Seven weeks ago, in Zamboanga Sibugay, Aileen and her daughter went to work in the rubber plantation and then went missing. On the 49th day, the husband discovered the horrifying truth.

That morning, the rainy season fog still covered the hillside. Aileen held her little daughter Mika’s hand and walked into the rubber plantation. Her husband — Ramon — stood on the porch and told her:

“Remember to come back early, don’t go too far, the weather has been erratic these days.”

She just smiled and waved. The mother and daughter gradually disappeared among the rows of rubber trees.

But then, they did not return.

As the afternoon came, Ramon became impatient to look for them. He ran around the plantations, calling until his voice was hoarse. The rubber plantation was gloomy, only the sound of the wind echoed. That night, he and the people in barangay San Isidro lit torches and searched all night. In vain.

The news of “the mother and daughter missing” spread throughout the area. The Philippine National Police (PNP), the barangay tanods, and the volunteer rescue team… all joined in. They searched every tree, every stream. But other than a few faint footprints, there were no other clues. Time passed: a week, two weeks… seven weeks. Hope gradually faded. People began to whisper: “Maybe something bad happened to them…”

Ramon was visibly haggard. Every day he still went into the hills, calling out the names of his wife and children in despair. Every night he dreamed of little Mika running to hug him, then waking up in the middle of a cold, empty house.

By the seventh week, a horrifying truth was revealed.

That day, Ramon returned to the familiar rubber plantation — where mother and daughter often worked. He noticed a tree stump covered with unusually rotten leaves. Instinctively, he brushed away the leaves. Under the damp soil was a familiar piece of floral fabric — his wife’s shirt. His heart pounding, he trembled as he dug deeper. And then….he fell to his knees when he saw…a part of a human bone exposed.

A scream echoed across the hillside.

The PNP immediately sealed off the scene. Through examination, it was the remains of Aileen and little Mika. The death was not caused by a wild animal; there was a crack on the skull due to a strong impact. Someone had killed them and buried them under a tree.

The whole barangay was shocked. Who dared to commit this barbaric crime in the middle of this peaceful hill?

Expanding the investigation, the police discovered traces of a strange motorbike tire and a piece of torn shirt stuck on a nearby tree branch. From the small details, they found a hired man who had a grudge against Ramon: Benjo.

Benjo had been interested in Aileen and had repeatedly said rude words. Aileen refused and told her husband, and from then on he harbored a grudge. The day the incident happened, he deliberately blocked the road in the forest and committed a depraved act. When resisted, he became wild, beat both mother and child with a piece of wood and then disposed of the body. For seven weeks, he lived as if nothing had happened, even pretending to join the search team.

The day Benjo was handcuffed, the villagers were furious. Ramon collapsed, no longer having the strength to be angry. He only looked towards the rubber hill — where all the love of his life was buried — and his tears had dried up.

The funeral of Aileen and Mika took place in the drizzling rain at the San Isidro parish church. The small coffin was placed next to the large coffin. Heartbreaking cries echoed in the field. Ramon collapsed beside the new grave, whispering:
“I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect you and the child. But now the culprit has been revealed. Rest in peace.”

After that, he sold all his land and left Zamboanga Sibugay. People told him to go to Davao City to find work; no one knew where he was. I only know that every year on the anniversary of his wife and children’s death, a man quietly returns to the parish cemetery on the hillside and places a bouquet of white flowers on the grave.

The story ends, but it haunts the hearts of those who remain: love turns to ashes, but the pain is eternal.