliation report was drawn up: my family has no obligation to provide, Ate Gina did not come to the house to pressure, Jun registered the job. With stamp and signature. I took a photo and sent it to the family group.

Late in the evening, Ate Mariel came home. No more crying. She sat down in front of the notebook, clasped her hands:

— I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. My sisters demanded it, I was afraid of being labeled “married to a rich man but not helping the family”. Then I just…

Kuya Carlo looked straight:

— No more talking about the past. I need three conditions:

Transparency with a book – no receipts, no expenses.

No transfer of goods/money outside without the consent of three people

Mariel must contribute – if not working, then work extra at home (receive sewing items, sell kakanin), use that money to help whoever you want, do not touch the market money.

Ate Mariel nodded. Nanay pushed over a side book:

— I wrote down some empanada and bibingka recipes. Sell them in front of the door, I help wrap them.

I was surprised. Nanay was firm, but tactful. Give me a way to fix them, don’t push them to the wall

The kitchen changed rhythm

The first week, the market money of ₱3,500 in the tin box kept being recorded as less, full as full. Ate Mariel went to palengke and took a picture of the receipt and sent it to the family chat group. A simple meal: munggo soup, adobo, boiled vegetables with bagoong. Costs ₱110–₱130/meal, Nanay nods.

On Sunday morning, in front of the house, the empanada table is set up. Tatay sits and weighs the flour, Nanay bakes, I help with the GCash, and Ate Mariel sweats, her hands moving quickly. Sold ₱1,480. Nanay tears off ₱300 and leaves it to buy flour, Mariel holds the rest. She looks at Kuya:

— This money… I want to send ₱500 to your house, via her GCash number, with the content “make it yourself – send it yourself”.

Kuya nods:

— I am responsible for the money I earn. Don’t touch the tin box.

She presses the phone. I see her face… lighten. It turns out, helping without breaking the law is… less tiring.

On the tenth day, Ate Gina sent me a private message: “Give me some rice. The kids are out of milk.” I took a deep breath. The old storm knocked on the door again. I replied:

— Go to the DSWD barangay, explain the situation. Your family can buy school supplies for the kids, Mariel’s part-time money – but no rice and milk from the market money.

She saw, didn’t reply. In the afternoon, she stood outside the gate. Nanay walked out, still stirring the pot of bibingka:

— No rice. But here, the bibingka is fresh out of the oven. And here, the job fair schedule for Jun.

Ate Gina held the box of cakes, her eyes bulging. Then she… breathed out:

— I thought your family wanted to cut off…

Nanay shook her head:

— Cut the way, not the person. Boundaries for lasting love.

That night, the family chat group popped up with a notification: Jun had signed up for a job fair. I dropped a 👍 icon.

Half a month later, the tin box had ₱180 left. The notebook had the details: rice ₱520, vegetables ₱740, meat and fish ₱1,380, spices & gas ₱480, miscellaneous items ₱200. Total ₱3,320. No loss. Kuya Carlo looked at the board, his lips pursed as if swallowing a rock in his throat, then turned to Mariel:

— Thank you. Continue like this.

Mariel smiled lightly, for the first time in many days. I knew the journey was not over yet; people’s hearts were not an on/off switch. But at least we had a notebook, a rule, an empanada table, work waiting for Jun, a way to keep the kitchen from being torn down.

On Sunday afternoon, the whole family sat down to eat. The main dish was hot tinola. Tatay suddenly told a story about how Nanay had secretly brought eggs to her younger brother when she first got married, and her grandmother scolded her for it. The whole table burst into laughter. Nanay patted Mariel on the shoulder:

— I was wrong, I fixed it. That’s it.

Mariel nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. Kuya picked up a piece of chicken leg and put it in Tatay’s bowl. I looked at the tin box on the refrigerator, the notebook lying next to it, and thought: sometimes a house only needs that much—a stove with fire, a notebook with words, a few rules with love.

Outside, Quezon City was drizzling. On the porch, the empanada table was still steaming. I didn’t know if the storm had passed. But I knew that if it came back, we would have a way to read the waves: transparency – boundaries – work. And most importantly, do not use the word “love” to legitimize “exploitation” anymore.