I had morning sickness because of pregnancy. So I went back to my mother’s house for a few days and saw some fruit in the fridge, so I ate it. Unexpectedly, it was my sister-in-law’s. When she came home from work and saw that it had been reduced, she opened it and counted the fruit right in front of me, then said something that made me bitter…
My name is Lia, 25 years old, I had been married for half a year when I discovered I was pregnant. In the early days, morning sickness tormented me terribly. I vomited everything I ate, and I was exhausted. My husband – Miguel – was busy working in Makati, so he advised me to go back to my mother’s house in Antipolo (Rizal) to rest for a few weeks. “Go back to Nanay, I’ll come over this weekend,” he said. I agreed, because my mother’s house was not far from the city, and I missed her terribly.

My mother’s house was in the suburbs of Antipolo, a simple two-story house with a small garden behind the house with sampaguita flowers and a few chili peppers. My brother, Jerome, had been married for three years. My sister-in-law – Grace – works as an accountant for a big company in Ortigas. She is clean, tidy, and smiles a lot, but sometimes I see her looking at me with an unreadable gaze, as if she is examining me. Nanay loves me – the youngest child – very much; as soon as I get home, my mother is busy cooking porridge, mixing lemonade, and coaxing me like when I was a child.

The first day, the morning sickness came back. My mouth was bitter, and I craved something sour to soothe my stomach. Nanay had not returned from the market yet, Jerome was at work, and so was Grace. I crawled down to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator to find something to eat. My eyes lit up when I saw a bag of bright red siniguelas (Filipino plums), fresh. Without thinking much, I washed a few and sat right at the kitchen table to eat. The sweet and sour taste spread, and the nausea subsided. I ate one fruit after another, and by the time I was full, the bag of siniguelas was more than half empty. I smiled, thinking: “Maybe Nanay bought it for me.”

Late in the afternoon, Grace came home. She was wearing a neat office outfit, her hair tied up high, her face a little tired. I was lying on the sofa watching TV, saying hello to her. She nodded, went straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator to get some water. Suddenly she stopped. I heard a rattling sound, turned my head and saw her take out a bag of siniguelas, opened it and… poured it all onto the plate right in front of me. Her face paled. “Lia, did you eat my siniguelas?” – she said, her voice cold.

I sat up: “Oh… I saw it in the refrigerator, thought Nanay bought it. I was so nauseous, I craved sourness so…”

She didn’t let me finish. She counted each fruit: one, two, three… up to twelve. “This morning I left twenty-five. Now there are only these.” Her voice was even and full of reproach. I blushed, stammered: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Let me go to the sari-sari store or supermarket to compensate you?”

She didn’t answer, just silently gathered the siniguelas into her bag, carried them upstairs, and slammed the door. I sat there, my heart pounding; embarrassed and angry. Just a few fruits, why did it have to be so bad? Nanay came back, I told her. Mom just sighed: “Okay, my sister-in-law is picky. Let me talk.”

Dinner was quiet. Jerome asked me a few questions about the pregnancy. Grace just picked up her food, not looking at me. I tried to smile and talk, but the atmosphere was still heavy. Late at night, I heard whispers in the room. “Don’t be angry anymore, Lia is having morning sickness,” Jerome said. Grace replied, her voice tense: “If you have morning sickness, why are you touching my things? This family always prioritizes the youngest child. I can’t stand it anymore!”

The next morning, I decided to be straightforward. She was making coffee in the kitchen. I walked in: “Sister, I’m sorry about yesterday. But… are you really angry with me? Just because of those siniguelas?”

She turned around, her eyes red. “Siniguelas? You think it’s just because of those, Lia?” Her voice broke. “Those… Jerome bought them for me, because I was also having morning sickness.” Tears welled up in her eyes. I was stunned: “You… you’re pregnant?”

She nodded, sat down on the chair. Then she told me. For the past three years, she had been trying to have a baby, went to the doctor everywhere, took all kinds of medicine. She had gotten pregnant and then miscarried, so this time, after only two months, she kept it a secret, only Jerome knew. The bag of siniguelas was bought by him to ease her morning sickness, she kept it in the refrigerator as a “little secret”. When she saw me eating it, she wasn’t just regretting the fruit; she was jealous and scared. “I’m back, Nanay loves you so much. As for me, I’ve tried for so many years, and now I’m pregnant but I still have to hide it, afraid that I’ll lose the baby like before. I’m so scared, Lia.”

I hugged her, tears falling too. It turned out that behind Grace’s strong appearance was a silent pain. The conflict did not come from a few siniguelas, but from a long-standing wound: Nanay unintentionally favored the youngest child, her busy brother didn’t share much, and her sister-in-law was lonely on her journey to motherhood.

From that day on, I stayed longer, helped her cook sour sinigang to relieve morning sickness, gave her the “Ate corner” of the refrigerator, and cleverly persuaded Nanay to care for her more. I told my mother: “You’re spoiled, now it’s Grace’s turn.” Nanay listened, nodded silently, started cooking more fish porridge, bought sour fruits, and asked about her every night.

Her pregnancy was safe. It wasn’t until Grace’s baby was born that our home was truly complete: the baby’s cries melted into the Antipolo wind, through the white sampaguita trees on the porch. That story taught me: families aren’t always perfect. Sometimes, a bag of sour siniguelas can reopen old wounds — but it can also, if we open our hearts, bring us closer together.