When I opened it later, I couldn’t stop crying.
I am Maria. I took on the “job” of being a daughter-in-law at the age of twenty-six. Back then, my husband’s family had already faced so many hardships. My mother-in-law had passed away early, leaving my father-in-law, Tatay Ramón, to raise four children on his own. He spent his entire life planting rice and vegetables in Nueva Écija. He never had a stable job, no benefits, no pension—just the strength of his hands and the sweat of his labor.
By the time I married his son, almost all of Tatay Ramón’s children had their own families. They rarely visited him anymore. His remaining days depended almost entirely on my husband and me.
I often overheard neighbors whispering:
“What a pity. She’s only the daughter-in-law, yet she’s serving him like a maid. Who would look after a father-in-law that long?”
But I saw things differently. He wasn’t just my husband’s father—he was a man who had given up everything for his children. If I turned away from him, who would stay to care for him?
Twelve Years of Devotion
Those twelve years were not easy. I was young, often exhausted, and many nights I cried quietly to myself. When my husband had to work in Manila, I was left alone to care for our little daughter and Tatay Ramón, whose body had grown frail. I cooked, washed clothes, and stayed awake through long nights, listening to his breathing.
One evening, overwhelmed, I said softly, “Father, I’m only your daughter-in-law… sometimes, it feels so heavy.”
He smiled gently and, with his trembling hands, took mine. “I know, my daughter,” he whispered. “That’s why I’m even more thankful. Without you, I might not still be here.”
I’ll never forget those words. From that moment on, I promised myself to do everything I could to make his days more comfortable. Every cold season, I bought him thick coats and blankets. When his stomach hurt, I cooked him rice porridge. When his feet ached, I massaged them with care.
I never once thought about what he might leave me. I did it simply because, in my heart, he had already become like my own father.
His Final Moments
As the years passed, Tatay Ramón grew weaker. When he turned eighty-five, the doctor at the provincial hospital said his heart was very weak. A few days before his final night, he would call me to his bedside, telling me stories from his younger days and reminding me over and over that his children and grandchildren must always live with honor.
Then, one afternoon, the time came. His breathing was shallow, his voice faint. He motioned for me to come closer. In his hands was an old pillow, torn at the seams. “For… Maria…” he whispered.
I clutched the pillow to my chest, not understanding what he meant. A few minutes later, his eyes closed forever.
The Secret in the Pillow
That night, during the wake, I sat alone on the terrace, still holding that old pillow. Something urged me to open it. When I carefully pulled at the torn edges, I froze. Inside were neatly folded bills, a few small gold coins, and three old savings passbooks.
I was stunned—and then, tears streamed down my face. All those years, Tatay Ramón had quietly saved every bit of money his children gave him, along with what he earned from selling a small plot of land in the province. He never spent it. Instead, he hid it inside that old pillow—and left it all to me.
There was also a small note, written in shaky handwriting:
“Daughter, you are the kindest and most hardworking daughter-in-law I have ever known. I have no riches to leave you, but I hope this will help you live a little better. Don’t blame your husband’s brothers. I chose to give this to you myself—because you cared for me for twelve years