My husband worked abroad as an OFW in Japan.

For four years, all the money he sent went straight to his mother.

He had complete trust in her because my mother-in-law said:

“Son, don’t worry. I will take care of your money. When you come home, we will buy a house for you.”

I was left here in the Philippines, taking care of our little daughter, trying to survive day by day. Whenever I wanted to buy milk or medicine for the child, I had to ask for permission.

I was always told:

“I am the one who takes care of your money. If it goes to you, it will definitely disappear.”

I endured everything. I thought, with a little more patience, when my husband comes home, we will also have our own house and freedom.

But I never thought it would happen like this…

When my husband comes home, everyone is happy. My mother-in-law slaughtered a pig, had a big party. I was so happy, I thought the hardship was over.

But that night, my husband asked his mother:

“Mom, in four years, I have sent almost 900,000 peso. Can I take some so that Mylene and I can buy land?”

My mother-in-law answered quietly while drinking tea:

“What 900,000 peso? It’s gone. I’ve spent it all on the house, on food, on electricity. You’re not leaving me anything here.”

My husband turned pale. I, on the other hand, was stunned.

“Mom, I send money every month. You said you were saving.”

“I’m saving — for this house! You’re not the only ones eating here.”

I couldn’t stop crying. “Even what I earn from sewing, you take it too. You said, it will be included in our savings. Now, where did it all go?”

Suddenly my mother-in-law shouted:

“You have no right to talk like that! You just live here, and then you want to take money?”

My husband was silent. I did not defend myself, nor did his mother. That silence of his, was like a dagger piercing my chest.

I did not accept that four years of my husband’s sacrifice would disappear just like that. I started looking for all the evidence:
— bank transfer receipts
— text messages where my mother-in-law said, “I am the one who keeps the money.”
— recordings where her voice was clear: “Yes son, I still have all the money.”

I saved everything on a USB. I also had an official copy of the bank records made, with the bank’s signature and seal.

The next night, I invited relatives to a dinner, supposedly to “welcome my newly-wed husband.” After eating, I turned on the TV and plugged in the USB.

The recordings played one after another:

— “Yes, son, I’m just keeping your money safe.”
— “Just send it all the time, don’t worry.”

Everyone was silent. My mother-in-law turned pale. The relatives whispered. One of my husband’s aunts said:

— “Conchita, that’s really bad. Your son worked hard abroad, and you’re just like that?”

A few days later, in front of the family, my mother-in-law admitted that she still had 500,000 peso in savings in the bank. “I just put it aside,” she said, “in case I get sick.”

My husband had her sign the document to return the money. Then, he held my hand and said softly:

“Forgive me, Mylene. I should have fought for you long ago.”

My tears flowed. I was no longer angry. All that was left was silence — and the truth that the truth had come out.

We moved into a small rented house. We slowly saved up again to buy our own land.

Meanwhile, every day, I still saw Aling Conchita sitting in front of the old house, holding the old receipts, she whispered softly:

“I thought, I was saving it for my son… I don’t know, I’ll lose him too.”