On the wedding night, my husband left me the safe key with a message that made me cry: “Pasensya na, niloko kita”

On the wedding night, while the cheers from the guests in Quezon City were still ringing, I entered the room with a heart both excited and happy. The wedding room was lavishly decorated, the soft yellow light shining on the rose petals scattered all over the bed. However, Marco – my husband – was not there.

On the small wooden table next to the bed, a folded piece of paper was placed next to the safe key. I opened it with trembling hands, and his slanted handwriting appeared:

“Pasensya na. Alam kong niloko kita. Nasa loob ng kaha-de-yero ang lahat ng katotohanan. Kapag binabasa mo na ito, wala na ako. Huwag mo na akong hanapin.”

I was speechless. My heart felt like it was being squeezed, my hands were shaking as I opened the safe. Inside were not gold or silver or property documents, but a thick stack of files: hospital bills, late-stage cancer test results. There was also a savings book in my name with millions of pesos in it.

At the bottom, a long letter hastily written by Marco:

“Alam kong wala na akong maraming oras. Tinago ko ang sakit ko dahil ayokong mahirapan ka. Ang kasal na ito ang huli kong hiling, para hindi ka masabing dalagang-lipas. Ibinenta ko, inipon ko lahat para may maiiwan ako sa iyo. Simula ngayon, mabuhay ka para sa ating dalawa. Huwag kang umiyak.”

(I know I don’t have much time left. I hid my illness because I didn’t want you to suffer. This wedding is my last wish, so you won’t be labeled as an ‘old girl’. I sold everything, saved everything to take care of your future. From now on, live for me, don’t cry.)

I burst into tears, sat down next to the cold safe. Salty tears fell on the letter, blurring the last words he wrote. The wedding night, which was supposed to be the beginning of happiness, turned into a lifelong wound.

The hopeless search

I clenched the safe key in my hand, both angry that Marco hid it from me, and heartbroken because of the great love he left behind. But a glimmer of hope appeared – if he had left the letter and notebook, perhaps he hadn’t gone far.

I rushed out of the room, running down the corridor of the hotel in Makati, despite the heavy wedding dress that got in the way.

– “Marco! Nasaan ka?!” (Hey! Where are you?) – my hoarse voice echoed in the night, but only the wind answered.

I ran to the reception desk, asking in vain. The receptionist was confused:
– Ma’am, umalis po ang asawa ninyo. Sumakay po siya ng taxi papuntang Ninoy Aquino International Airport mga 15 minuto na ang nakakalipas.

My chest tightened. I hurriedly took a taxi and headed straight to the airport, ignoring my smudged makeup and the curious eyes of passersby. But when I arrived, I only had time to see Marco’s back disappearing through the security gate, his suitcase rolling squeakily.

– “Huwag kang umalis! Bumalik ka sa akin…!” – I screamed.

But he didn’t turn around. The security guard stopped me, and I collapsed, my tears mixing with the loudspeaker announcing the flight’s departure.

A glimmer of hope

Many days later, I tried to contact him but his phone number was blocked, and his email was returned. I was like a lost soul, only able to hug the savings book and the medical records. Why did he choose to run away instead of facing it with me?

One afternoon, when I was flipping through the records, I suddenly saw a return flight ticket in the folder – the return date was the following week. Marco had not abandoned me, perhaps he just wanted to leave for a while, so that I could get used to the truth?

My heart was pounding. A glimmer of hope was rekindled. I whispered through tears:

– “Marco… kahit saan ka naroon, hahanapin pa rin kita. Hindi kita bibitawan.”

The wedding night had turned into a tragedy, but it was also the beginning of my journey of determination to hold on to that man – even though all that lay ahead was darkness and pain.

Marco’s Return

A week passed as long as a century. I lived in a state of both hope and fear. The date on the return ticket was getting closer, I felt like I was sitting on a pile of fire. I didn’t know if Marco would really come back, or if the ticket was just a way to comfort me.

That afternoon, I stood at Ninoy Aquino Airport, my heart pounding. Every time the international terminal door opened, and lines of people with suitcases walked out, I strained my eyes to look for it. And then… in the crowd, I saw a familiar figure.

Marco.

He had become thinner in just a few days, his face was haggard, his eyes were sunken. When our eyes met, I couldn’t help but rush to hug him.

– “Marco… bakit mo ako iniwan? Hindi mo ba alam halos mamatay na ako sa sakit at so scared?”

He held me tightly, his voice trembling:
– “Pasensya na… takot akong makita mong bumagsak ako. Pero hindi ko kayang huwag bumalik.”
(I’m sorry… I’m afraid you’ll see me break down. But I can’t help but come back.)

Short Days

We returned to our small apartment in Quezon City. From that day on, I took care of Marco little by little. Every morning, I made him a cup of weak coffee, then went with him to the hospital for a check-up. The doctors at the Philippine General Hospital confirmed: his cancer was in the final stage, treatment could only prolong his life, it could not be saved.

I felt like I was choking. But Marco held my hand, smiling weakly:
– “Ang mahalaga, kasama pa rin kita. Hindi ko kailangan ng maraming taon, basta’t bawat araw may ikaw.”

From that day on, I chose to quit my job and spend all my time with him. We rewrote our unfinished dreams: walking around Manila Bay at sunset, having a simple dinner at the night market, taking pictures together at Rizal Park. Every ordinary moment suddenly became precious like a miracle.

The final choice

One evening, when Marco was lying on the bed, breathing heavily, he held my hand tightly:
– “Kung sakali… huwag kang umiiyak. Pakiusap, gamitin mo ang iniwan ko para ituloy ang buhay mo. Magpakasal ka ulit kung may darating. Basta’t alalahanin mo, mahal na mahal kita.”

Tears fell from my eyes. I shook my head:
– “Hindi ko kailangan ng iba. Hangga’t nandito ka, aalagaan kita. Kahit gaano kaikli.”

Goodbye in the Dawn

One early morning, when the first sunlight shone through the window, Marco smiled at me:

“Maganda ka pa rin kahit bagong gising…”

Those were his last words. Marco passed away peacefully, still holding my hand.

I cried my eyes out, but felt relieved: he did not leave alone, he was with me until his last breath.

After all

Marco’s funeral was simple but full of love. Friends, relatives, and colleagues came to see him off. Everyone admired the love he left behind – a love that, though short-lived, was deep enough to live forever in my heart.

Many years later, I still kept the savings book, not touching the money he left behind. I used my own work to support myself, as he wished me to be strong. Sometimes, I take my cousin’s adopted daughter for walks around Manila Bay, telling her about a man named Marco – the man who taught me how to love with all my heart, even when I know I’m about to leave.