I Am 65 Years Old. I Divorced 5 Years Ago.
My Ex-Husband Left Me a Bank Card with 3,000 Pesos.
I Never Touched It.
Five Years Later, When I Tried to Withdraw the Money… I Froze.
I am 65 years old.
And after 37 years of marriage, I was abandoned by the man with whom I had shared almost my entire life.
On the day of the divorce, my ex-husband, Mr. Ramon, handed me a bank card.
He spoke calmly:
— “There are 3,000 pesos on this card.
It should be enough for you to survive a few months.”
He said it as if those 37 years together were worth only that.
As if I were an old object that no longer served a purpose.
I watched him turn around and walk out of the family court in Quezon City, without looking back.
A knot tightened in my throat so hard I could barely breathe.
I kept the card.
Not because I needed it…
but because it felt like a thorn lodged deep in my heart.
Life After the Divorce
After the divorce, I lived in a small, damp rented room on the outskirts of Metro Manila.
I survived however I could:
cleaning houses,
watching parked cars,
collecting plastic bottles from the streets.
Those were the darkest years of my life.
Many times, I went hungry.
Many nights, I went to bed with an empty stomach.
But I never touched those 3,000 pesos.
Not because of pride…
but because I didn’t want to touch something that felt like charity.
I hated that card.
I hated the abandonment.
I hated feeling that after an entire lifetime, I was nothing more than a burden.
Time passed slowly —
like a dull knife, cutting deep without mercy.
My body aged quickly.
There were days when simply getting out of bed felt like a battle.
My children visited from time to time and left me some money,
but they had families of their own.
I never told them about my pain or dizziness.
I didn’t want to become another burden.
The Collapse
Until one day…
I collapsed in front of the door of the room where I lived.
The doctor was direct:
— “Severe malnutrition. You need treatment. Hospitalization.”
I knew I had no choice.
For the first time in five years, I thought about that bank card.
“It only has 3,000 pesos… but at least it will help me for a few days.”
The Bank
The next morning, I went to the bank.
My hands were trembling as I handed the card to the young teller.
— “I’d like to withdraw everything, please.”
In my mind, I already saw myself leaving with a few bills,
returning to my miserable life.
But the young woman kept staring at the screen…
For far too long.
Then she looked up at me.
Her eyes were full of shock.
— “Ma’am…” — she swallowed —
“the balance is not 3,000 pesos.”
My heart skipped a beat.
— “Then… how much is there?”
She printed the statement and slowly slid it toward me.
I looked at the paper.
And felt as if the world stopped.
₱983,000 pesos.
Almost one million.
I couldn’t breathe.
I thought I was reading it wrong.
I looked again.
The number didn’t change.
— “Who… who deposited this money?” I asked, my voice trembling.
The teller turned the screen toward me.
There was a name I knew far too well.
RAMON.
Monthly transfers.
For five years.
Not a single month missed.
The Truth
I returned home in silence.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, crying.
I remembered his sad eyes.
His long silences.
The nights he stayed awake, thinking I was asleep.
What if… he didn’t leave because he stopped loving me?
I needed answers.
The Visit
The next day, I traveled to the province where his older sister, Aunt Elena, lived — in Nueva Ecija, near the rice fields.
Her house was small and quiet.
— “Elena… are you there?” I called, my voice breaking.
She came out, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
— “Maria… you’ve finally come.”
— “Where is Ramon? I need to speak to him.”
She remained silent.
Then she went inside and returned with a small wooden box.
Her hands were shaking.
— “Maria… Ramon passed away.”
It felt as if my heart was torn from my chest.
— “No… that’s impossible… it’s only been five years…”
She cried.
— “He had terminal cancer… even before the divorce.”
The world collapsed around me.
— “He didn’t want you to take care of him,” she continued softly.
“He didn’t want you to spend your final years watching the man you love slowly die.
That’s why he left.
That’s why he set you free.”
She handed me the box.
— “This is for you.
He said I should only give it to you if you came looking for him.”
Inside was a letter.
His handwriting.
The Letter
Maria,
When you read this, I will already be gone.
Forgive me for leaving in the cruelest way possible.
It hurt me more than you can imagine.
I didn’t want you to care for me while I faded away.
I wanted you to live free — without chains, without tears.
The money is so you will never lack anything.
Eat well. Live well.
I don’t need your forgiveness.
I only want you to be happy.
If there is another life…
I would choose you again.
I fell to my knees.
I cried like a child.
For five years, I lived hating him…
while he was fighting death,
sending me money month after month,
until his hands could no longer do it.
I believed he had abandoned me.
But the truth was something else:
He loved me so much… that he chose to leave alone.
Standing before his photograph on the family altar, I touched the frame with trembling fingers.
— “Why didn’t you tell me…?”
But he could no longer answer.
That day, when I held the bank card with 3,000 pesos,
I believed I was an abandoned woman.
Five years later, standing before his memory,
I finally understood the truth:
I was never alone.
I was loved… until the very end.