Every time my daughter came home from her grandparents’ house, she would cry. I secretly hid the recorder and was shocked to hear the truth.
Image of 2 people, children, phone and bedroom
My name is Maya, 35 years old, I live with my husband Paolo and our little daughter Ana – who is only 10 years old – in a rented apartment in Quezon City. In my eyes, Ana is the world: obedient, studious and very loving. But as she got older, she became more difficult to talk to. It was only one day that I realized that I had let her suffer too much.
It all started on the weekend, when Paolo often took Ana to visit her paternal grandparents in Malolos, Bulacan. At first, I thought it was a good thing: Grandma (grandmother) and Grandpa also needed their grandchildren to be with them. But lately, whenever she came home from her paternal grandparents’ house, Ana had been unusually quiet. One day, she went into her room, buried her face in her pillow and sobbed. I asked her, but she just shook her head:
– I’m fine, don’t worry…
That answer burned my heart like fire. I tried to ask Paolo, but he snapped:
– You’re thinking too much. It’s normal for children to cry a little, don’t think too much!
But my mother’s instinct told me: something was wrong. And I decided to do something that still makes me shudder when I think about it.
The next day, before Paolo drove Ana back to Bulacan, I secretly hid a small voice recorder in the pocket of his jeep-shaped backpack. My heart pounded as I zipped it up—partly because I blamed myself for being suspicious, partly because I needed the truth.
That afternoon, when Ana returned, as expected, she was sobbing again. I hugged her, my heart aching, but on the surface I pretended to be calm. When she fell asleep, I turned on the voice recorder.
I froze at the sound.
My mother-in-law’s voice – Grandma Luz – shouted, cruelly:
– This girl, just like her mother. What kind of woman doesn’t know how to give birth to a son. If you don’t study hard to earn money later, I’ll throw you out!
Ana’s voice trailed off:
– I… I’ll try. Don’t hate me…
I felt like my heart was being squeezed. A child is only ten years old, why does she have to endure such cruel words?
Not stopping there, Paolo’s voice rang out, cold and unfamiliar:
– You’re right, Mom. She’s just a girl, she’s going to get married in the future, what’s the point. Don’t ruin her so much.
I trembled, tears welling up. All this time, the person I trusted the most didn’t care, even agreed to let my daughter be bullied like that.
I sat by the bed, looking at Ana’s sleeping face with tears, my heart was both sad and angry. During the day, she smiled and talked to me, but behind her, she was under pressure from her own family.
The next morning, I sat Paolo down in the small living room, the Quezon City sunlight shining through the window. I placed the recorder on the table, pressed the play button. Those sounds echoed in the middle of the room, making Paolo pale. I looked straight at him:
– Is this what you call “normal”? She’s only 10 years old! She needs love, not contempt.
She stammered:
– I… I just want to teach her to be tougher…
I laughed, but it was a laugh full of pain:
– Being tough by making her feel unlovable? Do you know how much she cries every time she comes home from her grandparents’ house?
Paolo was silent, looking down. For the first time, I saw shame in his eyes.
That night, I hugged Ana and whispered:
– Ana, I know you’ve suffered many unhappy things. You don’t need to force yourself. Being true to yourself is enough, I’ll always be by your side.
She was stunned, then burst into tears:
– Mom… I thought you wouldn’t believe me. I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll be sad…
I hugged her tightly. At that moment, I understood: there is no greater pain than a child having to endure alone.
From that day on, I was determined: Ana would never return to her father’s house alone. If she did, the mother and daughter would go, and I would be there. I was ready to face my husband’s family in Bulacan, ready to protect my child no matter what. Because for me, as a mother, nothing is more important than letting my child grow up in complete love.
The truth revealed by the tape recorder made a difference in my family, but it also helped me see clearly what needed to be cared for: my daughter’s tears were never considered a small thing. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of Quezon City, Ana and I began to establish new peaceful days—where she was listened to, loved, and no longer had to fear whenever someone said, “Go back to Bulacan this weekend.”