The family matriarch, Aling Rosa, had not slept a wink.
The grand wedding celebration of her only son, Daniel, to the sweet but still unfamiliar Maria, had ended near dawn. The house was a mess—reeking of lechon, spilled gin, and the sweat of a hundred relatives who danced nonstop to loud karaoke and budots until sunrise.
Despite her aching bones, Aling Rosa was already up by 5 a.m., broom in hand. To her, a dirty house was a mortal sin. By 10 a.m., the tropical sun was already blazing, yet upstairs—where the newlyweds slept—not a single sound could be heard.
Her blood began to boil.
She planted herself at the foot of the wooden stairs and shouted in that thunderous voice that once made her grandchildren tremble.
“Maria! Daniel! It’s already late! Come down and help! This is not a hotel!”
Silence.
Her temper flared hotter with every second.
“I may be old, but I’m not stupid! Get those lazy bones up!” she yelled again, banging the railing.
Nothing.
Blinded by anger, she stormed into the kitchen. Her eyes landed on the old wooden broom handle she kept behind the door. She grabbed it like a weapon.
“I’ll show that girl who runs this house!” she muttered, charging up the stairs, heart pounding. She was ready to drag them out of bed by force if needed—especially that new daughter-in-law who dared sleep in while her mother-in-law worked herself to the bone.
She burst into the bedroom without knocking.
The air was heavy and stifling.
“Have you no shame—”
The words died in her throat.
Her eyes widened in horror. The broom slipped from her sweaty hands and clattered to the floor.
The marriage bed looked like a crime scene.
The white cotton sheets—her most expensive wedding gift—were smeared with dark red stains, thick and blotchy, like dried blood. White feathers were scattered everywhere, clinging to the wet patches like snow on a battlefield.
But the worst part was the people.
Maria was curled into a corner of the bed, pale as wax, shaking uncontrollably, clutching the sheet to her chest, eyes swollen from crying.
And Daniel—her Daniel—sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, gasping for air. His arms and chest were covered in the same dark red substance, his eyes filled with panic and exhaustion.
“Santo Niño… Daniel! What have you done?!” Aling Rosa whispered, backing into the wall as her legs nearly gave way.
Daniel jumped up, dizzy, raising his stained hands.
“Mama! Please—this isn’t what you think! It’s not blood!”
He pointed to his chest. Beneath the sticky paste, his skin was bright red, covered in huge swollen rashes.
“It’s the blanket! That goose-feather comforter you gave us! I’m allergic!” he cried.
“I couldn’t breathe! My skin felt like it was on fire all night!”
Aling Rosa stared at the stains. Now she noticed—too thick, too dark to be blood.
“And this—this is annatto oil with herbs! Auntie Lorna’s muscle remedy!” Daniel continued desperately.
“I was itching like crazy. Maria panicked—she thought I was going into shock. She ran to the kitchen and rubbed me with it.”
Maria lifted her head, sobbing.
“Nanay Rosa, I’m sorry! He couldn’t breathe! I thought he was dying! I forgot to call you—I was so scared!”
Daniel pulled her close.
“We were awake all night—scratching, changing sheets, trying to clean up. The oil stuck to everything, and the feathers flew everywhere. We only slept an hour from pure exhaustion.”
Aling Rosa stood frozen.
Her rage evaporated instantly, replaced by crushing guilt and pity. She had marched upstairs ready to beat the woman who had spent the night fighting to save her son—and the cause was her own gift.
Slowly, she picked up the broom, now using it like a cane.
“Maria… anak…” her voice broke.
“Daniel may be a grown man, but he’s still that sickly, allergic boy. What a terrible wedding night you had—because of me. Forgive me. I’m an old witch.”
She straightened.
“Daniel, take your wife to shower. I’ll get clean cotton sheets. Don’t touch this mess—I’ll wash everything myself.”
Later…
While scrubbing the stained sheets in the laundry area, Aling Rosa felt something hard under the mattress.
An envelope.
Inside was a one-way plane ticket.
Destination: Madrid, Spain.
Passenger: Daniel
Departure: Two months from now.
Her heart dropped.
Why was it hidden?
Why only his name?
She pocketed the ticket.
When Daniel and Maria came downstairs, the air was tense. Aling Rosa stood by the counter, arms crossed.
Without a word, she slapped the ticket onto the table.
“Explain this. Now.”
Daniel turned pale. Maria started crying again.
“I can explain, Ma—”
“Don’t call me that! Are you abandoning your wife already?!”
Daniel finally spoke.
“It’s a job offer in Madrid. A promotion. I turned it down—for you, Ma.”
Maria suddenly stepped forward.
“Nanay Rosa—it was me. I bought the ticket.”
She explained everything: Daniel’s sacrifice, her secret plan, her love.
Silence filled the kitchen.
Then Aling Rosa pulled them into a tight hug.
“You foolish, wonderful children…”
She wiped her tears and picked up the ticket.
“This ticket is wrong.”
She smiled at Maria.
“Because yours is missing. You’re going together. What kind of marriage starts apart?”
She laughed loudly.
“Now eat! Lunch is getting cold!”