I had just given birth in Quezon City, and went to my husband’s house in barangay San Miguel, San Fernando City, Pampanga to give birth. My body was still weak, but every day I had to work hard to do everything: cooking, washing, cleaning. Staying up all night to breastfeed my baby, and straining myself to “serve” my baby, I was exhausted both mentally and physically.

Thinking of myself, I gently asked my in-laws—whom everyone in the neighborhood called Mang Arturo (father-in-law) and Aling Rosa (mother-in-law)—to let me take the baby to my parents’ house in Calamba, Laguna for a few days so that Nanay could help take care of it, so that I would be less tired. Before I could finish, Mang Arturo glared, his voice as if he had poured water:

“This daughter-in-law hasn’t finished giving birth yet and you want to take the baby away? Then pack your things and go back to your parents’ house, don’t stay here anymore!”

I was stunned, tears welling up in my eyes, hugging my baby and dejectedly packing up a few clothes. Just after passing the gate of the house, about five or seven steps on the concrete road of the barangay, a loud noise rang out, shaking the whole house behind. The whole neighborhood rushed out in panic.

My heart sank, I quickly picked up my child and rushed back inside. The scene before my eyes made my limbs weak, almost collapsing:

The largest narra wooden pillar in the middle of the “sala” (living room) had broken, the yero (corrugated iron) roof collapsed right where Mang Arturo often sat drinking tea and cursing. Smoke and dust filled the air, people were screaming in chaos. I was stunned, unable to believe my eyes…

If I had lingered in the house for a few more minutes, perhaps my newborn child and I would have been buried under the rubble. But what was more horrifying was that when the dust settled, people saw an old iron box (baul de yero) stuck under the floor for a long time, now exposed among the rubble.

The whole barangay was in an uproar. Mang Arturo, though still trembling from his escape, his eyes were filled with panic, and he jumped up, not allowing anyone to touch the coffin. At that moment, I shuddered to realize—perhaps in this ancestral home in Pampanga, in addition to the hardships I had endured for so long, there was a shocking secret hidden in it that my father-in-law would not want anyone to know…

The truth is revealed

The shouts were still echoing in the yard when Kapitana Maribel and the kagawads ran over. I held my child, my heart pounding. Mang Arturo stood in front of the baul de yero (iron box), his face pale, shouting: “No one touches it! It’s our family’s stuff!”

Aling Rosa—my mother-in-law—pursed her lips, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her dress. She didn’t look at anyone, just fixed her eyes on the dust-covered box.

—Before cleaning, everything of value must be sealed and brought back to the barangay hall, opened in front of witnesses — Kapitana said clearly.

Mang Arturo jumped up and stopped her:

— No need! My family will handle it!

— Hindi puwede (no way). The roof collapsed, the whole neighborhood witnessed. If you want to stop tsismis (gossip), do it publicly. — Kapitana’s voice was firm.

Finally, the box was carried onto the barangay truck. I carried my child behind me, both scared and feeling that something was pulling me closer to the truth. My husband—Jun—was at the Clark construction site, and when he heard the news, he took a taxi home.

At the barangay hall, under the lens of the neighbor’s phone, Kapitana asked for a temporary seizure record. The chest had no lock—the rusty lock had broken after the crash. Everyone held their breath as the lid was opened.

Inside was the musty smell of old wood, a bundle of yellowed pawn tickets, a leather-bound notebook, and a plastic file bag stuffed with papers.

Kagawad Ben put on gloves, and handed the papers to Kapitana to read aloud.

TCT—Transfer Certificate of Title—numbered T-XXXXXX, owner: Rosa de la Cruz. Note on the back: “Deed of Donation Inter Vivos” given to their daughter by Aling Rosa’s parents, personal property (paraphernal), not entered conjugal.

Special Power of Attorney (SPA) revokes all previous authorizations to Arturo Santos.

Real Estate Mortgage signed two years ago, the mortgagee is listed as “Rosa de la Cruz”, but the signature is strangely squiggly. Creditor: a private finance company in Angeles.

A stack of money transfer receipts and pawn tickets: mother-in-law’s wedding ring, gold necklace, even the earrings I asked “where is Nanay”, are all on the list… pawned.

Aling Rosa’s eyes are red. She steps forward, tremblingly touching the TCT:
— It… is mine. My parents gave it to me after the wedding, for fear… (she glances at her husband) that he might sell it. I hid the titulo (title) under the narra floor so that Arturo wouldn’t find it.

— And this mortgage? — Kapitana asks.

Aling Rosa shakes her head vigorously:
— It’s not my signature. I… I don’t know.

All eyes turned to Mang Arturo. He stiffened, his eyes wandering.

— Dad! — Jun had just arrived, his voice choked — Did you sign for Nanay?

Mang Arturo hissed:

— I did it for this family! The jueteng (numbering) and sabong (cockfighting) money is just capital turnover! I will win and pay it back! Who would have thought… (he fell silent, realizing the mistake he had just made in front of the entire barangay).

The room was suffocating. Kapitana said in a low voice:

— You admitted to using your wife’s personal assets to borrow money and there were signs of forging the signature. This is a criminal matter. I made a blotter at the barangay and endorsed it to the police station for the NBI to verify the signature. Temporarily, título will keep it at the barangay according to the sealed minutes. At the same time, I recommend that my sister-in-law (she looked at me) file a VAWC petition if there was postpartum mental abuse.

I hugged my child to my chest. Jun grabbed my hand, the first time holding it so tightly that I felt warm. Aling Rosa collapsed on the chair, crying. Daughter-in-law… Nanay is sorry. From the beginning, I should have let you go back to Laguna for Nanay to take care of. Arturo forbade it because… he was afraid that outsiders would see the box when they came to fix the roof. For months now, the roof has been leaking, and he hasn’t allowed it to be fixed…

I was speechless. It turned out that the curse “take your things back to your parents’ house” was not only arrogant and patriarchal—it was also a calculation: to keep me here to cover the box and save face when the creditors came to the house.

— Kapitana, let your wife and children go back to Laguna today. I will come back to take care of the paperwork. I won’t let your wife and children stay here another night. — Jun said firmly.

Kapitana nodded:
— I will issue a Certification to Travel for the infant and clearly state the sensitive reason. At the same time, I will issue a temporary Protection Order for you and your children if necessary. Two days later, at the police station, the NBI tentatively concluded that there was a high possibility of forged signatures on the mortgage documents. Atty. Santos, a lawyer recommended by Kapitana, presented the plan:

Cancellation of mortgage because real owner (Aling Rosa) did not sign + supporting appraisal.

Application for conservation measure: temporary restraining of any transfer/registration related to TCT.

VAWC application (if needed) to protect me—a pregnant woman—from pressure, humiliation, and forced labor without authorization during the postpartum period.

Family agreement in barangay: Jun is the temporary roof repair manager (safe), Aling Rosa retains the right to decide on the paraphernal property, Arturo is not allowed to interfere.

That night, Jun arrived in Laguna. He placed before me an old nylon bag, inside was a leather-bound notebook found at the bottom of the trunk:

— The diary of Lola Consuelo—Aling Rosa’s mother. Read it.

Brown paper, soft handwriting:

“When Rosa married Arturo, I gave her a piece of land in San Miguel as my own. Arturo was hot-tempered and greedy for sabong. Afraid that he would sell it, I told her to hide the titulo under the base of the narra pillar.

If I am no longer here, give it to your daughter-in-law to give birth in peace and raise your grandchildren. This house must be a safe place for women and children, not a place where men bang on the table and scold.”

I hugged the notebook to my chest. Lola’s words were like a cool breeze that soothed my sleepless nights. Somewhere in this family, there was still someone on the side of women.

A week later, Kapitana called a family meeting. He brought Arturo, who was sitting at the end of the table, and he was emaciated. Atty. Santos pushed the paper in front of everyone:

— Kasunduan (agreement):

Arturo Santos publicly apologized to his daughter-in-law for his humiliating behavior and forced labor during the postpartum period; promised not to repeat the offense.

Arturo admitted to using Rosa’s personal property documents to borrow money without authorization; committed to cooperate in canceling the mortgage.

Rosa de la Cruz is the sole manager of TCT and the house; has the right to let Jun and his wife temporarily manage the repair part to ensure safety.

Jun and his wife have the right to bring mother and child back to Laguna until the doctor confirms postpartum recovery; all contact with Arturo is through the barangay.

If Arturo violates, the barangay will forward the file to the RTC and PAO to support the VAWC case.

Mang Arturo choked:
— I… I’m sorry. I was wrong. When the roof collapsed, I thought… (he paused, took a deep breath) I thought God was punishing me. The box was exposed… I was just afraid of losing face, afraid that my brothers would know that I owed the finance company. I was greedy.

Aling Rosa turned to me, holding my hand:
— From now on, you go back to Laguna for Nanay to take care of. Come back when you want, no one will order you around—not even me.

I looked at Jun. He nodded, his eyes red.

— I will rebuild the roof, replace the narra columns with steel pillars, fix the yero—do it properly. As for the titulo, I will ask Nanay to keep it in a safe at the bank. Kapitana smiled:

— A house is more than just a roof and columns. A house is a place where a woman after giving birth can rest, a baby can cry, and a man knows how to lower his voice. Today, our barangay learned that lesson again.

The day I left Pampanga, I carried my child into the car to return to Laguna. Aling Rosa thrust a velvet box into my hands: a pair of old earrings redeemed from the pawnshop.

— Keep it, daughter-in-law. I have never been on your side. From now on, I stand here.

The car started. Outside the window, I saw Mang Arturo leaning against the capiz gate, his head bowed. He did not look at me. But I hope that, in that house, when the new pillar is erected, the old man will also collapse a little—so that a new father can begin.

I leaned to my son’s cheek and whispered:

— Home, my son, is where we are safe. And I will keep my word so that your home will always be like that.