That night, I got off work quite late. It was drizzling in Manila, Taft Street was almost deserted, the sidewalks were wet under the yellow lights. I had just stopped my motorbike on the side of the road to order a takeaway tapsilog when I saw a scene that made my heart stop: under the small canopy of the jeepney station, a girl sat huddled, her thin jacket soaked, her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her face was bowed, her shoulders shaking from crying.

But what caught my attention most was her clearly protruding belly. A pregnant woman, sitting and crying in the night rain.

I walked closer, opened a cheap umbrella to cover her.

– Miss, ayos ka lang ba? – I asked softly.

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her face tired. I didn’t hear the whole story at that time, only knowing that she was pregnant, her boyfriend had disowned her as soon as he heard the news, and her parents in the province didn’t know anything because she didn’t dare tell him.

I stood still for a few seconds. The thought flashed through my mind: Should I intervene? But then I reached out, held the umbrella for her and said:

– Kung tiwala ka sa akin, sumama ka. Pwede kang magpahinga sa boarding house ko ngayong gabi. Bukas, saka na natin isipin.

That night, my small rented room in Ermita had an unexpected guest. I gave her the single bed and spread an old mattress on the floor. All night, I tossed and turned, listening to her tossing and turning, breathing heavily, sometimes hiccuping from morning sickness.

The next morning, I cooked a pot of arroz caldo, adding a glass of hot milk. She looked at me in surprise and asked:

– Nakaranas ka na bang tumira kasama ang buntis?

I burst out laughing:

– Never. But I have watched a few videos on YouTube about how to take care of a pregnant wife.

From that day on, I started “living together” with a pregnant woman — not in a romantic way, but experiencing all the things that come with it: codfish cravings, back pain, swollen feet, sudden mood swings, sometimes crying for no reason. Some days she was exhausted, just sitting silently all day. Some days she was radiant just because I accidentally bought the exact thing she was craving from the sari-sari store at the end of the alley.

We started to share more. She talked about the past, about the man who abandoned her like a stranger. I talked about my single life, never thinking about becoming a father.

One afternoon, she said softly:

– Siguro dapat umalis na ako. Hindi naman tayo may obligasyon sa isa’t isa.

I looked at her belly, which had grown much bigger.

– Dito ay tahanan. Kung gusto mong manatili, manatili ka. At kung aalis ka, iwan mo sa akin ang address para mahahanap pa rin kita.

The day she gave birth at the public hospital in Quezon City, I was the only one by her side. I don’t remember how long I held her hand in the delivery room, I only remember when the nurse placed the baby in her arms, she turned to me, her eyes filled with tears:

– Gusto mo bang buhatin ang anak?

I shook my head and nodded. The first time I held a newborn baby, a tiny red baby in my arms, my heart suddenly skipped a beat. It wasn’t born by me. But right then, I knew I would never leave it.

We didn’t have a big wedding, just quietly lived together, raised our child, loved each other in the simplest way.

Then one day, when our first child was just two years old, she turned to me and whispered:

– Buntis ulit ako.

I burst out laughing:

– I didn’t expect being a father to be… so addictive.

Not long after, not just one but two more children came to us. They looked so much like me, from their eyes, hair, to their dimples. She teased:

– Parang itinakda ng Diyos. Hindi lang kita nakilala, binigyan pa ako ng ilang bersyon ng “tatay” too.

Now, in the small house on the outskirts of Manila, there is always laughter. Three children, each with their own personality, but when I see them playing, the older one holding the younger one, I only see one thing: luckily that year I stopped the car and reached out to a strange girl crying in the rain.

Otherwise, I might still be a single guy living a boring life day by day.
Otherwise, that first child might have grown up without ever knowing what it feels like to be in a father’s arms.

And if I hadn’t, I might never have known that being a dad is what makes my life so complete.

Part 2: Ang Pagbabalik ng Ama

Life went on peacefully for three years. In the small house in the suburbs of Manila, the laughter of children always rang out. I was used to getting up early in the morning to make gatas for the youngest, taking the oldest to playschool, and in the evening the whole family sat together for a simple meal.

I thought everything would be peaceful. But then one day, a storm came unexpectedly.

It was a hot afternoon. I had just reached the door when I saw a man waiting at the gate. He was wearing a designer shirt, shiny shoes, but his face was anxious. When his eyes met mine, I suddenly felt my heart ache as if something bad was about to happen.

She walked out, holding her youngest son in her arms. When she saw the man, my wife’s face turned pale, her lips trembled:

– Adrian…?

The man stepped forward, his voice firm but still a little embarrassed:

– Mira… you… you are the biological father of the first child. You came to claim your child.

I was stunned. My ears rang. My eldest daughter – Lyka – was only three years old, playing with dolls in the house. She was the child he was talking about.

Mira held her child tightly in her arms, her eyes filled with tears. She trembled:

– Bakit ngayon ka lang nagbalik? Nang iniwan mo ako, akala ko wala ka nang pakialam.

Adrian took a deep breath, his eyes sparkling:

– Nagsisi ako. At ngayon, gusto kong itama ang pagkakamali. May karapatan akong makita ang anak ko.

My whole body froze. I had witnessed every night Mira cried in her morning sickness, every drop of sweat when she gave birth, every day Lyka grew up in my arms. How could he just walk in and claim fatherhood, when I was the one who was there from the beginning?

That night, Mira sat hugging me and crying:

– Hindi ko alam gagawin ko. Natatakot ako.

I squeezed her hand:

– Mira, she calls me ‘Papa.’ Hindi papel, hindi dugo, but love is what nourishes it. But if he really wants it, we have to face it.

In the following days, Adrian kept coming, bringing expensive gifts, wanting to take Lyka out to play. She just hugged my leg tightly, shaking her head:

– Ayoko. Papa, dito lang ako.

That moment made my eyes sting. But I knew, this wouldn’t end easily. Adrian started talking about custody. He threatened to take the case to court, because he was the biological father, with legal rights.

One time, he went to the kindergarten, intending to take Lyka away. I rushed forward, grabbed my child, and for the first time in my life, I shouted at him:

– Kung ama ka talaga, sana noon pa! Ngayon, wala ka nang karapatang sirain ang buhay ng anak ko!

The whole schoolyard was in an uproar, the teacher hugged Lyka who was still crying. Adrian looked at me, his eyes angry but also a little regretful.

That night, Mira whispered:

– Kung hahantong ito sa korte, baka mahirap cho ta. He has money, has a lawyer…

I held her hand, my eyes firm:

– Money can’t buy love and the truth. The child will tell herself who is her real father.

I knew a big battle was waiting ahead. But I also knew, I would never back down. Because not only Mira, but these three children are my whole life