The Girl Washing Glasses That Night Was Named May
The girl washing glasses that night was named May.
May was a third-year college student in Manila. During the day, she attended classes. At night, she worked at a small roadside beer joint, washing glasses for extra income.
The job was anything but easy. Her hands were always cracked from cold water, the smell of beer soaked into her clothes, and her wages were just enough to pay for school and send a little money back to her mother in the province.
That evening, the place was packed.
At the farthest table sat a middle-aged man wearing a crisp white shirt and a shiny, expensive watch. He barely drank—he simply sat there, observing.
As May carried a stack of glasses past his table, he called out softly:
“Miss.”
She startled and answered politely,
“Yes, sir?”
He studied her for a few seconds, then placed a thick stack of bills on the table.
“A tip. Two thousand pesos.”
May panicked and shook her head.
“I can’t accept that, sir.”
He gave a faint smile.
“Take it. For your hard work.”
Then he asked gently, almost as an afterthought:
“What’s your name?”
“…May,” she replied.
He nodded. Said nothing more.
That night, May returned to her small boarding room with her heart racing. ₱2,000 was nearly a week’s worth of food. She told herself he was just a kind, wealthy stranger.
One week later, just as May finished her shift early, a black car stopped in front of the beer joint.
An elegant woman stepped out, followed by a boy about ten years old.
The woman looked straight at May and asked calmly:
“Are you May?”
May nodded, a sudden chill running through her.
“We’d like to talk.”
They sat at a small café across the street. The woman stared at May for a long moment before speaking—her voice quiet, but cold.
“Do you remember the man who tipped you two thousand pesos?”
May nodded.
Suddenly, the boy beside her spoke:
“He’s my father.”
May froze.
The woman placed a hand on her son’s shoulder and turned back to May.
“He is my husband. A director of a construction company.”
May panicked.
“Ma’am, I swear, I have nothing to do with him. I’m just a girl who washes glasses—”
The woman interrupted, her voice lowering:
“I know.
And that is what hurts the most.”
She opened her bag and placed a folder of medical records on the table.
“My husband has terminal cancer.
The doctors say he only has a few months left.”
May went numb.
“After he came home that night,” the woman continued,
“he told me:
‘I saw a girl who looks exactly like the child I abandoned years ago.’”
May’s heart pounded wildly.
The woman looked straight into her eyes.
“Did your mother ever tell you about a man who left her while she was pregnant?”
May trembled.
Images of her exhausted mother, the half-finished stories from her childhood, came flooding back.
The woman sighed deeply.
“He suspects you might be his biological daughter.
But he didn’t dare ask.
That two thousand pesos… was the first thing he ever dared to give you.”
The boy lowered his head.
“My mom said… if it’s true, then you’re my older sister.”
May could barely breathe.
The woman stood up and placed another envelope on the table.
“I didn’t come here to blame you.
I came to tell you the truth…
and to let you decide.”
She paused.
“Do you want to meet him—one last time?”
The car drove away.
May remained frozen amid the noise of traffic.
The beer glasses she washed every night.
The unexpected tip.
A name asked so casually.
She had never imagined
that one simple question—
“What’s your name?”
could uncover a past long buried.
And one week later,
her life had turned onto a path
from which there was no turning back.