I am a retired mother, 67 years old, with a pension of ₱28,580 a month — not too much, but enough to live well in the countryside. But when my son called me to the city to ask me to take care of his 6-month-old grandson because his wife went back to work after the maternity, I couldn’t refuse.

I packed my things, bought some specialties from my hometown and went to the city. In the early days, I was quite surprised, but I said to myself: “My child is struggling, I can help if I can.” I don’t ask for any money, I take care of all living expenses myself, from breakfast money to joint supplements, I just hope that the air in the house is warm.

But then, one afternoon I accidentally saw my daughter-in-law’s phone on the table, the screen lit up because of an incoming call. I was stunned when I saw that it saved my number: “Mother-in-law in the countryside”.

Not “Mother”, not “Mother-in-law”, much less an intimate way of calling — but four cold, heartbreakingly distant words: “Mother-in-law in the countryside”.

I didn’t say anything. I just quietly went back to the studio to clean up. I left the key, didn’t wake anyone, and then took the car back to my hometown in the night.

A week later, I was picking vegetables in the garden when a neighbor ran over to give me the phone:

“Grandma, your son called and cried too much…”

I trembled and held the phone.

“Mom… My wife had postpartum hemorrhage and had to be treated in an emergency. I don’t know what to do, he cried all night… can you come home, I beg you…”

I stood still. The wind from the field blew through my gray hair. There was a choking in my throat—not out of anger, but out of love.

Loving my child, loving the child, and loving herself—a mother who is willing to put her old age aside for support, but only to be called by a strange name in her own home.

I didn’t answer right away. But I knew I was going back. Because more than sadness, I was a mother.