“Seventeen Years of Silence: The Pregnant Girl Left Behind, the Son Who Finally Knew His Father”
Sa loob ng labing-pitong taon, itinago niya ang katotohanan. Hanggang sa isang araw ng tag-ulan sa Vigan, ang nakaraan ay bumalik—bitbit ang mga luhang hindi na niya kayang pigilan…

That year, Roselle had just turned twenty—the most radiant age in a young woman’s life. She was a second-year accountancy student at the University of Northern Philippines in Vigan. Her father died early, and her mother sold bread near the town plaza to support Roselle and her younger sister. Roselle was responsible, studious, and had never caused trouble.

Everything changed during the summer of her second year.

She met Erwin, a construction helper from Ilocos Norte, while working part-time at a local restaurant near a construction site. Erwin was tall, soft-spoken, with gentle eyes and a shy smile that made Roselle feel safe.

Their love blossomed quickly, like the early monsoon rain—sudden, unexpected, and deeply felt.

After three months of seeing each other, Roselle found out she was pregnant. She was terrified but hopeful when Erwin promised to take her home to formally ask for her hand in marriage.

She believed him, wholeheartedly.

But when she arrived in Erwin’s hometown in Laoag to meet his parents, things took a dark turn. His mother frowned the moment she saw Roselle’s slight belly. In a sharp voice, she asked, “Sigurado ka bang sa anak ko ‘yan? Baka naman pinasa mo lang sa kanya ‘yan para makapang-asawa ka?”

The words cut Roselle like glass.

They returned to Vigan in silence. After that day, Erwin started avoiding her, always saying, “Hindi pa pumapayag ang mga magulang ko. Konting hintay pa.” The line replayed like a broken record.

Three months passed. Her belly grew. Erwin’s texts became fewer. Then one rainy afternoon, a friend from the restaurant called in a panicked voice:

“Roselle… totoo ba? Si Erwin… ikinasal na sa Laoag…”

Roselle sat alone on a park bench near the dorm for hours. No tears. No anger. Just a hollow quietness.

She left school. Moved to a barangay in the outskirts of Vigan. Got a job as an accountant in a small lumber warehouse. She told herself, “Hindi ko kailangan ng awa. Kaya kong maging isang ina mag-isa.”

She gave birth on a rainy night in a boarding house with a leaking roof and the sound of frogs outside. She named her son Simoun, meaning “the beginning.” For Roselle, he was her only light.

Life wasn’t easy. At 21, she was a single mom. She worked tirelessly, sometimes carrying Simoun to the warehouse office when no one could babysit. She cried some nights—not because of the baby, but because of exhaustion, loneliness, and missing her mother in Abra whom she hadn’t visited since her pregnancy.

Simoun grew up kind and quiet. He had Erwin’s eyes—something that made Roselle’s heart ache every time she looked. She never told Simoun who his father was. On every school form, the “Father’s Name” remained blank.

When Simoun entered Grade 10, Roselle had saved enough to buy a small plot of land in Vigan and opened a sari-sari store in front. Life was modest but peaceful. Still, the memory of Erwin was like a scar that never fully healed.

One June afternoon, just after Simoun’s Grade 11 finals, Roselle overheard him talking to a classmate:

“I don’t know my dad. My mom said he died a long time ago. But someone in Laoag said I look like this guy named Erwin…”

Her blood froze.

That name. Erwin.

That night, Roselle sat outside staring at the fireflies dancing over the backyard garden.

The next morning at the market, as she was arranging the vegetables, an older woman approached. The woman had aged, but her voice was unmistakable.

“You’re… Roselle, right?”

Roselle’s hands trembled.

“Yes… who are you?”

“I’m Erwin’s mother.”

Roselle froze. The once cold and judgmental face had softened with time. The woman placed a paper bag gently on the table.

“I’m here in Vigan for a work visit. A neighbor told me you’re here. I… I want to meet my apo. Simoun.”

Roselle clenched her fists.

“Para saan pa? To apologize? Seventeen years is too late.”

The woman bowed her head.

“I know… I forced Erwin to marry another woman. But she couldn’t bear a child. They divorced last year. Three months ago… Erwin died in a car crash. Before he passed, he said, ‘I have a son. If you love me, find him. Ask Roselle for forgiveness.’”

Roselle couldn’t speak. The world tilted under her feet. She leaned on the table for balance.

Erwin… was gone.

That night, she sat with Simoun at their old wooden table.

“Anak… I have something to tell you.”

She told him everything—love, betrayal, pain, and choosing to raise him alone. Simoun didn’t cry. Didn’t shout. He only asked:

“Alam niya bang buhay ako?”

“Yes. But he never had the courage to face it. Now… it’s too late.”

Simoun was quiet. That night, for the first time, Roselle saw her son cry silently as he stared at the wall.

A week later, Erwin’s mother returned, holding an old paper bag. Inside was a worn-out leather journal.

“It was Erwin’s. He wrote in it before he died. I think… you should read it.”

That night, Roselle read it.

Roselle,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I’m sorry I left you alone to carry everything. I was a coward. Afraid of my mother. Afraid of judgment.
But do you know? On my wedding day with someone else, I drank myself to sleep for a week.
I visited Vigan a few times. I saw you carrying our son to the market. I wanted to hug him. To say ‘anak.’
But I never had the guts.
Please, don’t hide it from him anymore. Let him know that he had a father who regretted every day of his life…

Attached was a photo. Erwin in his hospital bed, frail, smiling weakly. In his hand was a blue necklace—the same one Roselle had crocheted for him in college.

That night, Roselle cried. Truly cried. Not from pain—but from release.

A month later, Roselle brought Simoun to Laoag. At Erwin’s grave, the boy gently laid white flowers.

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “But give me time.”

Then he turned and embraced his mother tightly.

“I only know one thing… You’re the bravest woman in the world.”

Roselle smiled, the wind from Paoay Lake blowing gently behind them—salty, tender, like a mother’s love that had survived every storm.

Because some loves never need a wedding.
Because some wounds don’t need revenge.
And the most beautiful truth is this:
One person gave you life.
And another chose never to give up on you—even when the world did