I was stunned. My mother had just passed away for 7 days, and my stepfather had abandoned me.

I am 46 years old. My name is Payapa — my mother gave me the wish that my life would be peaceful amidst all the turmoil. But my life, from childhood to adulthood, has rarely been smooth.

I have never known my biological father. When my mother was 5 months pregnant with me, my father was diagnosed with cancer. He saved money for my mother to give birth, gritting his teeth to endure the pain until I was born. Less than a month later, my father passed away. My mother named me Payapa (in Tagalog it means “peace”) as a consolation after such a great loss.

My childhood was spent working hard with my mother. At first, Lolo (grandfather) helped, but later Lolo also fell ill. My mother raised me alone. When I was 5 years old, my mother remarried. That man brought with him a daughter who was 5 years older than me — from then on I had a step-sister.

His name was Mang Ben, and Lolo told me to call him “Tatay Ben.” At first, I didn’t call him “Tatay,” and I was distant. But he always had a gentle smile, worked hard, treated my mother well, and loved me very much. Gradually, I accepted him as my second father, even though we were not related by blood.

Tatay Ben was a man of few words, but his every action was sincere. When Lolo was alive, he didn’t let Lolo do any heavy work. Later, when Lolo died, people in the barangay (village) didn’t respect a “foreign” man like Tatay Ben because he was not a native. My family was bullied a lot. My mother decided to go back to his hometown in Batangas with him, where his relatives were numerous and united.

Although we were not related, Tatay Ben always treated me like his own son. I went to school far away, and he took care of every penny of my living expenses. Even though the family was poor and my mother was seriously ill, he still said:

“As long as you study, even if the family sells everything, we will take care of you to the end.”

I engraved that sentence in my heart.

My mother’s health became increasingly poor. Ate Malou (the stepsister) had to quit school early to help with the housework, while I was allowed to continue going to school. I loved my sister and tried my best to study hard so as not to let her down. But the fact that I was allowed to continue studying made her gradually resentful.

When I was in 11th grade (Senior High), she had a fierce argument with Tatay Ben about getting married, saying that he only cared about “outsiders” and did not care about his own children. That was the first and only time he beat her. She left home to marry far away and did not return for two years. My mother was tormented by this matter for a long time.

When my mother passed away right after I finished my university entrance exam, Tatay Ben came to me and said:
— “Your mother told me to go live with Tito Carlo from now on. Your mother left the old house for your father to look after. This house has been sold, here is ₱200,000 for your university tuition. From now on, we have no relationship.”

I was stunned. My mother had just passed away for 7 days, and he had abandoned me. I cried, asked to continue being his daughter, and promised to take care of him for the rest of my life. But he just quietly turned away and said:
— “Tatay never thought of asking for anything from you. Tatay can’t afford 4 more years of university… don’t look for Tatay.”

So I moved back to Tito’s house in pain, resentment, and despair. I used to think: if we are not related by blood, people would turn their backs so easily.

During my university years, I studied and worked part-time to support Tito and Tita. Then I passed the master’s exam, became a university lecturer. I got married, lived a stable life, and could be called successful. But in my heart, the wound of Tatay Ben never healed.

Since the day I moved away, I have never seen him again. When I went back to my hometown to visit Tito, Tita did not stop by, only came back to light candles on Undas (All Souls’ Day) and then left. Until Pasko (Christmas) that year, I brought my wife to Tito’s house to celebrate the New Year. Before leaving, Tito stopped me and said:

“Payapa, go visit Tatay Ben. He is celebrating the New Year alone, it’s a pity.”

I smiled faintly:

“He left me. What kind of relationship is there to visit him?”

Tito looked at me for a long time, then said softly:

“Tito is sorry for you. There is something that Tito has hidden from you for the past 10 years.”

The story that followed left me speechless:
It turned out that the house that was sold that year was not my mother’s house, but Tatay Ben’s house.

Before my mother passed away, she told me to sell the house to take care of me, but her house was too cheap, not enough. Tatay Ben quietly sold his house, took ₱200,000 for my tuition. He used the rest to pay off his mother’s medical loan, and then worked for hire everywhere. The money Tito gave me to study every year was actually the money Tatay Ben sent.

He deliberately created a scenario of “abandoning” me so that I would not feel guilty, and not drop out of school because of his love for him. He was afraid that if I knew the truth, I would refuse to continue studying. For the past ten years, he had lived a miserable, wandering life.

After hearing that, I went crazy and rushed back to the old house. The rusty gate was unlocked for the first time. I pushed the door open and entered. When he saw me, he was stunned, then hugged me, saying:
— “It’s cold outside, come inside.”

I couldn’t hold back my tears and knelt down:

“Tatay, it was my fault. I have been blaming Tatay for the past 10 years. I am unfilial, please forgive me.”

He hurriedly pulled me up, crying as he spoke:

“I am Tatay’s child. Why does Tatay blame me?”

We hugged each other tightly. At that moment, I knew I had found my family again. Now, whenever someone asks: “Who is your father?”, I smile and proudly say:

“Tatay did not give birth to me, but gave me my whole life.”