The Rain and the Omen
My shift ended just before 9:00 PM. Metro Manila had just endured a heavy downpour, leaving the air smelling of wet earth and asphalt. The narrow street (eskinita) leading to my house was flooded with puddles, the yellow streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement like spilled oil.
I – Police Lieutenant Lena Santos – walked into my gate with an unusual sense of anxiety, my heart pounding in my chest for no apparent reason. My mother, Nanay Carmen, hadn’t called me all day. This was incredibly rare. She suffered from hypertension, and whenever I was late coming home from the station or had a big case, she would call in a panic to check on me. Today, her phone had been silent.
Just as I was about to pull out my keys to open the front door, I heard strange noises coming from inside. It was the sound of furniture crashing, heavy footsteps, and… a woman’s scream that sounded like it was immediately muffled.
The sixth sense of a seasoned operative told me something was wrong. I didn’t rush to open the door immediately; instead, I pressed my ear against the wood.
— “Sign it! You’re old, what do you need this house for? Sign it so I can go!” — A voice I knew all too well. It was Mark, my husband.
— “Mark, hurry up, I’m scared your wife might come home early…” — A shrill female voice replied. It was Crystal.
My blood boiled. I took a deep breath, my right hand instinctively reaching for my belt, where my service radio and gear were still attached.
A Scene from Hell
I pushed the door open with force; the lock, already loose, gave way easily. The scene inside made my blood freeze, only to boil over with rage a second later.
The living room – usually a warm place filled with family photos – looked like a war zone. In the center, Nanay Carmen was tied to a chair, her arms twisted behind her back. Rough rope dug into her wrinkled skin. Her mouth was gagged with a cloth, tears streaming down her face, her eyes filled with terror.
Mark – the man I had shared a bed with for three years – stood there, his face flushed red, gripping a wooden baseball bat. Beside him was Crystal – the flirtatious coworker I had long suspected was his mistress (kabit), though Mark had always denied it. She was holding a folder of documents, screaming at my mother:
— “You stubborn old woman! Sign the deed of donation to Mark! If you don’t sign, don’t blame us for what happens next!”
Mark ripped the gag from my mother’s mouth, growling: — “Nanay, sign it! I owe the loan sharks 2 million pesos. If you don’t sign, they’re going to kill me! This house will be ours eventually anyway, why are you being so selfish?”
Nanay trembled, her voice breaking with pain and betrayal: — “The house… is my blood and sweat… I’m leaving it to Lena… You are a gambler… I would rather die than sign…”
— “Damn it!” — Crystal, furious, swung her hand and slapped my mother hard across the face.
That slap was the last straw.
— “MARK! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”
My scream echoed like thunder. Mark and Crystal jumped, spinning around to face me.
The Badge and The Gun
In that moment, I saw the shift on Mark’s face. From aggression to shock, and then back to the cold cruelty of a man blinded by greed. He showed no remorse.
Crystal turned pale, retreating behind Mark, but she tried to brazen it out: — “Lena… you’re home early. Tell the old woman to sign so your husband can pay his debts. If the syndicate comes here, none of you will be safe!”
I threw my police cap onto the sofa, my eyes locking onto Mark with lethal intensity. I walked slowly but deliberately toward my mother. — “Untie her.”
Mark sneered, raising the bat threateningly: — “Lena, don’t act like a cop here. This is a family matter. Sign this, and I swear I’ll change. I just made a mistake this one time.”
I didn’t answer. I lunged toward Nanay. As I reached to untie her, I felt her hands—ice cold, her pulse weak. Grief choked me.
— “Are you deaf, Lena?” — Mark yelled, rushing forward to grab my hair.
My training kicked in instantly. The moment his hand touched my shoulder, I pivoted, executing a judo throw that slammed him onto the tiled floor. A loud thud echoed through the room. I twisted his arm behind his back, driving my knee into his spine. A precise move I had practiced thousands of times at the academy.
— “Aaaagh! My arm!” — Mark howled in pain.
— “You dare hurt your husband?” — Crystal screamed in panic, bolting toward the door to escape.
But I had already kicked the door shut and engaged the deadbolt the moment I entered. I pulled out my handcuffs (posas) and shackled Mark’s hand to the heavy leg of the wooden dining table. I stood up, blocking the exit, and drew my service firearm, pointing it at the ground but ready to fire.
— “Both of you, freeze! One move and I will shoot!” — My voice was ice cold, commanding authority.
Crystal collapsed to the floor in terror, her face drained of color.
I pressed the button on my shoulder radio: — “This is Lieutenant Lena Santos, Badge Number 084. I need immediate backup at Block 5, Rosal Street. Two suspects in custody for assault on a senior citizen and attempted robbery. Suspects are dangerous.”
Justice at the Precinct
Less than 10 minutes later, the wail of sirens filled the narrow street. The squad from the local PNP station burst in. Mark and Crystal were completely subdued.
As my colleagues dragged Mark to the patrol car, he struggled and screamed: — “Lena! I’m your husband! You’re sending your own husband to jail? You heartless woman!”
I walked up to the patrol car and looked him straight in the eyes—eyes I once trusted. — “You are wrong, Mark. I am not sending my husband to jail. I am arresting a dangerous criminal who assaulted my mother. My husband died the moment you picked up that bat.”
At the station, the truth came out. Mark had been having an affair with Crystal for over a year. They had gotten involved in online gambling (e-sabong) and lost over 3 million pesos. Cornered by violent loan sharks, they hatched a plan to force my mother to sign over the house title—our family’s only asset—to mortgage it and run away with the cash.
Crystal admitted she incited Mark to use violence, believing that as a police officer, I would be too afraid of the scandal to file a case. They thought I would keep it “within the family.” They were wrong. For me, the law is absolute, and family is a red line no one crosses.
The Verdict and Healing
I took Nanay to the hospital. The doctor concluded she had multiple soft tissue injuries, a hairline fracture on her wrist from the ropes, and severe psychological trauma.
That night, sitting by her hospital bed watching her sleep under sedation, my heart broke. I held her wrinkled hand, whispering an apology for choosing the wrong man, for letting a wolf into our home.
When she woke up, her first words weren’t about her pain. She said: — “Lena… file for an annulment. Don’t waste another tear on him.”
I smiled, placing a folder on the bedside table. — “I’ve already spoken to the lawyer, Nanay. The law will handle the rest.”
Three months later, the trial concluded. Mark and Crystal were charged with Serious Physical Injuries, Robbery with Violence, and violation of RA 9262 (Violence Against Women and Their Children Act). Because the crime was premeditated and targeted a vulnerable senior citizen, the judge was unforgiving. Mark was sentenced to 12 years in prison. Crystal received 8 years as an accomplice.
The day I walked out of the Hall of Justice, it was raining again. But this time, I felt light. The rain wasn’t gloomy; it felt like it was washing away the filth of the past.
I returned home, where Nanay Carmen was waiting with dinner. The house was empty of a husband, but it was filled with the peace we had lost for so long.
I realized something important that day: A man might betray his wife, but a man who can brutally hurt the woman who gave life to his wife is not a human being, let alone a husband.
I, Lieutenant Lena Santos, had handcuffed that painful chapter of my life, closing the case to open a new future for myself and my mother.