When I was 23 years old, I married an 80-year-old man, even though my parents disowned me. But I was determined to go through with it. And since we got married, I was exhausted every night until 3 a.m. before I was allowed to sleep.
Six months later, the old man received bad news. And on the very day of his funeral, I dropped to my knees when I saw the contents of the will he left for me…
The Night I Couldn’t Forget
On our first night as husband and wife, I couldn’t sleep. And for the next six months, every night in our room was the same—there were strange sounds, and I had to “serve” Mang Rogelio until I ran out of strength.
At exactly 9 p.m., when the bedroom door closed, my “working hours” would begin. I couldn’t rest for even a minute. Mang Rogelio was extremely strict—he wanted everything to be precise. “Harder! That’s not right! Press harder! Use all your strength!” His shouts echoed repeatedly throughout the house, accompanied by my gasps of exhaustion. When the house helpers passed by, they would blush and exchange glances. Some would even whisper: “Sir is incredible, so old yet lasting until dawn! Poor kid, she must be utterly drained.”
And it was true—I was drained. Every night, my whole body ached, riddled with fatigue, my clothes soaked with sweat. My hands trembled from the pain of so much pressing and massaging. And only when it was 3 a.m. and Mang Rogelio finally nodded, could I collapse onto the thin mattress on the floor and sleep almost unconsciously.
I will never forget that morning. After a night of exhaustion, massaging, and repeatedly obeying Mang Rogelio’s every shout, I collapsed onto the floor and slept. I hardly realized how I got up. When I opened my eyes, it was already bright. The scent of the oil I used for the massage wafted into my nose—a scent that was practically my daily companion, a smell that felt like it was permanently clinging to my skin. “Ma’am… ma’am?” One of the house helpers called softly. “I’m waking you up because sir is asking for you.” It felt like cold water was thrown on me. I quickly stood up even though my body was still trembling. Even though I hadn’t had enough sleep for days, I couldn’t show fatigue. Mang Rogelio hated that. But that day, he wasn’t angry. He didn’t shout either. He was just sitting quietly in the large chair on the veranda, staring into space, holding his favorite hat. “Come here,” he said softly. I approached him. I noticed there was a different kind of sadness on his face—not like tiredness, nor annoyance. There was a strange heaviness that I didn’t know the meaning of. “There are things you don’t understand yet,” he whispered. “And the day will come… you will understand everything.” I don’t know why, but I got goosebumps.
The doctor arrived very early. Usually, Mang Rogelio would only have a check-up when his back hurt or he felt dizzy. But today, the doctor was accompanied by four people—nurses, and a man in a black blazer. They quietly entered the old man’s room. After almost an hour, the doctor came out and called for me. “Ma’am… we need to talk.” My heart stopped beating. “H-how is Mang Rogelio?” The doctor sighed. “We found something serious. And… sir doesn’t have much time left.” It felt like boiling water was poured on me. “No… that can’t be—he’s still strong! Every day, I—” My tongue stopped before I could say “massage him for five to six hours.” The doctor just nodded, handing me a page full of results. In the final section, there was a line that almost erased my entire world: The world seemed to spin around me. I ran to the room. When I entered, I saw him lying down. He wasn’t the Mang Rogelio who shouted every night. He wasn’t the extremely strict old man who seemed tireless. No. Lying there… was a thin, pale old man, barely breathing. “R-Rogelio…” I bit my lip, trying to hold back my tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He patted my hand, weak but warm. “Because… I didn’t want you to look at me as a… dying man,” he whispered. “I wanted you to remember me as… having strength. Even for a little while.” My tears flowed. I hadn’t expected him to be able to speak like that. I thought his whole personality was just shouting, commanding, complaining. But I don’t know why. For the first time, I seemed to see a different side of him. Not as a husband, not as an old man, not as the man I served every night. But as a human being. A person hiding an illness. A lonely person. “And… I need to tell you something,” he added. “You need to know this before I—” “Stop it!” I shouted. “You’re not going to die! You can’t. Not now.” He smiled. “We all have our time.” He closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to hold back the pain in his chest. Then, he softly whispered: “In the drawer of my desk… there’s a key. Open it when I’m gone.” My eyes widened. “What’s inside?” But he didn’t answer anymore. Mang Rogelio’s condition worsened. Every day, it was as if he was slowly disappearing. And the nightly shouting, complaining, and commanding? It was gone. Only faint gasping remained. One night, as I wiped his forehead, he suddenly spoke: “Thank you… for enduring.” My tears fell. “I was just doing my duty.” He smiled faintly. “No… you did more than that.” And those were his last words. The next day, he stopped breathing. Many people attended the funeral. Mang Rogelio’s friends, former business associates, people I didn’t know but who knew him. But the strangest thing—there were many women. Young, old, married, single. “That was his secretary before…” one house helper whispered. “And that one, his former ‘close friend’. And that one, his former business partner but it seems like… there was something more.” I felt like ten thousand knives were simultaneously stabbing my heart. After the funeral, a few people stayed behind for the reading of the will. The lawyer was a tall man, dressed in black, with a serious and cold voice. “The last will and testament of Mr. Rogelio San Mateo,” he began, “contains something unusual.” I tightened my grip on my handkerchief. “To my wife, Althea Morales San Mateo,” the lawyer read, “who became my companion in the final months of my life… I leave the—” The lawyer paused for a moment. He looked at me. He looked at Rogelio’s entire family. And then he continued: “—the full responsibility of my secret, along with the wealth attached to it.” Everyone stirred. “What does that mean?” “What secret?” “Why would he leave it to her?!” I was confused too. And again, the lawyer continued: “In the drawer of my personal desk, there is a box containing a document, a photograph, and a USB that should only be opened by my wife. Only her.” My eyes widened. “That box,” the lawyer added, “is related to the true reason why he married again… and why all of you are here today.” The murmuring started. Some raised their eyebrows. Some whispered: “Who does she think she is? She’s new to the family!” “She just used the old man for money!” “Don’t tell me she’s the heir?!” The murmuring grew louder. I felt my hand go cold. And before the reading ended, there was another sentence that seemed to explode in my ears: “And towards the end of my life, people came to me wanting to take the thing I had hidden for a long time… and I believe they will return for it.” It felt like someone grabbed the back of my neck. It felt like something stabbed my chest. Heavy. Frightening. And when I heard the last line of the will— “My wife… guard the box. Because your life depends on it.” —I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I dropped to the floor. And before I lost consciousness, one question repeated in my mind: “What exactly was Mang Rogelio hiding?” When the funeral was over and most people had left, I quietly sat by the edge of Mang Rogelio’s bed. I could still smell his cologne on the pillow, the scent of body oil, the scent of the person I had spent several months with. But now that he was gone, the whole room seemed to change its smell. Colder. Heavier. Stranger. I looked at the desk that was always next to his bed. The drawer. The key. The box. My trembling hand took the key from under the pillow—the exact one he said was there. As I approached the desk, I noticed scratches on the side of the drawer, as if someone had tried to force it open several times. “Did… someone tamper with this?” I whispered. I slowly inserted the key. I was nervous when I heard the click—a sound that seemed to open a door leading to hell. I slowly opened the drawer. And there I saw a black box, extremely heavy and also locked. But there was another key under the drawer—small, rusty, and with an engraved letter: R.S.M. — Rogelio San Mateo. I swallowed. I tore the tape on the side of the box. Inserted the key. Click. Click. Click. Until it opened. And the first thing I saw— —were photographs. I can’t say why, but I felt deafened. The photographs… were old, faded, and clearly hidden for a long time. In the first picture, there was a smiling woman—a woman I didn’t know. She was beautiful, around thirty-five, wearing a white dress and hugging Mang Rogelio tightly. On the back of the photo, it was written: “To my dearest Estella—the only woman I ever loved.” My whole body trembled. “Who is she…?” Next, I saw a folder. When I opened it— Documents. Receipts for large sums of money—millions. And a birth certificate. Birth certificate… of a young boy. And written there: Father: Rogelio San Mateo Mother: Estella Ramos Child: Elias Ramos San Mateo My heart stopped beating. “Rogelio has a son?!” That wasn’t the worst part. At the bottom of the certificate, there was a stamp that read: “MISSING CHILD REPORT – CASE CLOSED.” And it also said: Elias — disappearance at age 9. Not found. Case closed due to lack of evidence. It felt like I was being clawed from the inside. “Missing? Why didn’t Rogelio say anything? Why did no one know?” I continued rummaging through the box. And there I found a USB. It was labeled: Do not open unless ready for the truth. My grip tightened. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. But before I could decide whether to open it, suddenly—BAM! BAM! BAM! Someone knocked loudly on the door. “Ma’am Althea! Ma’am!!” It was the shout of one of the house helpers, Lira, her voice trembling. “There—there’s someone outside the gate! They’re looking… for you!” I stood up. “Who?” “H-he didn’t introduce himself… but—” Lira swallowed. “—he’s very angry. And he said… you should hand over the box. Because if you don’t…” I stared at her. “…something bad will happen.” It felt like a rock had fallen on my chest. “What does the man look like?” “Tall… dressed in black… wearing a hat… his face wasn’t visible. But ma’am… he looks… like he’s armed.” My hands went cold. And before I could move, Lira spoke again: “Ma’am… he said… ‘Don’t hide. We know the old man is dead. And we know what he left you.’” Cold sweat dripped from my temple. I approached the window. I slowly lifted the curtain. And there I saw him. A man in black. Standing in front of the gate. Motionless. Unblinking. And when he looked up— his gaze met mine directly. I felt like I was shot. And in a low voice, even from afar, I read the movement of his lips: “Give us back the child.” The box fell from my hands. “The child?!” my mind screamed. “Elias? W-why? Who are they?” And suddenly— BOOM! There was a loud sound outside, like something hit the gate. The house helpers screamed. I rushed out of the room, still holding the box. When I reached the living room, I saw Lira, trembling: “Ma’am! They’re trying to break open the gate!” I ran toward the back of the house. I stopped in front of the old door leading to the basement. It had been closed for years. But it was the only place they couldn’t access. I squeezed the box inside the basement, hiding it under an old cabinet. As I came out— CRASH! The gate burst open. I heard the footsteps of many people. A man shouted: “Find the woman! Get the box! Now!” My knees trembled. I ran toward the backyard. With every step, I heard the approaching voices of the armed men. “She’s here!” “Don’t let her escape!” “BLOCK HER!” I stopped. I had nowhere else to go. I ran out of time. And before they could reach me— suddenly someone pulled my arm from the darkness. A man. Tall. With a rugged face. And cold eyes. And before I could scream, he whispered: “I am Elias.” My world stopped. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The missing child… Rogelio’s son… The secret hidden inside the box… Now, he was in front of me. Alive. And angry. And the first thing he said— “You shouldn’t have opened the box.” I clung to the arm of the man who pulled me. I didn’t know if I should scream, run, or believe what he said. He… was Elias? The missing boy? Mang Rogelio’s son? But the person in front of me now was not a child. Not innocent. A man with cold eyes, a scar on his eyebrow, with movements that seemed molded by danger. And his voice—low, hard, like it came from someone who had lived in the dark for a long time. “You shouldn’t have opened the box,” he whispered, holding my arm tightly. “I-I didn’t know—” “You shouldn’t have WANTED to know.” His gaze sharpened. “That you were the one entrusted. That everything was left to you. So now, even you… are their target.” On the other side of the yard, we heard the footsteps again—faster, more violent. “Over here! There are tracks here!” “Get ready! Don’t let the woman escape!” Elias’s grip tightened further. “Let’s go.” He pulled me toward a narrow path behind the property. I didn’t know where he was taking me, but the instinct that I needed to follow was stronger than the urge to fight back. When we reached the edge of the fence, he pulled out an old key from his pocket. He opened a small iron door that was almost covered with moss. “Everyone thought there was no way out here,” he said. “But I… I made this passage back then.” I don’t know what was more shocking— that he was alive, that he knew a secret way out of this house, or that he seemed to have been observing my life long before pretending to be a stranger. He pushed me inside. And before he followed, we clearly heard the voice of one of the pursuers: “THE PATH IS NARROW! THEY ARE AT THE BACK! HURRY!” Elias swallowed. “My suspicion was right,” he whispered. “They chased me because they knew I would look for you.” “M-me? Why me?!” The door closed, locking from the inside. We walked through the narrow passage, cold, dark, seemingly endless. In the only light from Elias’s small flashlight, I saw the tension on his face. This wasn’t the face of a grumpy stranger. This was the face of someone suffering—deep, heavy, full of pain. “Elias…” I said softly. “What’s happening? Why are they chasing us? What do I have to do with this?” He stopped. He looked at me. And for the first time, there was a hint of sadness in his cold eyes. “Althea…” “Your marriage to my father was not an accident.” I felt like I hit something inside. “W-what do you mean?” “He chose you.” “It took him a long time to tell me… a long time before he died.” “That you should be—the last person he would entrust everything to.” I stopped. “Me? Why ME?” We continued walking as he spoke: “Because my father had been watching you for a long time.” My mind exploded. “What?! Why would he WATCH me?!” “Not because you’re bad,” he answered immediately. “But because you are the… image of someone we lost.” The back of my neck felt cold. “W-who?” “My mother.” “Estella.” I put my hand on my chest. “You look like her. Even your voice… your movements… even your laugh. They are all similar.” My stomach churned. “So… that’s why he married me?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t underestimate his feelings,” Elias replied. “His reasons weren’t all selfish. Yes, he had flaws. Yes, he was wrong. But his treatment of you wasn’t a lie. He loved you in his own way.” I fell silent. My chest hurt. Love? The man I served every night? The old man who almost broke my body with exhaustion? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But before I could answer him, Elias suddenly stopped. He looked up, listening to the surroundings. “We need to hurry,” he said. “They’ll find the passage soon.” We exited at the end of the tunnel. A small hut, in the middle of thick foliage. It was almost invisible unless you knew the place well. When we entered, Elias closed the cover on the floor—a trapdoor. “We’ll stay here for a while. Just a moment,” he commanded. I sat on the chair, but my hands were shaking. I couldn’t help but ask: “Elias… why did you go missing back then? What’s the truth?” He looked at the floor. He clenched his fist. “It’s true that I was missing.” “But it’s not true that MY disappearance was my fault.” “Huh?” “Someone took me,” he added. “They are the ones chasing us now.” I trembled. “Criminals?” I asked. “No.” “Worse.” He pulled up his sleeve, showing a scar on his arm. “This is what they left me with.” A drop of cold sweat ran down his temple. “And the USB in the box…” “…that’s evidence of their operation.” My eyes widened. “Evidence? Of what?” He looked at me—deeply, heavily, his gaze unwavering. “And my father… became the keeper of that evidence.” The blood drained from my face. “So… that’s why he married me?” “Because he knew that if I held it, they could escape.” “Because they wouldn’t think he would give it to a woman with no connection to the family.” My throat tightened. “So… he made me a shield?” my voice was almost a whisper. Elias shook his head, quickly. “No. He made you protection.” “Because he knew that if it was with you, they wouldn’t immediately use their full force.” But the next thing he said made me stop breathing: “But he was wrong.” “W-what was wrong?” Elias looked directly at me, unblinking. “Now, because you opened the box… they already know who they’re going to kill next.” My whole body went cold. He looked at the door. Then his gaze returned to me. “And you need to know, Althea…” “…it’s not just the box they want.” He took a deep breath. “What they’re truly after…” I felt my chest pound. “…is YOU.”