Met My Man When I Was Broke

CHAPTER 8

Estella POV

I stayed at Coffee Beans, the cozy little café located inside the same tower where her unit is. After finishing my 8-hour duty, I decided to treat myself—payout day, after all. I ordered their new flavor, a shaken espresso, and to my surprise, I actually liked the taste. Quiet, bold, with just the right kick. It was a small reward, but it felt well deserved.

I held my mini tablet as I reviewed the document sent by Attorney Lowen. The contents were surprisingly positive—I could finally claim my parents’ company and assets. Earlier, after I spoke with her uncle, he messaged me saying he was willing to negotiate, hoping I would drop the case. But for me, no amount of money or offer could silence the truth.

The suffering I went through in the orphanage wasn’t something I could easily forget. I was bullied—even by the madre herself. My entire childhood was filled with gloom, pain, and silent hatred.

Flashback

At the Saint Benedict Orphanage.

We were all standing in line, quietly listening as the madre gave her instructions. She said we needed to clean up the garden—every patch of grass, every corner.

“Okay, children, please listen to me,” Sister Teresa announced. “We need to clean our garden now because we’re expecting many visitors next week. We can’t let it look ugly.”

Sister Teresa was the Mother Superior of Saint Benedict Orphanage. Her voice was calm, but there was a sharpness behind every word that made us stand straighter and nod without question.

“I’m so excited for the visitors! I hope they choose me as their poster child,” Ara said proudly to her friends.

Ara was one of the most popular kids in the orphanage. Always surrounded by others, always in the spotlight—but she was mean to me. Cold smiles and subtle insults were her specialty.

“Of course, Ara! You’re so pretty—everyone will love you,” one of her friends quickly agreed, giggling.

I stood a few steps behind them, pretending not to care. But deep down, I wished someone would see me too—not just as a shadow in the background.

“Yes, of course. Not like the others here—especially Estella. No one likes her, so no one’s going to choose you,” Ara said with a smirk, making sure I could hear her loud and clear since they were standing right in front of me.

I rolled my eyes, acting like I didn’t care. But a small part of me—just a tiny, tired part—still stung from her words.

Her friends laughed and looked at me with mocking eyes.

“Hey, Estella, why don’t you come join us?” Ara said with a fake sweet smile. “Since you don’t have any friends here anyway.”

I crossed my arms and raised a brow. “Nah, I’m not joining you. You’ll just dump all the tasks on me—like you always do.”

Ara scoffed, but I turned away before she could say anything else. I knew her game, and I wasn’t going to play it this time.

“I’ll tell Mother Superior that you’re joining our group,” Ara insisted with a smug look. “As if you had a choice,” she added, her voice dripping with arrogance.

Even though they always bullied me, I never stayed silent. I fought back—even when I had to face the consequences.

Just like last time.

I still remember kneeling on a pile of uncooked munggo beans, my knees aching and red. It was because of Ara. She secretly cut my choir dress before our Christmas performance. So I cut her hair in return. But, of course, I was the one caught in the act—and as always, Mother Superior took her side.

What can I do to stop being with them? I glanced toward another line and saw Damian with his friends. Maybe this time, Damian would help me.

“Yes, I do have a choice, Ara,” I said firmly. “I’m joining Damian’s group.”

She looked over at Damian, who was talking to Mother Superior.

I knew she wouldn’t dare complain—Damian was one of the most respected kids here. That meant Ara would have to shut her mouth.

Now, my goal was clear: talk to Damian. I hoped he’d help me this time.

I walked up to him and pinched the edge of his shirt. He looked down, noticing me.

“What?” he said, his voice cold and detached.

“Please include me in your group,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looked confused for a moment. “Why?”

Hays, so many questions.

“I just don’t want to join Ara’s group. Please, let me join yours. Besides, you told me about that debt last time—when I saved you from getting bitten by that cat. I can ask for help, right? So this time, I’m asking.”

“Okay, sure. Eight—she’ll be joining us,” Damian said. “But Estella, our job is going to be different. We’ll be lifting a lot of buckets of water.”

“It’s okay, I can handle that,” I replied confidently.

I followed Damian and his friends to the old poso at the back of the orphanage. The wooden well creaked as we lowered the bucket into the dark water below. One by one, we pulled up buckets filled with clear, cold water. The sun was hot, but the cool splash of water made the work bearable.

Damian handed me the first bucket. “Here, Estella. You’re strong, so you can carry this one.”

I gripped the rope tightly and pulled with all my might. The bucket creaked and swayed as I lifted it up. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to prove I belonged in this group.

As we worked together, I noticed that Damian and his friends didn’t treat me like an outsider. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I belonged—a team that respected me.

It was peaceful, but quietly tiring. We were only ten years old, doing these chores to prepare the orphanage for visitors. If my parents hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be suffering like this. And if even one of my relatives had taken me in, I wouldn’t be stuck here. But my uncle… he’s the one who made me like this—alone and forgotten.

“Hey Estella, I can handle this. You can rest here,” Damian said kindly.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to be a burden,” I replied firmly.

But Damian was persistent. He took the bucket of water from me.

“Hays, you’re always so stubborn. Just rest, okay? Besides, this is the last one,” he said with a small smile.

I was finally resting, sitting against the cool wall after the last bucket of water. My body ached, but I felt a small relief.

Suddenly, Ara appeared, her eyes sharp and full of hatred.

“So, you think you can just join Damian’s group and rest while the rest of us work?” she sneered.

Before I could react, she shoved me hard. I stumbled but quickly pushed back just as fiercely.

“Don’t think you can get away from me,” Ara hissed.

I rolled my eyes. This kid was seriously obsessed with me.

“Yes, please leave. I’m resting here,” I said, keeping my voice calm but firm.

“Huh, what if I don’t?” she challenged, stepping closer with a menacing glare.

I wanted to avoid her—I could feel the storm coming, and I didn’t want to be caught in it.

“Stop bothering me, Ara,” I said, my voice calm but edged with warning. I was tired—tired of the fights, tired of the pain.

The pain burned through my scalp, but I wasn’t going to let her win—not this time.

I fought back.

I grabbed Ara’s wrist and shoved her, but she clawed at my arm. We tumbled onto the ground, both of us yelling, hair flying, hands pushing, kicking, slapping. The loud scuffle echoed across the yard.

“Hey! Stop it!”

“Guys, enough!”

I heard Damian and his friends rushing toward us, trying to pull us apart, acting like referees in a match we weren’t willing to leave.

But Ara was relentless—and so was I.

Fueled by everything I had bottled up for years—the pain, the bullying, the loneliness—I summoned all my strength and pushed Ara with everything in me.

She stumbled backward.

And then she screamed.

Everyone froze as she fell—hard—against the side of the poso. A sickening thud filled the air as her head struck the edge.

Blood started trickling from a wound on her forehead.

“Ara!” someone shouted.

And then came the sharp voice that made everyone go still.

“What is going on here?”

Mother Superior had arrived.

And she had seen everything.

My breath caught in my throat.

Ara lay on the ground, unmoving for a moment, her forehead bleeding. The sight of the blood—the silence that followed her fall—froze me in place.

My heart pounded in my chest. What have I done?

“Estella!” Damian called, but his voice sounded distant, like it was underwater.

Mother Superior rushed to Ara’s side, her expression shifting from shock to anger the moment her eyes landed on me.

I took a shaky step back, my hands trembling. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want this...

But it was too late.

The fight, the shouting, the push—it all led to this.

“I-I didn’t mean to…” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Everyone was staring. No one moved. I could feel the heat of their judgment like a fire crawling up my skin.

All I wanted was to defend myself. But now… Ara was hurt. And the worst part?

Mother Superior saw me.

Not her. Me.

Mother Superior’s face hardened as she looked at me, her eyes full of rage and disappointment.

“Sister Mariel!” she barked. “Take Ara to the clinic—now!”

One of the younger nuns hurried over, gently lifting Ara with the help of Damian and another boy. Blood was still trickling from Ara’s forehead, staining her white blouse. The sight made my stomach turn.

“And you,” Mother Superior growled, turning her wrath toward me, “come with me.”

“N-no, please—Mother Superior, I didn’t mean to hurt her! She started it, she grabbed me first—please listen—” I tried to explain, my voice trembling.

But she didn’t even look at me.

She grabbed my arm tightly and dragged me across the yard, past the silent crowd of children, into the stone hallway of the orphanage.

I knew where we were going.

The closed room.

That dark, cold place where they send the children who misbehave.

My feet scrambled, trying to resist. “Please! Please, I didn’t do it on purpose!” I cried, the tears falling fast now.

But Mother Superior didn’t stop.

She opened the heavy wooden door and shoved me inside.

The door slammed shut behind me.

Pitch black.

No window. No lamp. Just darkness. Just me and the sound of my own sobs.

I collapsed against the wall, knees shaking, chest tight. The silence pressed against me like the darkness itself.

I was alone.

No one listened.

No one believed me.

I sat on the cold, hard floor, my knees pulled to my chest. The silence in the dark room was deafening, wrapping around me like a cruel blanket. My tears came slowly at first, then poured down in waves I couldn’t stop.

I cried for the injustice.

I cried for the pain in my heart.

I cried because no matter how many times I stood up for myself, I was always the one punished.

My sobs echoed in the room, the only sound in the emptiness. I didn’t even care if they heard me anymore. Maybe I wanted them to.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve, but it didn’t help. The hurt wasn’t just from today. It was everything—the years of being unwanted, unloved, blamed for things I never started.

“Why is this happening to me?” I whispered into the darkness. “Can someone care for me… just one is enough.”

I rested my head on my knees and closed my eyes, wishing, just for a moment, that someone—anyone—would come and tell me that I mattered.

Back to reality.

As I sat quietly, the memory faded, but the emotions lingered like smoke from an old fire. Whenever I remember the things I went through, I can’t stop myself from feeling the anger—the bitterness toward all the people who made me like this.

That’s why I won’t back down.

This case will continue.

Because my uncle—one of the very reasons I suffered for so long—will finally face what he did. No more hiding. No more silence.

This time, I’ll be the one standing up for that little girl in the dark.