After Dad’s funeral, I thought all the pain was over. But when I returned to the house where I grew up, I realized something even worse was about to happen.
I was standing right in front of the old gate when I noticed my belongings scattered across the lawn—clothes, books, and old photos of Dad and me. I saw Mom and Emma on the veranda, looking completely unconcerned.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Mom looked at me, her eyes cold. “Sheila, I hope you understand. You no longer have any right here. This is mine and Emma’s house now.”
“Why? This was Dad’s house!”
“Ramon was my husband, so everything he left behind—it’s ours!” she hissed. “Besides, you’ve been gone for a long time. You are no longer part of this family. You don’t need to force your way in.”
Emma spoke up, rolling her eyes. “Mom’s right. You were the one who was always absent, weren’t you? You never supported us. Now that Daddy is gone, you want a share?”
That’s when I knew the truth: They wanted to kick me out because they wanted to claim the house and everything Dad left behind. They thought that because I had left long ago and had my own life, I had no right to anything.
I chose not to argue anymore. “Fine,” I said calmly. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll leave.”
And that night, I left the house with tears in my eyes—not because of the house, but because of the reality that I was never truly treated as a daughter.
The last time Dad and I met, months before he passed, flashed back in my memory.
“I have cancer, Sheila,” he said back then at the café, barely meeting my gaze. “Pancreatic. Maybe just a few years left.”
I gripped my coffee cup. “What can I do for you, Dad?”
“The house,” he said softly. “I can’t pay the mortgage anymore. The bank is about to take it. I want to keep it in the family. Buy it. Save it.”
I was silent for a moment. “Dad, you want me to buy that house… even though you drove me away before?”
He leaned forward slightly, almost tearful. “I know I hurt you. But I don’t want you to lose everything. If you can save it, do it. I’ll transfer it to you.”
Even though it hurt, I couldn’t refuse him. So, I did it. I paid off all the debts and had the house title transferred to my name.
I didn’t tell anyone—not Mom nor Emma. I knew a day would come when I needed to remain silent, and let the truth speak for itself.
After Dad’s funeral, when I heard Mom scream, “Get out! This is our house!”, I just smiled.
“If that’s what you want, Mom,” I replied calmly. “I have no intention of arguing.”
I turned my back on them, while they believed they had won the battle they themselves had started.
A week later, the call came from Dad’s lawyer. “Ms. Sheila, you need to attend the reading of the will.”
When I arrived, Mom and Emma were there, smiling, clearly confident.
As the lawyer read the will, the allocations were presented—but no mention was made of the house.
Mom smiled knowingly. “It must be ours then,” she whispered to Emma.
Until the last page arrived.
“And regarding the house on Sampaguita Street…” the lawyer stated. “It is no longer on the list of properties to be inherited, because it was legally transferred to Ms. Sheila Dela Cruz some time ago.”
“Huh?!” Mom practically shouted. “What do you mean?!”
The lawyer handed her the document. “Here is the deed of sale. Ms. Dela Cruz paid off all the debts and Mr. Ramon legally transferred it to her before he passed away. Therefore, she is the legitimate owner of the house.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “You mean… the house is hers?”
“Yes,” the lawyer confirmed. “It has been for a while.”
The room was silent. I looked at the two of them, and for the first time, I was the one who was calm.
“I won’t kick you out,” I said, softly but firmly. “But I just want you to remember—not everyone who is silent is weak. Sometimes, silence is the strongest answer.”
I left the lawyer’s office feeling light. Finally, the house was mine again—not as a reward, but as a symbol of truth: that the person they had driven away was the one who held everything in the end.
And in my mind, I heard Dad’s voice, faint but clear:
“My daughter, I knew you deserved it.”