Mother kicked out of her house by her own son in Quezon City – and the plan to turn things around in a week

The two-story house on the corner of Quezon City was the fortune I had saved for half my life, in my name, built with sweat and tears from years of selling goods at the Divisoria market. Yet that day, I stood in front of the locked iron gate, hearing my own son coldly point out the street:

– “Mama, kung nawala mo ang titulo ng lupa, huwag mong isisi sa iba! Hindi ka na welcome dito!”

I was stunned. It was true that the land title had disappeared from the cabinet a few days ago, but I did not dare to suspect anyone. I only saw my son – Arvin – repeatedly calling someone, then suddenly changing the lock, kicking me out of my own house.

I quietly turned my back. I did not cry. I did not beg. But I also did not tell him: I still had notarized photocopies, along with other important documents that he did not know about.

The mother chose to remain silent

That night, I took my bag and went to stay at the house of Aling Tess, a kind neighbor. She let me sleep in the old room behind, next to Arvin’s house. From there, I heard and saw many things that he did not know.

Three days later, I heard Arvin having a party in the house, laughing happily:….

– “Sinabi ng broker, dahil nakapangalan sa nanay, kailangan mawala ang titulo para makagawa ng bago. Pero may scan na ako. May down payment na rin, dalawang milyon piso, deal na this week!”
I stood there dumbfounded. So that was it.

Counterattack plan

Without hesitation, I called an old friend – now retired but used to be an economic police officer in Camp Crame, still had many connections. I told him everything, showed him notarized copies of the land title, related documents, the recording from the wall of the house, and even the clip from the mini camera I secretly installed before leaving.

Each piece was a piece, but put together to form an organized property fraud scheme.

A week later…

Exactly 7 days later, when Arvin brought the “home buyer” to see the house, three plainclothes policemen, along with me and Aling Tess, walked out of the house next door.

– “Mr. Arvin Dela Cruz – please come to the barangay to work. There is a complaint against you for forging documents and fraudulently selling a house that you do not own.”

His face turned pale. The man who was with him was also stunned, stammering:

– “Akala ko… pumayag na ang nanay mo? Hindi ba siya ang nag-authorize?”

I stepped forward, took the original land title from my pocket, and said loudly:
– “Ako ang may-ari ng bahay na ito. Hindi ko kailanman ipinahintulot ang bentahan. And if you want to know more, his fake signature file is already in the hands of the police.”

Aftershocks in the neighborhood

The story shook the entire barangay. Some sympathized, others cursed. Some said I was clever, others shook their heads in pity for the son who was blinded by money, to the point of turning his back on his own mother.

As for me… I don’t feel happy or elated. I just feel relieved – because I didn’t give my full trust to someone who calls me “mother” but sees me as an obstacle that must be eliminated.

The day Arvin was detained at the barangay hall, the whole neighborhood came to watch. Some pointed, some gossiped, some even sarcastically said:

– “Akala niya matalino. Pera lang pala ang habol, pati nanay linoko.”

I sat in a corner, my hands trembling as I held the report. Seeing my son being taken away by the police, my face drained of blood, my heart ached. He was still the child I had held since he was a newborn, yet today he stood before me like a stranger.

Night at Aling Tess’s house

That night, I could not sleep. The sound of the rain falling on the tin roof seemed to pound on my heart with each painful beat. Aling Tess brought me a cup of hot ginger tea and comforted me:

– “Comadre, huwag mong sisihin ang sarili mo. Hindi mo kasalanan. Anak mo na ang pumili ng daan mali.”

I smiled sadly:
– “Pero Tess, what mother doesn’t feel pain when seeing her child in a selda (cell)? I both hate and love him. I’m afraid that if I forgive him, he will reoffend. But if I leave him, will I be any different from someone without maternal love?”

Aling Tess held my hand:
– “Minsan, pagmamahal also needs discipline. Hindi lahat ng forgiveness ay dapat walang consequences.”

Confession in prison

The next day, I was allowed to visit. Arvin was sitting in the cell, his hair disheveled, his eyes dark. As soon as he saw me, he burst into tears:

– “Mama, patawarin mo ako. I was blinded by money. Akala ko kung may dalawang milyon, mabibili ko lahat – car, condo, future. Pero hindi ko naisip na mawawala pala lahat, lalo na ikaw.”

I choked up, wanting to reach out and hug my child, but the cold iron bars separated us. I asked, my voice trembling:

“Arvin, if you hadn’t been arrested today, would you dare to stop? Or would you really sell this house?”

He was silent. Tears fell on the cement floor. That was the clearest answer.

Inner struggle

On the way home, I was like a lost soul. I recalled every memory: the day he learned to walk, the day he passed the university entrance exam, the day his father passed away, the two of us hugged and cried in the small house. I raised him with every penny I earned from selling goods on the street, with my youth fading in the sun and wind.

And yet today, he wanted to take away that roof, take away the place that used to be the heart of the family.

I had to choose:

If I forgive and withdraw the lawsuit, Arvin can be released early, but will he repent? Or will he continue to fall?

If I am tough and let the law handle it, I will lose my child, but I can save him from the greed that has been ingrained.

I had never felt so lost.

Decision

Three days later, I stood before the police desk, my hands shaking as I signed. I did not withdraw the complaint. I let the law teach my child for me – something my love could not do.

That night, I sat alone, whispering to myself:
– “Arvin, I still love you. But this love is no longer about letting go, but about letting you face the consequences. If you still have a conscience, you will understand why I did it.”

My tears fell, but my heart suddenly felt lighter. I know that sometimes maternal love is not just about embracing, but also about forcing your child to pay the price so that they can have a chance to start their life over again.

After six months in detention for forgery and conspiracy to defraud, Arvin was given a reduced sentence because he confessed honestly and because it was his first offense. The day he walked out of the detention center in Camp Bagong Diwa, Taguig, no one was waiting except me.

He walked out, thin, in old prison clothes, his eyes downcast. I wanted to run to hug him, but my legs suddenly stopped. I still had the wound of betrayal.

“Mama… salamat at andito ka pa rin.”

I nodded, but said nothing. We walked back in silence.

Shunned from society

Back in the neighborhood in Quezon City, the looks of the neighbors made Arvin look down. Someone said bitterly:

“Ayan, ex-convict na. Huwag mong papalapitin sa tindahan, baka magnakaw.”

– “Kawawa si Aling Rosa, may anak ganyan.”

I watched my son bite his lips, his hands clenched. He didn’t argue, just silently returned to his old room.

In the following days, he looked for work everywhere: construction companies, computer stores, even car washes. But as soon as the records were presented, as long as they knew they had “convictions”, everyone shook their heads.

Arvin skipped meals many times, sitting on the porch. I saw my son’s eyes gradually dim, but this time, I didn’t choose to stay silent.

A chance to redeem myself

One afternoon, I dragged him to Aling Tess’s sari-sari store. I said bluntly:

– “Kung walang tatanggap sa iyo, magsimula ka rito. Magbenta, mag-ayos, tumulong. Hindi glamorous, pero trabaho pa rin.”

Arvin was silent for a long time, then nodded.

From then on, he got up early to help carry goods, carry water, and clean. The neighbors were initially skeptical, but gradually they saw that he was hardworking, polite, and did not complain despite the hard work.

Once, I heard the neighborhood security guard say:

“Si Arvin, tinulungan akong magtulak ng kariton nang walang hinihinging kapalit. Baka nga nagbago na.”

Public apology

Three months later, during the barangay fiesta, Arvin suddenly asked permission to speak at the community meeting. He stood on the podium, his voice trembling:

– “Mga kapitbahay, patawarin niyo ako. Nagkasala ako, hindi lang sa inyo, kundi sa Mama ko. Dahil sa kasakiman, muntik kong ipagbili ang tahanan na pinaghirapan niya buong buhay. Alam kong mahirap bawiin ang tiwala, pero gusto kong simulan muli. Hindi bilang anak ng janitress, hindi bilang ex-convict, kundi bilang tao handang magbago.”

The whole hall was silent. I sat below, tears welling up.

Faith returned

From that day on, people’s attitudes gradually changed. Some people started to greet Arvin in the morning, some asked him to help fix the roof, some shops even hired him for a temporary job.

One night, when I was serving dinner, Arvin said softly:

“Mama, salamat. Kung hindi mo pinili let me pay, I guess you are still blinded by money.”

I looked at my son, my hands were thin but my eyes were brighter than ever. I replied, my voice trembling:

“Arvin, I will never abandon you. But I will never indulge in mistakes. You have stood up, that is the greatest reward for motherhood.”

Closing in hope

The two-story house on the corner is still there. But for me, the value is no longer in the walls or the papers, but in the moment I saw my son bow his head, stand up, and live a decent life.

The neighbors whispered:

“Akala namin wala na. Pero may mga tao, just a second chance is enough.”

I smiled. Because sometimes, severe punishment is the door to salvation. And in that journey, maternal love does not disappear, but becomes stronger and brighter than ever.