Forced by my parents to marry the rich neighbor next door in Manila, I couldn’t smile with tears in my eyes on my wedding day

My family in Tondo, Manila, was deeply in debt after borrowing “5–6” from loan sharks. My neighbor next door – Mang Rogelio, a big-bellied construction materials store owner in Caloocan, almost 20 years older than me – proposed. Nanay Lorna and Tatay Ben nodded immediately. I was like being pushed into a corner, trying to force a smile at the wedding at Quiapo Church, but my eyes kept stinging.

On the wedding night, in a small hotel room on Roxas Boulevard, I was “defensive”: wearing four layers – shirt, hoodie, long nightgown, and a thin jacket – and pulling the blanket tightly. I thought to myself: “I can’t do anything even if I wanted to.”

As soon as the lights went out, I turned around to find a comfortable sleeping position when… my butt “bumped” into something cold right at the edge of the mattress. I reached down: a thick envelope.

I held my breath. I thought it was probably money to “entertain” me and make me feel less uncomfortable. I pretended to go to the bathroom to “change clothes”, locked the door, and then dared to open it. It wasn’t money. Inside was a stack of land documents: Transfer Certificate of Title (TCT), Deed of Absolute Sale with notary stamp, and Acknowledgment Receipt – all with the buyer’s name Rogelio D. Santos. On the last page were the signatures and fingerprints of Nanay and Tatay.

At the bottom of the stack, there was a crumpled piece of paper, with ink smeared, scrawled with some Tagalog words: “Ibinenta ang anak – kapalit waif.” (Sell daughter – in exchange for waif … Poverty had torn away the last shred of my self-respect – and that of my parents.

Before I could recover, through the crack in the bathroom door, I heard Mang Rogelio on the phone, his voice hushed:

“Oo, tapos na rito (yes, it’s done). Bukas signed the deed and it was done. Yung lote sa Dasmariñas (lot of land in Dasmariñas – Cavite) handa mo na ang buyer. Tao aalisin it soon… para malinis.”
Each word cut like a knife. Not only Nanay, Tatay was using me to pay off his debt; his new husband was also planning to move me out quickly to keep all his assets.

I leaned against the cold tiles, listening to my heart pounding. Suddenly, an idea flashed – to retaliate on the wedding night.

I folded the stack of papers, stuffed it into my innermost layer of clothing, opened the door and walked out, pretending to be innocent and asking to borrow my phone to “let my best friend in Quezon City know I was safe.” While he was in the toilet, I secretly took a photo of all the documents, saved them in my email, and sent another copy to my aunt who works at the barangay hall where my family is registered.

When Mang Rogelio came out, I poured a glass of water, smiled:

“Tomorrow, I will sign – but it must be witnessed by Nanay, Tatay, and the kagawad from Barangay 128. What is a decent person afraid of when it comes to proper procedures… right?”

He paused for a beat – just a beat – then nodded, smiling wryly. As for me, I did not sleep that night. I prepared a blotter to send to the barangay, listing the debts, the TCT number, the name of the notary, the date of the Deed; and texted a pro bono lawyer in Ermita that my friend had introduced.

Tomorrow morning, if they want to force me to sign, I will bring everything to light: barangay blotter, minutes, witnesses. If he “cleared” me out early, I would have evidence to accuse him of coercion and deception in the transaction. No matter what the scenario, I would not lose this game.

On my wedding night in Manila, I understood one thing: when they consider me a commodity, the fastest way to defend myself is to put all dirty agreements in black and white among the community – immediately.

And I was ready

Part 2: The Minutes at the Barangay
The next morning, I arrived at Barangay 128 Hall an hour early. The meeting room was tiny, the walls were covered with posters of RA 9262 (protection of women and children), the ceiling fan hummed, the smell of 3-in-1 coffee wafted in the air. I handed the blotter I had submitted last night to Ate Fely – the barangay secretary – and said clearly: “I want the mediation to be recorded in full, with everyone’s signatures.”

In less than ten minutes, Nanay Lorna and Tatay Ben appeared. Nanay looked like she hadn’t slept, her eyes were puffy, and she was holding an old cloth bag. Tatay looked down at the tips of her shoes, avoiding my eyes. Then Mang Rogelio walked in, his new polo shirt smelling of starch, smiling politely.

Kap Mario nodded and said:
— This is a family matter. Let’s talk softly, ayusin na lang (make it smooth), okay?

I put the stack of photocopies on the table: TCT, Deed of Absolute Sale, Acknowledgment Receipt – all of which I had photographed and printed. On top, I clipped a crumpled piece of paper with the words: “Ibinenta ang anak – kapalit wahi.”

The noisy room suddenly fell silent. I spoke slowly, clearly hearing each word:
— This is no longer a “family matter”. This is a transaction with signs of fraud and coercion. I request a Barangay Protection Order under RA 9262. And if necessary, I will file an Anti-Trafficking application.

Nanay burst into tears:
— My child… wala kaming choice (I have no choice). The 5-6 money is being demanded urgently, my child is hospitalized. Rogelio helps our family.

Tatay hoarsely:
— I’m sorry. I’ll pay off the debt this time and then slowly redeem you…

I looked straight at Mang Rogelio:
— What about your call last night? “Aalisin it will soon let malinis property.” How do you explain?

Mang Rogelio smiled:
— You heard wrong. What I meant was “let me rest and clear my head”.

I put the phone on the table, turned on the speaker recording. His voice rang out clearly: “Bukas signed the deed… aayusin ko para malinis.”
Kap looked up. Kagawad glanced at each other.

Ate Fely flipped the stack of papers, frowning:
— Kap, the notary seal here is Atty. Lerma P. Ignacio… but last month the office reported a change of the book; this seal is in the wrong format. And this TCT number… the property location part says Tondo, but the technical description is Dasmariñas, Cavite. Contradiction.

The door opened, Atty. Aria Dela Cruz – the pro bono lawyer I had texted last night – walked in, putting down the file:
— I would like to attend as her advisor. I can see that there are problems with this deed: invalid notarization, wrong land description, insufficient signatures from the heirs. She is a co-heir under her grandmother’s Extrajudicial Settlement in Cavite, without a Special Power of Attorney, no one can sign on her behalf. Any transfer at this time is considered invalid.

Mang Rogelio’s face paled slightly. He turned to Kap:
— Kap, I am compadre. Let me talk in the house…

Kap coughed lightly, looked at the stamped blotter:
— There is a blotter, a recording, a legal advisor. I dare not “deal with it in the house”. According to the regulations, the barangay issued a temporary BPO: Mr. Rogelio is not allowed to approach, threaten, or force her to sign any documents. Any appointment to sign must be through the barangay or the lawyer’s office.

Nanay fell to her knees, hugging my knees:

— My child, forgive your parents. Your brother’s medical bills… and your father’s e-sabong… I’m stupid, please.

I bit my lip until it bled. I thought I would scream, I would curse. But when Nanay trembled and hugged my knees, I suddenly felt a cold void in my chest. I said softly:

— I’m not suing my parents because I’m poor. I just won’t let anyone sign away my life. This BPO protects you – and also protects me from being forced again

Mang Rogelio jumped up, the chair scraping on the floor:

He was rude! I married him with cash and land!

Kagawad and tanod immediately stood in between. Atty Aria raised his chin, speaking evenly:

“Marriage” is not a sale. And the “money” you spent cannot legalize a dirty contract. If you continue to threaten, we will add it to the VAWC file.

The air was thick. Kap signed the Barangay Protection Order, stamped “Issued”, and handed it to me. My hands were still shaking, but that familiar shaking suddenly… had a support.

At noon, Atty Aria took me to the Registry of Deeds in Dasmariñas. The sun was blazing in Cavite. In the office, there was the smell of old paper and ink, we asked for a certified true copy from the relevant TCT. The employee checked the documents, typed on the machine, then looked up:

— Ma’am, this plot of land is the legacy of Lola Benita. According to the Extrajudicial Settlement filed five years ago, she was the primary heir to 60%. Any transfer would have required her signature. A draft deed was recently submitted, but was returned for lack of consent.

I thanked her, asked for a tax declaration and a copy of the assessor’s map. The pieces fell into place: Rogelio had not just “cleared the debt” for my family; he had hooked up with a “buyer” who was waiting, planning to trick me into signing it and flip the land in a week. I was not just a “reluctant bride”; I was the only bottleneck blocking their profit.

When I got back to Tondo late in the afternoon, I did not go inside. I went straight to Auntie Malou’s house – the barangay official – to ask for a few days of shelter. Tanod accompanied me to the door. As soon as I put down my backpack, the phone rang: an unknown number.

“Huwag kang magtiwala kay Kap. The buyer is his pinsan. If you want proof, meet me at the karinderya at the end of the alley, 8 o’clock. — A.M.”

I looked at Auntie Malou. She nodded quickly:
— Go with a tanod. Don’t go alone.

The karinderya at the end of the alley was damp, the fluorescent lights were flashing. The message was from Ate Mercy, Nanay’s “suki,” who often came to my house to collect scrap. She pulled out a wrinkled envelope from her nylon bag:
— I picked this up from Kap’s room when he asked me to clean it. He told me to throw it away, but I can read. I saw your name.

Inside the envelope was a printout of an email with the subject line “PROJECT DASMA,” along with a screenshot of the group chat: Rogelio, a broker, and Ed— (name cropped out), with the content: “Once signed, move the girl back to the province immediately. Buyer has transferred the deposit. Kap covers the barangay.” In the corner there was also a draft of the spa (Special Power of Attorney) with my name… fake signature.

Aunt Malou took a picture of everything and sent it to Atty Aria immediately. The lawyer responded in a moment:

“Keep the status quo. Tomorrow I will submit affidavit + ask for subpoena of the chat version. Don’t go home. BPO is in effect.”

That night, Rogelio called nearly ten times, then switched to messenger:
“You go home, I’m sorry. I will cancel the documents. Don’t make a fuss.”

Then immediately another message, the tone changed:
“If you make a fuss, don’t blame me for revealing all your secrets.”

I didn’t reply. I sent all the evidence to the buyer via the company email (taken from the printed copy), with a line: “This transaction is in dispute, BPO has been issued, the deed shows signs of forgery. Continuing will be sued.” Two hours later, Atty Aria reported: the buyer withdrew the deposit.

Near midnight, the tanod was on duty in front of Aunt Malou’s door. I pulled the blanket, but this time without four layers of clothes. I just hugged the BPO and the photocopied documents tightly under my pillow. The sound of a motorbike stopping in front of the alley, the sound of shoes clicking. I held my breath.

A man’s voice that was not Rogelio echoed in, low and sharp:
— Plan B. If he doesn’t sign, I’ll make him disappear from Manila for three days. Let him rest assured that the land has been transferred.

I pushed the blanket away and jumped up. It wasn’t fear. It was foreknowledge. I opened my phone, quickly typed a message to Atty Aria and Kap (leaving a trace), then sent a message to the tanod group: “There’s someone in front of the alley. Please log it.” Then I sent a trap email to the address in “PROJECT DASMA”:

“I agree to sign the draft tomorrow morning if Mr. Rogelio comes alone, the motel at the end of Delpan bridge is closed. I need 50% advance. Bring the new deed.”

I pressed send and let out a long breath. Their plans always depend on darkness and stealth. My plan is to bring it all out into the light—with cameras, records, and stamps.

Outside, the sound of motorbikes revved up and died. In the darkness of Tondo, I heard myself whisper, no longer trembling:
— This game, I won’t run anymore.
Tomorrow, they think they’ll set a trap for me. But they don’t know, the net is waiting—with records, BPO, and a flip right in the middle of Manila