THE SEWING AND THREAD BOX LEFT BY MY MOTHER-IN-LAW

After ten years of marriage, I no longer had the strength to hold on. The husband who had promised to protect me for life now treated me like a maid: cooking, washing, taking care of the house, and then having affairs and being cold.

On the day of the court hearing in Quezon City, I quietly signed the papers, without needing to fight over the property. The judge asked:
– “Do you have any requests regarding the division?”
I shook my head slightly:
– “I don’t need anything.”

The husband, Roberto, smiled faintly, and said sarcastically:
– “Then go empty-handed, to be less greedy.”

I just bent down, carrying a small wooden box – the needle and thread box that my mother-in-law had given me when I first became a daughter-in-law.

My mother-in-law, Aling Teresa, died early, when I had just given birth to my first child. She was kind and loved her daughter-in-law like her own daughter. At that time, she gave me an old wooden box, filled with needles, thread, measuring tape, small scissors… She said:

“A woman’s life often doesn’t need gold or silver, just sewing, patching, keeping the home lasting. Keep it, when it’s worn out, sew it, don’t throw it away.”

Every time I look at the needle and thread box, I remember her words, trying to be patient and patch up the marriage full of holes. But in the end, there are tears that cannot be mended.

I left empty-handed, only holding the box like holding the image of my deceased mother-in-law.

The day I carried the needle and thread box out the gate, Roberto sneered in front of relatives in Cavite:
– “For ten years of marriage, I gave away the house and car, she didn’t dare touch it. How long can she live holding that trash box?”

Sounds of laughter followed behind me, but I didn’t look back. Tears streamed down my face, but my heart felt relieved. I knew I had made the right choice: to keep what was meaningful, rather than clinging to what was meaningless.

I rented a small room in Manila, near my workplace, and began to reorganize my life. The wooden box was placed neatly on the table, like a silent reminder.

Less than three days later, when I had just returned from work, there was a sudden knock on the door. I opened it, stunned: Roberto – the arrogant man who had just mocked me – was now kneeling down, tears in his eyes.

– “Honey, come back. I beg you. Don’t leave me, don’t leave home…”

I was stunned. The man who had never bowed his head was now trembling and begging.

Seeing my silence, he choked up:
– “I haven’t eaten or slept for three days. When I was cleaning the room, I accidentally opened the sewing box…”

I was startled.

He said in tears:
– “Inside it, besides the needle and thread, there was also a note left by my mother. I never knew. It was written by my mother:
‘If one day my daughter-in-law takes this box and leaves the house, it means that my son has betrayed me. Remember, my son is not worthy, but my daughter-in-law is worthy of love. My assets, from the savings book to the land in Batangas, are all in my daughter-in-law’s name. Live strong. If my son still has a conscience, bow your head and apologize.’”

Roberto choked:
– “After reading it… I felt like I was slapped. My mother had seen it all before. I was wrong, I betrayed you, and my mother too.”

I sat down, my heart filled with emotions. It turned out that my mother-in-law had put her love into that box, using a subtle way to test me. She knew I had suffered a lot, so she left behind a support that no one expected.

The man in front of me knelt down, crying like a child. But my heart was hardened after so many years of being hurt.

I shook my head slightly:
– “My mother gave me everything, but I don’t want to turn it into a rope. I forgive you, but I can’t go back.”

Roberto burst into tears, but he couldn’t hold me anymore.

I moved to Batangas, on the land my mother-in-law left behind. Every afternoon, I opened the wooden box, looking at each spool of thread, each needle. I used them to sew clothes for my children, to sew scarves for the neighborhood children.

The new life was simple but peaceful. I understood that it was not always possible to mend a marriage, but I could mend my heart.

Roberto occasionally came to see me, standing far away, his eyes filled with regret. But between us now there was only forgiveness, no longer love.

The needle and thread box – a seemingly small keepsake – contained the love and wisdom of a mother. It reminds me: There are things more precious than all possessions, which are respect and affection.