I Am 65 Years Old. And After 37 Years of Marriage, I Was Abandoned by the Man I Shared Almost My Entire Life With.
I am 65 years old.
And after 37 years of marriage, I was abandoned by the man with whom I shared nearly my entire life.
On the day of the divorce, my ex-husband, Mang Rafael, handed me a bank card.
He spoke in a calm voice:
“There’s ₱3,000 on it. That should be enough for you to survive a few months.”
He said it as if our 37 years together were worth no more than that.
As if I were an old object—worn out, no longer useful.
I watched him turn around and walk out of the family court in Quezon City without looking back.
A tight knot formed in my throat, so strong 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.
After the divorce, I lived in a small, damp room on the outskirts of the city.
I survived however I could—cleaning houses, watching over parked cars, collecting bottles and scrap from the streets.
Those were the darkest years of my life.
Many times, I went hungry.
Many nights, I went to sleep with an empty stomach.
But I never touched those ₱3,000.
Not because I was proud…
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 a lifetime of sacrifice, I had become nothing but a burden.
Time passed slowly—like a dull knife, cutting gently but deeply.
My body aged quickly.
There were days when simply getting out of bed felt like a battle.
My children visited from time to time. They would leave 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 worry.
Until one day…
I collapsed in front of the door of the room I was renting.
The doctor was blunt.
“Severe malnutrition. You need treatment. Hospital admission.”
I knew I had no choice.
For the first time in five years, I thought about that card.
“It only has ₱3,000… but at least it will help me for a few days.”
The next morning, I went to the bank.
My hands were shaking 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 stared at the screen…
for far too long.
Then she looked at me.
Her eyes were filled with surprise.
“Ma’am…” she swallowed. “The balance is not ₱3,000.”
My heart skipped.
“Then… how much is there?”
She printed the statement and slid it toward me.
I looked at the paper.
And felt the world stop.
₱983,000.
Nearly one million pesos.
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 all too well.
RAFAEL.
Monthly transfers.
For five years.
Not missing a single month.
I went home in silence.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, crying.
I remembered his sad glances.
His strange silences.
The nights he stayed awake, thinking I was asleep.
What if… he hadn’t left because he didn’t love me?
I needed answers.
The next day, I traveled to the province where his older sister, Auntie Teresita, lived—in a small town in Nueva Ecija, surrounded by rice fields.
The house was modest, quiet.
“Teresita… are you there?” I called, my voice breaking.
She came out, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
“Maria… you finally came.”
“Where is Rafael? I need to speak to him.”
She stayed silent.
She went inside and returned holding a small wooden box.
Her hands were shaking.
“Maria… Rafael passed away.”
It felt like my heart was torn from my chest.
“No… that can’t be true… it’s only been five years…”
She cried.
“He had terminal cancer… even before the divorce.”
My world collapsed.
“He didn’t want you to take care of him,” she continued.
“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.
Maria,
When you read this, I will be gone.
Forgive me for leaving in the cruelest way.
It hurt me more than you can imagine.
I didn’t want you caring for me while I faded away.
I wanted you to live 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 so.
I thought he abandoned me.
But the truth was different.
He loved me so much…
that he chose to leave alone.
Standing before his photo 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 card with ₱3,000, I believed I was a woman abandoned.
Five years later, standing before his memory, I finally understood the truth:
I was never alone.
I was loved… until the very end.