I am 65 years old.
And after 37 years of marriage, I was abandoned by the man with whom I shared almost my entire life.
On the day of the divorce, my ex-husband, Rafael Santos, handed me a bank card.
His voice was calm when he said:
—“There’s ₱3,000 pesos in here. It should be enough for you to survive for a few months.”
He said it as if those 37 years together were worth only that.
As if I were an old object that was no longer useful.
I watched him turn around and walk out of the family court in Quezon City, without looking back.
A knot tightened in my throat so hard I could barely breathe.
I kept the card.
Not because I needed it…
but because it felt like a thorn buried deep in my heart.
After the divorce, I lived in a small, damp room on the outskirts of the city.
I survived however I could—cleaning houses, guarding parked cars, collecting empty bottles from the streets.
Those were the darkest years of my life.
Many times, I went hungry.
Many nights, I went to bed with an empty stomach.
But I never touched those ₱3,000 pesos.
Not because of pride…
but because I couldn’t bring myself to use what felt like charity.
I hated that card.
I hated the abandonment.
I hated feeling that, after an entire lifetime, I had become nothing but a burden.
Time passed slowly, like a dull knife—cutting little by little, but deep.
My body aged quickly.
There were days when getting out of bed felt like a battle.
My children visited from time to time.
They would leave some money, but they had families of their own.
I never told them about my pain or the dizziness.
I didn’t want to be another worry in their lives.
Until one day…
I collapsed in front of the door of the room I was renting.
The doctor was direct:
—“Severe malnutrition. You need treatment. Hospitalization.”
I knew I had no choice.
For the first time in five years, I thought about that card.
“It only has ₱3,000 pesos… but at least it will help me for a few days.”
The next morning, I went to the bank.
My hands were shaking as I handed the card to the young teller.
—“I’d like to withdraw everything, please.”
In my mind, I already saw myself leaving with a few bills, returning to my miserable routine.
But the young woman stared at the screen…
for far too long.
Then she looked up at me.
Her eyes were filled with shock.
—“Ma’am…” —she swallowed— “the balance is not ₱3,000 pesos.”
My heart skipped a beat.
—“Then… how much is there?”
She printed the statement and slowly slid it toward me.
I looked at the paper.
And in that moment…
it felt as if the world stopped.
₱983,000 pesos.
Almost one million.
I couldn’t breathe.
I thought I was reading it wrong.
I looked again.
The number didn’t change.
—“Who… who deposited this money?” —I asked, my voice trembling.
The teller turned the screen toward me.
There was a name I knew far too well.
RAFAEL.
Monthly transfers.
For five years.
Not a single one missed.
I went home in silence.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I just stared at the ceiling, crying.
I remembered his sad looks.
His strange silences.
The nights he stayed awake, thinking I was asleep.
What if… he hadn’t left because he didn’t love me?
I needed answers.
The next day, I traveled to the province where his older sister lived, Aunt Teresa, in Nueva Ecija.
Her house was small, beside the rice fields.
—“Teresa… are you there?” —I called, my voice breaking.
She came out, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
—“Maria… you finally came.”
—“Where is Rafael? I need to talk to him.”
Aunt Teresa fell silent.
She went inside and came back holding a small wooden box.
Her hands were trembling.
—“Maria… Rafael passed away.”
It felt as if my heart had been torn out.
—“No… that can’t be… it’s only been five years…”
She cried.
—“He had terminal cancer… even before the divorce.”
My world collapsed.
—“He didn’t want you to take care of him,” she continued.
“He didn’t want you to spend your final years watching the man you love slowly die.
That’s why he left.
That’s why he set you free.”
She handed me the box.
—“This is for you. He said I should only give it to you if you came looking for him.”
Inside was a letter.
His handwriting.
Maria,
When you read this, I will already be gone.
Forgive me for leaving in the cruelest way.
It hurt me more than you can imagine.
I didn’t want you to care for me as I faded away.
I wanted you to live without chains, without tears.
The money is so you will never lack anything.
Eat well. Live well.
I don’t need your forgiveness.
I only want you to be happy.
If there is another life… I would choose you again.
I fell to my knees.
I cried like a child.
For five years, I lived hating him…
while he was fighting death,
sending me money month after month,
until his hands could no longer do so.
I believed he had abandoned me.
But the truth was something else.
He loved me so much…
that he chose to leave alone.
Standing before his photograph on the family altar, I touched the frame with trembling fingers.
—“Why didn’t you tell me…?”
But he could no longer answer.
That day, when I held the card with ₱3,000 pesos, I thought I was a woman abandoned.
Five years later, standing before his memory, I finally understood the truth:
I was never alone.
I was loved… until the very end.