“When I went to Manila to work as a helper, I had two choices,” she said. “Tell the truth and risk employers rejecting me because I had three dependents who weren’t legally mine… or let them believe I was a disgraced woman. People pity sinners more than orphans.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Lance felt something inside him shatter—not disappointment, not betrayal, but a deep, aching shame for every cruel joke, every whisper, every judgment he had heard… and ignored.
“Junjun,” Maya continued softly. “He’s not even Rosa’s son. He’s her husband’s child from another woman. Rosa raised him anyway. Popoy and Kring-kring… they’re mine only in love, not in blood.”
Lance covered his mouth. “My God…”
“I took responsibility for three children the world threw away,” Maya said. “I sent them to school. I made sure they ate. I lied to them too—I told them their mother was working far away.”
She laughed weakly. “They call me ‘Auntie Maya.’ They don’t even know I’m all they have.”
Lance finally broke. He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, hands trembling.
“Everyone mocked you,” he said hoarsely. “My mother… my friends… even me—I thought I was being noble by ‘accepting’ you.”
He turned to her, eyes filled with tears.
“But you were the one carrying all of us.”
Maya bowed her head. “If you regret marrying me—”
“I don’t,” Lance said sharply. “I regret living in a world that taught me to measure women by rumors instead of courage.”
He knelt in front of her, ignoring his expensive suit, the luxury surrounding them.
