In the eyes of our friends and families, we were a model couple. My husband, Miguel Santos, was a sales manager for a large corporation in Makati, elegant and well-spoken, always acting like a family man. I, Isabel Cruz, was a secondary school teacher in a public school in Quezon City, taking care of our two well-behaved children – a boy and a girl – and building a home I was proud of. Twelve years into our marriage, our Pasig home was filled with laughter. I believed this happiness would last forever.

Until one weekend night, as Miguel slept soundly after a company party at Bonifacio Global City, his phone screen kept flashing. Curious, I reached out to pick it up and my heart sank at that moment. Not work messages, but a series of sweet words, intimate pictures between him and a young, beautiful girl I had never met. They called each other “asawa ko” and “mahal ko,” and dated at fancy restaurants in Makati, where he often told me I “had to entertain clients.”

The initial shock passed, instead of crying, a cold, scary feeling filled me. I did not wake him, did not make a fuss. I put the phone back, turned my back to the man I had shared a bed with, but tears just kept flowing. That night I stayed up all night, knowing that jealousy or crying would only make me miserable and give him a chance to deny it. No, I would not let him escape.

In the following days, I was still a good wife, a good mother. I still prepared breakfast, ironed his shirts for work, still smiled and asked him how he was doing every night. Miguel did not notice the storm raging inside me, and was even pleased that he had hidden it so well. Meanwhile, I quietly took action: contacted a good lawyer in Manila, collected evidence of adultery – text messages, photos, money transfers to the mistress. I made a statement of our joint assets, prepared all the documents for a divorce that I would control.

Miguel’s 40th birthday was coming up. He wanted to throw a big party at home, inviting both sets of parents from Batangas and Pampanga, along with close friends. I happily agreed, even saying:
— I have a special gift, which will surely surprise you and everyone.

He hugged me, complimenting me on being the best wife. That hug made me sick.

The birthday party was fun. Everyone ate, drank, congratulated, praised Miguel’s career and happy family. When the party reached its climax, I stood up, took the microphone and said softly:
— Thank you everyone for coming to celebrate. Now please look up at the screen to see the special gift I prepared for Asawa.

Miguel looked at me proudly. The screen lit up, starting with family photos from the wedding day, when the children were born… Everyone applauded. But then, the music stopped, replaced by deadly silence. On the screen, lines of sweet text messages between him and his girlfriend appeared. Next were photos of them hugging and kissing at a restaurant in Greenbelt, shopping arm in arm at Mall of Asia, and even a hotel bill in Ortigas bearing his name.

The air was thick. The whispers died down. The in-laws from Pampanga were stunned, their faces pale. My parents from Batangas were speechless. Miguel stood rooted to the spot, his face white.

I put down the microphone, looked straight at him, my voice clear and cold:
— This gift, do you like it? Over the past few months, you have played the role of a faithful husband very well. Today, I just helped you announce another role that you have also been very successful in. The divorce papers and all the evidence are ready. This house and the custody of the children, I will not give in.

Having said that, I took the two children into the room, leaving behind a ruined party and utter shock. It was painful, but it was the only way for me to regain my honor and start a new life, without any more lies.