My husband and I didn’t dare to spend anything, just sent it all back to my hometown for my mother-in-law to keep. When the day I announced that I was buying a house, I drove hundreds of kilometers back to my hometown to ask her for my money back, but I was stunned by the answer…
On the day of our wedding, my husband and I rented a room in Quezon City. I was very frugal: my husband received a monthly salary, I spent sparingly, not daring to buy anything for myself or my children. We all saved up money and sent it back to my mother-in-law (Nanay Lourdes) in Naga City, Camarines Sur to “keep for us”, thinking to myself: “Let Nanay keep it, later when we have enough, we can buy a small condo in Manila, to avoid the precarious situation of renting a room.”

For years, I lived frugally, not even daring to buy decent clothes, just hoping that one day I could openly exchange that money for an apartment.

Until that day, after so much waiting, I happily told my husband:
“We have enough money to buy a house. Tomorrow I will go back to Naga and ask Nanay to give it back to me to pay.”

The couple happily took the night bus hundreds of kilometers back to their hometown, in a joyful mood. I imagined myself holding my husband’s savings book in my hand, my heart filled with happiness. However, as soon as I sat down at the coffee table at Nanay’s house in the barangay outside Naga, before I could say anything, I was stunned by my mother-in-law’s cold answer….
“What money? When did I keep it for you guys? There has never been any money here!”

I was shocked, thinking I had misheard. But she spoke firmly, her voice still harsh as if she wanted to deny all responsibility.

The room fell silent. I trembled as I searched through the GCash money transfer messages/Palawan receipts I had sent to Nanay, but because I changed my phone, I no longer had all the documents. All those years of saving, it all turned out to be an empty zero.

My husband was stunned, his eyes red as he looked at his mother. But what made me freeze was the next moment: in a panic, I caught sight of my husband’s sister—Shiela—walking out of the room, wearing a sparkling designer dress, brand new leather shoes, and holding the latest iPhone.

At that moment, I understood… where had all the money my husband and I had spent all these years sending back to Quezon City—for Nanay to “keep”—gone?

Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law conflict & the fight to get back the “padala” money

That night, on the bus from Naga City to Quezon City, my husband was completely silent. I looked through the window, my shadow mixed in with the street lights. Nanay Lourdes’ words still pierced my ears: “What money? There’s never been any money here!” And the image of Shiela—branded dress, new phone—felt like a knife cutting into my chest.

At the rented room, my husband sat down, hoarsely:
— I’m sorry. From tomorrow, we won’t send any more money without documents. And… I’m on your side. We’ll get the money back.

I looked at him. For the first time, I saw in his eyes something both familiar and strange: halfway between gratitude and justice—but in the end, he chose justice for his small family.

The one who refused to talk

The next morning, I texted Nanay: “I want to sit down and talk clearly. The matter of ‘padala’ money over the years, I want to check with Nanay.”

“Busy,” she replied curtly.

Shiela sent a sarcastic smiley icon.

I swallowed. If the door doesn’t open, I’ll knock on the legal door.

Gather evidence: from “remembering and forgetting” to a file

I started tracing.

Go to GCash to restore transaction history using old email. It took me an afternoon with the operator, and finally I received monthly statements.

Go to Palawan Express counter, ask for a reprint of the receipt with ID card, provide estimated date/time. It’s slow but comes out gradually.

Go to the bank, ask for the bank statement of the salary account with the note “padala Nanay”.

Go back to the family group message, where I had announced “I just transferred… Nanay, please check.”

Knocking on Nanay’s neighbor’s door: Aling Tess vividly remembers the times Shiela brought home a new bag of goods “on the day her daughter-in-law transferred the money”.

For three nights in a row, I sat at the printer, putting each sheet into a thick black folder. Each page had a “post-it” with the following: Date – Amount – Transfer Channel – Reason.

My husband looked at the stack of papers, his eyes deep:
— You did it thoroughly. Let’s go to the barangay

Barangay hall: first round of mediation

We filed a complaint at the barangay hall where Nanay resided under Katarungang Pambarangay (grassroots mediation). Kapitana Mercy sent summons inviting both parties.

From paper and pen to cash

The first month, Nanay transferred on time. Kapitana reminded the schedule in the Viber group, attached a slip photo. Shiela was silent.

The third month, late. 7 days. Kapitana ping: “Reminder.” The 8th day, no money.

I kept the principle: sent a Notice of Default (notice of violation) under Kasunduan, counting the first period.

The fourth month, late for the second time. My husband and I went to the barangay hall. Kapitana stamped the violation confirmation for 2 periods.

— You two have the right to proceed with the transfer acceptance procedure under the mortgage terms, — she said.

I looked at my husband:
— We can use that land to offset part of the debt, and they will continue to pay the rest. It’s enough for us to put down a deposit on the apartment.

He nodded. We proceeded.

Dacion en pago: pay off debt with property

With the assistance of Atty. Dela Cruz, we made a “Deed of Dacion in Payment” (agreement to transfer property to offset debt) for 120m² in Naga. Kapitana certified Kasunduan supplemented; barangay cadastral office confirmed the land boundary; submitted the documents to the City Assessor.

Nanay cried, but signed. Shiela did not look at anyone.

It was not because I wanted to take my mother-in-law’s land. But if the money was lost, then property was the only support to start over
Nanay sat with her arms crossed. Shiela sat cross-legged, scrolling through her phone.

— I don’t accept. Don’t blame your mother-in-law! — Shiela growled.
I opened the black cover, slid out the GCash statement, the Palawan receipt, the text message.

Kapitana looked through it, tapped her pen:
— There are many traces of money transfers. Ate Lourdes, do you want to review before I make minutes?

Nanay pursed her lips:
— I don’t remember. But whether I remember or not, that’s the money they gave me.

I kept calm:
— There’s a gift certificate. This is the money they kept for the condo purchase. I never said “gift”.

The reconciliation failed. Kapitana made a record, scheduled a second meeting, asked for two Demand letters & the way back was narrowed

Before the second meeting, my husband asked Atty. Dela Cruz to draft a demand letter: asking Nanay and Shiela to return the entire amount received within a certain period of time, with a proposal: if they couldn’t pay immediately, they could sign a commitment to pay in installments and mortgage the land in Nanay’s name in Naga.

The letter was delivered in person. No response
Second Reconciliation: The Truth Revealed

The barangay meeting room was packed like a small market that day. Relatives were scattered, chismosa (gossipy neighbors) sat outside in the hallway.

Kapitana opened her mouth:
— If we don’t reach an agreement today, I will issue a Certification to File Action (certificate to file in court). Before going there, please ask Ate Lourdes to tell me the origin of the money your daughter-in-law transferred.

Nanay finally sighed, her voice lowered:
— Yes, I received it. But I didn’t use it for myself. Shiela needed money for review centers, certificate exams, and… I paid off her ex-husband’s debt… All of a sudden, everything was missing.

Shiela jumped up:
— Nanay! Why did you blame me?
Nanay turned around:
— You told me “don’t tell your brother and sister”. Now that it’s out, you deny it?

The room was noisy. Kapitana banged on the plastic hammer:
— Quiet! Mother and daughter confirmed that they had received the money. The remaining issue is how to pay.

I took a deep breath:
— We will not take it back by cursing. I want a clear “kasunduan” (agreement):

Nanay & Shiela sign the Debt Acknowledgement with the payment schedule (how much per month, on what day), not later than 7 days.

Mortgage with a 120m² plot of land in Nanay’s name at the barangay—if we violate 2 terms, we have the right to receive the transfer (payment by deducting the debt).

Do not harass me. All communication via Viber group with Kapitana as moderator.

If we violate, we will file Small Claims/Civil Action for sum of money & damages, no more talking.

Kapitana nodded:
— Reasonable. I will help prepare the Kasunduan today.

Shiela bit her lip:
— But… my phone is for work…

I looked straight:
— The phone is not a priority compared to our home.

Nanay bowed her head:
— Mom signed.

My husband’s hand shook as he signed. His pen glided across the paper as if releasing a heavy burden that had been weighing him down for so long.

Dream Apartment & New Limits

Six weeks later, I stood at the condo showroom in Quezon City, signing the contract. The deposit came from:

The 120m² plot of land converted to dacion;

Nanay’s first three timely payments;

My husband and I’s savings.

I placed a piece of paper on the refrigerator in our rented room: **“New family rules:

All remittances to relatives = contract/receipt.

No one uses the word ‘filial piety’ to deprive a spouse or children of their future.

Respect but with limits.”**

My husband hugged me tightly:
— Thank you for fighting. Otherwise, I would have thought “giving money is normal.” Now I understand: Our little family is the priority.

The last meeting at the barangay

On the day of the final receipt, Nanay came alone. Her face was more haggard. She put the envelope on the table and muttered:
— I’m sorry. I was wrong to think that the money you sent was “naturally mine”. As for Shiela… she’s immature, I spoiled her too much.

I sighed:
— I don’t hate you. But from now on, everything will be in black and white. And we’ll keep our distance until we truly respect each other’s boundaries.

She nodded. Kapitana closed the file and smiled:
— A case is done. Remember, love doesn’t mean there are no rules.

I walked out of the barangay hall, the afternoon sun pouring gold on the sidewalk. In my pocket was a copy of Kasunduan, a receipt, and a new peace. At the end of the street was an apartment under construction, the future no longer hung on promises