I gave my stepmother ₱32,500. per month, of which ₱21,700. was for grocery shopping and 5 million was for my aunt to take care of my father. After my father passed away, my aunt decided to pack her bags and return to her hometown. On the first day of the year, I went to visit my stepmother. I searched for a long time before finding her house. When we got there, my husband and I were shocked to see her New Year’s Eve meal—I didn’t think she was that kind of person—and I immediately made a decision that surprised my husband…

My father passed away in Quezon City. I grew up in Manila; when I was in my third year of college, my biological mother passed away early. My father was immersed in endless sadness, and I could only call to comfort him. When I went to work, my father gradually recovered. Through friends in the parish, my father met my aunt Lorna, who had two married sons in Caloocan and Pasig. The two children were busy, and no one wanted to take care of their mother, so aunt Lorna had to work as a kasambahay to take care of herself.

After about 6 months of knowing each other, they fell in love and fell in love. Dad wanted to register their marriage, but I strongly objected. I did not stop them from living together, but I did not accept the marriage certificate. Under my pressure, Dad did not get a marriage certificate and just moved in with Aunt Lorna.

I thought I would hate the person who replaced Mom. But every time I went back to Quezon City, Aunt Lorna prepared a nice meal and took good care of Dad. Thanks to her, Dad was healthier and happier. But my heart still ached—as if Mom’s position had been replaced, and Dad was also “robbed” from me. From then on, I rarely went home, only visiting during holidays, not wanting to see Dad and Aunt being intimate.

Everything changed after I got married. My mother-in-law treated me harshly and did not take care of me during my confinement period. When Aunt Lorna found out, she went with Dad to Makati to take care of the baby: going to the market, cooking, doing laundry, holding the baby—no problem. I gave my aunt ₱32,500 a month: ₱21,700 for groceries, ₱10,800 for wages. She only took ₱21,700 and returned the rest, telling me “you just gave birth, so save, you’ll have a lot of expenses later.”

When my child went to kindergarten, Aunt Lorna was still worried, and asked to stay and help for a while longer. That unpredicted care made me feel the motherly love I had lost. I gradually visited my father and aunt regularly, bringing food, clothes, and some money for the holidays. I thought our small family would be peaceful like that, but after 10 years together, my father fell seriously ill and passed away.

After my father passed away, Aunt Lorna packed her things and returned to her child. I wanted to keep her, but I thought she might want to reunite with her children and grandchildren, so I didn’t stop her. At the beginning of the new year, my husband and I brought gifts to Caloocan to visit my aunt’s eldest brother—but we didn’t see anyone. The eldest brother said that my aunt went to Pasig to live with the youngest. I still couldn’t find her when I went to Pasig. The youngest daughter-in-law said, “She’s not used to living in the city, so she took a jeepney back to her hometown.”

I asked the neighbors and learned that my aunt Lorna was seriously ill, and her two sons had to spend a lot of money to treat her; her two daughters-in-law pushed the responsibility of taking care of her. In the end, she quietly returned to the province.

My husband and I immediately drove to my aunt’s hometown in San Jose, Nueva Ecija. The old nipa house had gray bamboo walls that had withstood the elements, and in front of the porch was a small charcoal stove. Aunt Lorna sat on the wooden steps, holding a bowl of steaming white lugaw. Seeing that scene, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

At that moment, I made a decision: to take my aunt Lorna to my house and take care of her for the rest of her life. My husband nodded without hesitation.

Aunt Lorna wanted to refuse. I took her hand:
— Mom, you’ve taken care of my dad, me, and my grandchildren for so many years. For a long time, I have considered you as my real mother. If your two brothers do not take care of you, then my husband and I will.

Hearing the word “Mom” from my mouth, Aunt Lorna covered her face and cried—the first time in many years that I had called her that. Nanay Lorna’s chapped hands wiped my tears, her voice trembling:
— Am I bothering you?

My husband and I looked at each other, smiled, and said in unison:
— Not at all. We are very happy to live with you. From now on, you can rest assured at our house.

We packed a few things: a few sets of daster clothes, a medicine bag, an old photo of my father and my aunt taken together in Luneta years ago. On the way back to Manila, the tricycle took us to the national highway, the afternoon sun pouring down on the golden palay fields. I told myself: No matter how hard things are in the future, I will still accompany my stepmother—Nanay Lorna—as she has silently accompanied my father and myself for all those years.