“I Was the Nanny They Treated Like Furniture — But the Day Their Child Vanished, I Was the Only One Who Knew Where to Find Him”

PART ONE — THE WOMAN WHO HELD EVERYONE’S CHILD BUT HER OWN

My name is Maria Lourdes.

For eight years, I worked as a nanny for the De la Cruzes in Forbes Park, Makati.

They had three children.

I bathed them.

Fed them.

Sang them to sleep.

They called me “Yaya Lou.”

But outside those walls, I was invisible.

No birthday greetings.

No Christmas presents.

Not even a “thank you” on Mother’s Day.

Just commands.

“Yaya, alagaan mo siya.”

“Yaya, you’re standing like a plant — move!”

But the part that hurt the most?

I had a son of my own — Isko.

I sent him to live with my mother in Nueva Ecija.

Because I couldn’t raise him on a nanny’s salary.

PART TWO — THE BOY WHO TOLD ME HIS SECRETS

The youngest of the De la Cruzes — Enzo — was different.

Quiet. Sensitive.

He stammered, so no one listened to him.

Except me.

He would whisper while I spoon-fed him arroz caldo:

“Yaya Lou… I want to be a pilot.”

“I’m scared when Daddy shouts.”

He used to draw airplanes with crayons and hide them under his pillow.

One day, he asked:

“Can I be your son too?”

I kissed his forehead.

“You already are, Enzo.”

PART THREE — THE NIGHT HE DISAPPEARED

One cold January evening, Señora came running into the kitchen:

“Maria! Enzo is missing!”

Chaos followed.

They searched every room.

The backyard.

The neighbor’s houses.

Security guards went into panic mode.

Police were called.

Posters printed.

But I stayed calm.

I asked softly:

“Did anyone check the guava tree behind the driver’s shed?”

Señor scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would he go there?”

I quietly walked there alone.

And found him.

Curled up.

Hugging his sketchpad.

Eyes swollen from crying.

He whispered:

“I just wanted to fly away.”

PART FOUR — THE DAY THEY LOOKED AT ME DIFFERENTLY

I scooped him up gently.

Carried him back inside.

His mother collapsed in tears and hugged him.

His father looked stunned.

“How did you know where to find him?”

I simply replied:

“Because I listen.”

For the first time, everyone fell silent.

Then Señora said, with trembling lips:

“We don’t deserve you.”

And for the first time in eight years… I believed her.

PART FIVE — THE SON I HAD TO BRING HOME

Two weeks later, I got a phone call.

It was my mother.

Isko — my real son — was sick.

Severe appendicitis had worsened into an infection.

They needed ₱350,000 for emergency surgery.

I was shaking when I asked Señora for a loan.

She cried on the spot.

Then she whispered something to her husband.

The next morning, Sir Ramon handed me an envelope.

Not with a loan.

But with ₱500,000 in cash — and a driver waiting to take me to Nueva Ecija.

PART SIX — THE DAY THEY MET MY SON

After the surgery, I returned to Manila with Isko — now healing and smiling again.

Señora knelt down in front of him and hugged him tightly.

“You’re part of our family now too,” she said.

From then on, they paid for his schooling.

His birthday was celebrated in the same garden as Enzo’s.

Every Christmas, I saw both boys — one born from my body, the other from my care — laughing and playing together like brothers.

I was no longer just “the help.”

I was part of something.

EPILOGUE — THE SKY HE ALWAYS DREW

Ten years later, Enzo boarded a flight to Singapore as a cadet pilot.

He sent me a photo of him in uniform, with the words:

“I never stopped dreaming, Yaya Lou — because you always listened.”

And my son Isko?

He’s finishing nursing school this year.

When people ask him about his inspiration, he says:

“My mother. She raised other people’s children with love — and never gave up on me.”

I was the nanny they treated like furniture.

But now?

I am the woman they will never forget