Believing they had cunningly deceived the old mother into signing away all her property, the son and his wife proudly drove her out of the house… but just forty-eight hours later, she returned carrying something that made their blood run cold.
Eighty-two-year-old Lola Maria lived in Cebu City with her youngest son, Carlos, and his wife, Lina.
Recently, the couple had begun to notice her forgetfulness—she would ask the same questions repeatedly, or lose track of where she had placed her belongings. What they saw as a weakness soon became the seed of their greed.
One quiet evening, while sitting on the terrace, Lina leaned closer to her husband and whispered, “If we can get your mother to sign the deed of transfer, the house will be ours. It’ll be simple—she’s old and too trusting.”
Carlos nodded, his voice low. “Yes. We’ll just tell her it’s a medical form. She won’t know she’s actually signing over the title.”
The next day, they took the unsuspecting woman to the town hall, pretending it was for a medical checkup and notarization of “medical documents.” In truth, they had tricked her into signing a document that transferred the ownership of her five-million-peso house directly into Carlos’s name.
Having no reason to doubt her own son, Lola Maria signed it.
When they arrived home, Lina smiled sweetly and said, “Mom, maybe you could stay with some relatives for a while. We’re planning to renovate the house—to make it more beautiful.”
Lola said nothing. Her husband, Lolo Ben, however, could barely contain his fury. That night, he packed a few clothes, took his wife’s trembling hand, and together they left for a nephew’s home in Bohol province.
Forty-Eight Hours Later
While Carlos and Lina gleefully discussed the renovations for their “new” home, a tricycle stopped at their gate carrying a large container.
Out stepped Lola Maria, dressed in a simple barong Tagalog blouse and wearing a broad-brimmed hat. In her hands was a large bucket of bagoong—fermented shrimp paste—that filled the air with a sharp, penetrating odor.
She entered the yard quietly and said, “Did you think you fooled me? I am not senile. I only pretended to forget—to see how far your greed would go.”
She turned to Lina, her eyes steady.
“I recorded everything—the conversations, the signing, the lies. The recorder, my lawyer, the barangay, and the municipality all have copies. For the past forty-eight hours, I was not in Bohol—I was in my lawyer’s office.”
Then, she opened the bucket slowly. The pungent smell of bagoong spread through the air, making the couple gag.
“This,” she said coldly, “is my gift to you. I’ve fermented it for two years. Do you know why I brought it? Because greedy, ungrateful people smell like this—a stink that sticks to them forever, no matter how much soap they use.”
At that moment, Lolo Ben appeared behind her, gripping his cane. His voice trembled with anger.
“We don’t need your money or your house,” he said. “But don’t think you can cheat your own parents. This home belongs to your mother. If you want it—you’ll have to take it over my dead body.”
Carlos lowered his head. “Ma… we didn’t mean it like that… we just wanted to fix the title—”
But Lola cut him off, her tone sharp yet calm.
“Fix it? No. You wanted to steal it. But remember this, Carlos—ungrateful children will always carry the stench of shame. No perfume will ever hide the smell of a rotten conscience.”
The Curse of the Bagoong
Neighbors began to gather outside, whispering as the smell of bagoong drifted through the air—a scent that felt like a curse, impossible to wash away.
Carlos and Lina thought things would return to normal after that day. They scrubbed the stains off the ground, washed the walls, and spent the afternoon cleaning, but the odor clung stubbornly.
That night, Carlos awoke to faint whispers. When he stepped outside, he saw a small plastic bag hanging from the gate. Inside was a fresh jar of bagoong and a handwritten note:
“Those who live in lies carry the stench not on their skin, but in their hearts.”
Carlos froze. Lina clung to him, trembling.
“Maybe your mother sent someone to scare us,” she whispered.
Carlos shouted, “She’s eighty-two! She can’t scare us! Stop being superstitious!”
But three days later, a summons arrived from the barangay hall.
Judgment Day
When the couple appeared, Lola Maria was already seated beside a young lawyer and two police officers. She looked calm, dressed in the same barong, but her eyes burned with strength.
Her lawyer took out a phone and played a recording.
“Just sign here—she’s senile, easy to fool.”
“After the sale, we’ll split the money and send her away.”
Lina’s voice echoed through the room. Everyone fell silent.
The barangay official shook his head. “This isn’t just a family dispute. This is fraud and elder abuse.”
Carlos turned pale; Lina wept uncontrollably.
Then, Lola Maria spoke softly but firmly.
“Carlos, I don’t want to see my own son in jail. But you must understand—when you do wrong, you lose more than a house. You lose your conscience.”
She turned to Lina. “You once cared for me when I was sick, and I’ll always remember that. But one act of betrayal can erase a lifetime of kindness.”
Then she stood and said, “I’ve donated half of the house to the Cebu Senior Care Center. The rest is now under my lawyer’s custody, so no one can ever take it again.”
Carlos and Lina sat frozen in disbelief.
The Lasting Stench
From that day on, the couple moved out and rented a small apartment in Mandaue. They opened a small restaurant, but no matter how carefully they cleaned or how delicious the food was, customers always complained:
“Why does this place smell like bagoong?”
Lina cried bitterly. “I’ve scrubbed everything, Carlos! Why won’t the smell go away?”
Meanwhile, Lola Maria spent her peaceful afternoons at the senior care center, making coffee, reading books, and smiling serenely. When someone asked about her son, she would simply say:
“I may have lost a home, but I regained my dignity. As for them—they will never sleep peacefully again, haunted by the stench of their own betrayal.”
And as the old Filipino saying goes:
“Ang utang na loob ay mas mabigat kaysa ginto.”
A debt of gratitude is heavier than gold.
For a child who betrays the one who gave them life, no amount of wealth can ever wash away the stench of bagoong—the lingering smell of greed that never fades.