A month after giving birth to my first daughter, I thought my life was complete. During the confinement period, my husband – Paolo – took good care of his wife and children. He came home early from work, cooked, cleaned, and woke up at night to make milk for the baby. Seeing him holding and comforting the baby in our small house in Quezon City, I cried tears of happiness many times.

But in the fourth week, I started to feel something was wrong. Every 2-3 am, Paolo would open the refrigerator, take out some frozen milk bags (I had carefully labeled the date) and sneak out. At first, I thought he was making milk, but when he held the baby, the milk bottle was a different one. The amount of breast milk in the refrigerator kept decreasing, even though I still expressed regularly.

I asked softly:
— Where is the milk you saved yesterday?

Paolo smiled awkwardly:
— I… accidentally spilled it.

The answer was not convincing. I decided to pretend to sleep and wait and see. The next night, he opened the cupboard, gathered the milk bags with the dates written on them, put them in a bag, and walked out the door very quietly as if afraid of waking little Mika.

I put on a thin coat, asked my mother who was staying with me to look after the baby, and then secretly followed. The small alley of the barangay was quiet, the yellow lights flickering. Paolo went straight to Nanay’s house a few hundred meters away, instead of turning onto the main street as I thought. I held my breath and hid behind a tree. The door opened slightly; Mama Luz walked out, her face gaunt, her hair messy. Paolo handed over the milk bag, the two of them whispered and then went inside.

I was stunned. Why did he secretly bring milk back to Nanay?

Through the half-closed door, I saw a scene that made my heart ache: in the room, Ate Rosa – Kuya Ramon’s wife (Paolo’s brother) – was huddled in a hug holding a red newborn baby. The baby cried hoarsely from hunger. Ate Rosa was pale, her eyes were dark. Mama Luz quickly took the milk bag, warmed it up, and gave it to Ate. The baby sucked the bottle enthusiastically, the crying gradually stopped.

I was shocked to understand: Ate Rosa was born prematurely, her body was weak and she had no milk; Kuya’s family was poor and didn’t have enough money to buy formula. To keep her grandchild from going hungry, Mama Luz asked Paolo to secretly bring my milk over every night.

Tears welled up. Dark suspicions – fear of him betraying her, fear of having an “illegitimate child” – suddenly vanished. The truth was the helplessness of the whole family in the face of difficulties.

I quietly returned. I felt sorry for my husband and my grandchild, but also felt sorry for myself because no one said a word to me. It turned out that I had accidentally become the “adoptive mother” of a child without even knowing it.

The next morning, I said to Paolo:
— You followed me last night. You saw everything.

He stopped, bowed his head, his voice trembling:
— I’m sorry… I was afraid you would be sad. You just gave birth, and it was hard, so I didn’t want you to worry about Kuya anymore. But seeing the baby crying and hungry… I couldn’t help myself.

I held his hand:
— I don’t blame you for helping the family. But I was wrong to hide it from you. You can share – as long as you don’t have to live in doubt.

That night, I personally brought more milk over. Looking at the baby suckling well in his mother’s arms, my heart ached. Ate Rosa held my hand tightly, tears rolling down:
— Thank you… If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know what to do.

From that day on, I took the initiative to express milk, dividing it into two parts: one for Mika, one for the baby at Mama Luz’s house. Paolo no longer sneaked out at night. He looked at me, his eyes filled with tears – perhaps he had never seen his wife so strong and tolerant.

In the small house in Quezon City, amidst hardships, love brought us back to peace. And I understand: sometimes a shocking truth teaches us how to love more completely – not only for our children, but also for the lives right next to us.