My wife’s sister, drenched in sweat, knocked on my door in her thin nightgown in the middle of the night when my wife was not home.

That night, Quezon City was as hot as a coal stove on a tin roof. I – Miguel, lay with my back to the creaking ceiling fan, my hand swiping at the phone that had been silent since Lia’s last call in the afternoon:

“Tomorrow we’re going to Palawan Island. Remember to lock the gate, don’t stay up late.”

I hummed. The house was quiet from Lia’s footsteps, the porch light seemed more yellow.

Near midnight, the door knocked… knock… knock—quick, decisive, panicked. I jumped up. Outside, Elena’s—Lia’s sister’s—trembling voice came through the air gap:

“Miguel, open the door for me… it’s urgent.”

I unlocked the latch. Elena stood there, drenched in sweat, her hair stuck to her temples, wearing only a thin nightgown over a thin, unbuttoned jacket. Her eyes were swollen as if she had just cried.

“Let me borrow your wedding ring. And… if anyone asks, tell them you’re my husband. Just for tonight.”

I froze. The first thought that came to my mind was Lia… and the ring. I stammered,

“What… are you talking about?”

Elena gripped the doorknob, her voice choked,

“Mom is in the emergency room at the Bulacan Provincial Hospital. They need the signature of the person on duty—‘spouse’ preferably. I’m no longer anyone’s ‘wife’. He’s not here. If the paperwork isn’t ready within half an hour, they’ll delay the surgery, which is dangerous. I ran home from the hospital because I left the box of papers and the seal in your closet. I… please.”

All the blood in my veins seemed to change. I nodded, took off the ring, put on my shirt, and grabbed my car keys. While I bent down to put on my shoes, Elena stood against the wall, her hands shaking so much that she couldn’t even button her coat. I walked over to help her. My fingertips touched the damp fabric, and my heart pounded. I forced a smile:

“Go, sister. Let’s go to the hospital first.”

The secret in the old bicycle seat

Lia and Elena’s mother were lucky to be out of danger. When the hospital was quiet, Elena told me with a sigh: for the past few months, her ex-husband had been constantly forcing her to divide the property of the old house in Pampanga, which her parents had left behind. He even set up an unreasonable debt paper in her name.

Hearing that, I suddenly remembered: last year, my father-in-law had slipped me a small copper key and said:

“Son-in-law, if you have a hard time, open the old bicycle seat in the warehouse. Our family has always hidden it there. What should be revealed will be revealed.”

We hurried back to the house in Pampanga. In the warehouse, the black, dusty bicycle stood still. I inserted the key into the saddle and heard a click. Inside was a sealed envelope. My father’s handwriting:

“For those who still remember, keep this house as if to honor their ancestors.”

In the envelope were:

A notarized will: the house is jointly registered with the two sisters, but the right to dispose of it must be agreed with the “person in charge of the family altar” for the next 3 years.

A notarized power of attorney, naming me – Miguel – as the temporary manager.

A request to revoke all capital contribution and loan transactions if the other party is Luis – Elena’s ex-husband.

A handwritten letter: “Miguel, you are quiet but know how to keep the right. My two daughters: Elena is hot as fire, Lia is soft as water. You are the shore. If life bends them, you pull them straight.”

Elena finished reading, tears glistening in her eyes.

Confrontation

Before he could calm down, Luis led two men to the yard and knocked on the door:

“Open it! Sign the capital contribution right away. I will pay the debt.”

Elena growled: “You borrowed it under my name. You know that.”

I walked out onto the porch and calmly said:

“Mr. Luis, we just found the will and power of attorney. All transactions must have my consent – ​​the manager of the incense altar. In addition, this revocation has invalidated all your contracts.”

He sneered and signaled his men to come in. I immediately dialed the barangay police number and turned on the speakerphone. Neighbors passing by also shouted:

“Luis! Don’t mess around. The anniversary of your grandfather’s death is coming soon.”

A few minutes later, the barangay police showed up. The documents were checked, the red seal was still valid. Luis was asked to leave and scheduled to work at the committee.

He angrily walked away, not forgetting to throw back: “Let’s see how long you can keep it.”

Father’s words still resonate

The next day, the notary in Manila confirmed the validity of the will and power of attorney. Luis lost.

That evening, Lia came back from Palawan and heard everything. She held my hand and whispered:

“I believed that if anything happened, Elena would come to you. And I know, Father chose the right person to entrust his incense to.”

Elena sat beside me, her eyes red but smiling with relief:

“Thank you, Miguel. That night, if you hadn’t opened the door, I would have collapsed. And thank you for closing the right door.”

I looked at the sparkling ring on my hand and softly replied:

“That door has been locked for a long time. The key is this ring.”

The three of us sat on the porch, drinking hot tea. In the corner of the house, a photo of my father-in-law smiled toothlessly, as if pointing at the saddle: “The papers can be hidden there. But the heart cannot.