“You didn’t just raise three children,” he said. “You saved three lives.”
Maya sobbed then—years of suppressed pain bursting out. She cried for her sister, for the children, for the nights she went hungry so they could eat, for the shame she swallowed so they could survive.
But their story did not end there.
Because the next morning, the truth exploded.
Doña Consuelo arrived at the mansion unannounced, her face like thunder. She had found the album.
“You deceived my son!” she screamed, throwing the photos onto the table. “You paraded other men’s children as your own! You trapped him with pity!”
Maya stood frozen, unable to speak.
Before Lance could respond, a small voice echoed from the doorway.
“Please don’t shout at our Auntie.”
Everyone turned.
Three children stood there—Junjun, Popoy, and Kring-kring—holding hands, eyes wide with fear. Behind them was the driver who had brought them from the province after Lance secretly arranged to meet them.
Doña Consuelo stared, speechless.
“We heard everything,” Junjun said bravely. “Auntie Maya isn’t bad. She’s the best person in the world.”
Popoy wiped his nose. “She eats last so we can eat first.”
Kring-kring hugged Maya’s leg. “Please don’t take her away.”
