20 years ago, my father rejected my mother and me to marry the daughter of the richest man in the village. Who would have thought that when he was old and weak…
Twenty years ago in barangay San Isidro, Laguna, my father – Mang Rogelio – was determined to reject my mother and me to marry Isabela, the daughter of Don Vicente, the richest man in the village. The day he signed the papers to abandon my mother, I – Luis – was still a child, standing at the end of the alley watching her back disappear and deeply swore: I would not need him in this life.

My mother, Aling Rosa, was both father and mother, shouldering the burden of raising me. I promised myself that I would not turn back.

Then fate took a turn. Twenty years later, when he was seriously ill, Tatay Rogelio quietly returned, knelt at the door and asked my mother to take me back to “take care of him in his final days.”

My mother was stunned. I smiled and nodded enthusiastically:

“I agree. I will take good care of you.”

The whole village was abuzz with praise for my filial piety and tolerance. My father was relieved and handed me the pink book of the house in poblacion, along with the remaining assets, and kept saying:

“I only trust you. Only you will take care of me when I die.”

But no one knew that behind my calm smile was a smoldering fire of hatred—I had waited for this opportunity for twenty years.

Exactly one month later…when my father was lying in his hospital bed at St. Luke’s – Bonifacio “asawa sa ngayon” and his entire paternal family came to fight over the property. I calmly placed a thick stack of documents in front of them:

Debt papers and receipts;

Original TCT of the house in poblacion;

Notarized Deed of Donation inter vivos/Deed of Assignment, showing that Tatay Rogelio had personally signed the entire transfer to me on the day he returned.

The room was silent. His face was pale, his hands were shaking as he looked at me. I leaned down and whispered in his ear, my voice cold as ice:

“In the past, you abandoned me and my mother to pursue wealth; today, I only give you back the feeling of… abandonment.”

A burst of crying broke out. Some scolded, some blamed, someone tried to snatch the papers from the hospital lawyer’s hands but failed. I quietly turned away and walked out into the silent hallway of St. Luke’s. My heart was indifferent—but also heavy: not because of the loss of a father I never really had, but because of my mother—the one who had embraced the entire ruined sky to rebuild a roof for the two of us for the past twenty years.