When Marco raised his hand at me for not cooking rice—even though I had a 40-degree fever—I immediately signed the divorce petition. My mother-in-law, Aling Teresa, thundered,
“Who do you think you’re threatening? Once you leave this house, no one will ever take you in!”
I got married at 25, thinking marriage would give me a safe and happy future. But in just three years, I realized—I had made the biggest mistake of my life.
That day, I was burning with fever—over 40 degrees. My body ached, my head spun, my hands and legs trembled. All I wanted was to lie down and rest. But just as night was approaching, Marco returned from work and the moment he stepped inside, he frowned and barked:
“Where’s the rice? Why isn’t dinner ready yet?”
I lifted my head with great effort and whispered,
“I have a very high fever… I can’t manage today… I’ll cook tomorrow…”
But Marco didn’t show even a drop of compassion.
He snapped angrily,
“You stay home doing nothing, and you can’t even cook? Then what’s your purpose here?”
And suddenly, he slapped me across the face.
My cheek burned, tears streamed down—more from humiliation than pain.
I cried out,
“I’m sick… really, really sick…”
But Marco walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. That night, I realized—the man I called my husband never saw me as his partner at all.
Shaking with fever, pain, and loneliness, I lay awake the whole night thinking. And when morning came, I made my decision—enough was enough.
I prepared the divorce papers, signed them with trembling hands, and for the first time in years, my heart felt light. Gathering my courage, I said:
“Marco, I want a divorce. I cannot live like this anymore.”
Before he could respond, Aling Teresa stormed out of the kitchen like a raging storm:
“What did you say? A divorce? You think you can scare us and just walk out? Leaving this house isn’t that easy!”
Pointing her finger at me, she shouted:
“If you walk out of this house, you’ll have nothing! No man will ever accept you!”
It felt like another slap. But this time, I didn’t cry.
Looking straight into her eyes, I calmly said:
“Begging on the streets would still be better than living here in humiliation. And the world outside is a lot kinder than you think.”
Aling Teresa froze. The entire house went silent.
Marco came out, ready to argue, but the look in my eyes stopped him. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid.
I picked up my small bag and walked out of that house. Neighbors peeked from their doors—some with sympathy, some with respect, whispering,
“That girl has courage…”
The next few days were difficult. I rented a tiny room, searched for a job, and healed my wounds.
But every morning, I woke up with one comforting truth—there were no shouts to fear anymore, no hand waiting to strike me.
A month later, my health improved. My mind, too. I found stable work, my coworkers helped me, and friends stood by my side.
I realized—true happiness doesn’t come from a house. It comes from respect and peace.
As for Marco and Aling Teresa—I heard their small sari-sari store started losing customers. People stayed away from Marco’s violent temper and his mother’s cruelty.
Time strengthened me. Sometimes, I still remember that fever—the 40-degree heat that showed me their true faces and gave me the courage to walk out of the darkness and find myself again.
One day someone asked,
“Do you regret the divorce?”
I smiled and said:
“Regret? No.
My only regret is tolerating it for so long.
If I hadn’t signed that paper that day, I’d still be living like a shadow in that house.
Now I’m free—
and freedom is the greatest gift.”