CHAPTER 10: What Our Parents Hid
1349 Words
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The only sound inside the house was the ticking of the old wall clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I looked at Mama.
Then at Dave.
Then back at Mama.
“From Victor?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
“You just said Dad was protecting me from him.”
“I said he was trying to.”
“That's not an answer.”
Mama looked down.
“Your father found something.”
“What?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Ma.”
She closed her eyes.
“I swear.”
I sat across from her.
“Then tell me what you know.”
She wiped her tears.
“Your father and Maria were close.”
Dave frowned.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“They grew up together.”
He shook his head.
“My father never told me she had a brother.”
“Because Victor didn't want anyone asking questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
Mama looked at him.
“About what happened to Maria.”
Dave's jaw tightened.
“What happened to her?”
Mama looked away.
“She disappeared.”
“I know that.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
Her voice trembled.
“Maria didn't simply leave.”
I felt a chill.
“Then what happened?”
Mama didn't answer.
Dave stood up.
“Please.”
She looked at him.
“I need to know.”
Mama took a deep breath.
“She was pregnant.”
The room went silent.
Dave froze.
“Pregnant?”
Mama nodded.
“Your mother was pregnant when she disappeared.”
I looked at Dave.
He looked completely lost.
“Who was the father?”
Mama didn't answer.
Dave stepped closer.
“Who?”
She whispered a name.
My father's.
I stared at her.
“What?”
Dave's face went pale.
“You're saying…”
“Yes.”
Mama nodded.
“Maria was carrying your father's child.”
---
I couldn't process it.
Neither could Dave.
He sat down slowly.
“My father…”
He stopped.
My mind raced.
My father had disappeared.
Maria had disappeared.
There was a baby.
And Victor had apparently spent years trying to hide everything.
But there was something that didn't make sense.
“Ma.”
She looked at me.
“If Maria was pregnant with Dad's child…”
I swallowed.
“Where is the baby?”
Mama's face changed.
Dave looked at her.
“Where?”
She didn't answer.
“Ma!”
She started crying.
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
She looked at Dave.
And for the first time, I saw something like fear in her eyes.
“Victor.”
---
The next morning, Dave didn't come to school.
I didn't blame him.
I didn't go either.
Instead, I stayed home and searched through every document my father had left behind.
Birth certificates.
Old photographs.
Letters.
Receipts.
Nothing.
Until I found a small notebook hidden underneath a stack of old books.
It belonged to my father.
Most of the pages were empty.
Except for the last few.
I opened it.
There were dates.
Names.
Numbers.
And one sentence written over and over.
“Protect the child.”
I frowned.
Which child?
Me?
Maria's child?
I turned the page.
There was an address.
A barangay.
A street name.
And beneath it—
“Rosario.”
I grabbed my phone.
I searched the name.
Nothing.
I called Mama.
No answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
Then someone knocked on the door.
I froze.
“Ma?”
No answer.
Another knock.
I walked slowly toward the door.
“Who is it?”
“It's me.”
Dave.
I opened it.
He looked exhausted.
“Anong nangyari sa'yo?”
“Wala.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“That's not a compliment.”
“I know.”
He stepped inside.
“I found something.”
“So did I.”
I showed him the notebook.
He read the address.
His expression changed.
“Rosario?”
“Yes.”
“That's where my father used to send money.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Every month.”
“To whom?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at the notebook.
“So we're going there.”
He nodded.
“Today.”
---
The jeep ride was quiet.
For once, neither of us had anything funny to say.
After almost an hour, we reached the barangay.
The address led us to a small house near the edge of the road.
An elderly woman was sweeping the front yard.
Dave approached her.
“Excuse me po.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“May kilala po ba kayong Maria Navarro?”
The broom stopped.
Her eyes widened.
“Bakit?”
Dave hesitated.
“I'm her son.”
The woman dropped the broom.
“Maria's son?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him for a long time.
Then whispered—
“Hindi pwede.”
“Bakit po?”
“Because…”
She looked behind us.
Then lowered her voice.
“Maria's child died.”
Dave froze.
I looked at him.
“What?”
The woman shook her head.
“Hindi siya namatay.”
She swallowed.
“Pero pinaniwala silang patay siya.”
“Who?”
She looked terrified.
“Victor.”
---
We went inside.
The old woman introduced herself as Aling Rosa.
She told us she had known Maria.
“She came here fifteen years ago,” she said.
“Pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Alam niyo po kung sino ang ama?”
She looked at me.
“Your father.”
Dave closed his eyes.
“Then what happened?”
“Maria was afraid.”
“Of Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Aling Rosa looked at me.
“Because she discovered something.”
“What?”
“She discovered that Victor had been stealing money from the company.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with our family?”
“Your father found out.”
Dave leaned forward.
“And Maria?”
“She wanted to expose him.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“So Victor tried to stop her.”
Aling Rosa nodded.
“But she managed to escape.”
“Where did she go?”
The old woman hesitated.
Then said—
“She went to Manila.”
“She's alive?”
“I don't know.”
Dave stared at her.
“You said her child died.”
Aling Rosa nodded.
“The child she gave birth to…”
She stopped.
“What?”
She looked directly at me.
“Wasn't the child that Victor thought he was looking for.”
I didn't understand.
“What does that mean?”
Aling Rosa stood up.
She walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
From inside, she took out a small photograph.
She handed it to Dave.
He stared at it.
Then looked at me.
I took the photograph.
There was a woman holding a baby.
Maria.
I knew immediately.
But beside her was another woman.
My mother.
And in my mother's arms—
a newborn baby.
Me.
I looked at the photograph.
My hands started shaking.
“Why is my mother there?”
Aling Rosa didn't answer.
Dave looked at me.
Then at the baby.
Then at the photograph again.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Thea…”
“What?”
He pointed at the back of the picture.
There was writing.
I turned it over.
Three words.
“Not her daughter.”
My blood ran cold.
I looked at Mama's picture again.
At the baby.
At myself.
Then at Dave.
“What does that mean?”
Neither of us knew.
But suddenly, the biggest question wasn't who owed three hundred thousand pesos.
It wasn't even what happened to Maria.
It was—
if I wasn't my mother's daughter…
then whose daughter was I?
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