Whenever my 10-year-old daughter came home from her grandparents’ house, she would cry. I hid a voice recorder—and when I heard the whole truth, I was stunned…
My name is Maria. I’m 35 years old, and I live in an apartment in Manila with my husband Adrian and our daughter Ana. To me, Ana is my entire world—obedient, bright in her studies, and incredibly affectionate. But as she grew older, there were more and more things she found difficult to share with her mother.
And then one day, I realized something painful: I had hurt her far more than I ever imagined.
It all started when Adrian began taking Ana on weekends to visit her grandparents in Quezon City. At first, I thought it was a good thing. Her grandmother needed her company too. But lately, whenever Ana came home, she was unusually quiet.
One day, she went straight to her room and pressed her face into her pillow, crying.
I asked her what was wrong. She just shook her head and said,
“I’m fine… don’t worry.”
I asked Adrian about it, but he replied sharply,
“You overthink everything. Kids crying a little is normal. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
But my mother’s instinct told me something was wrong. I decided to do something that still makes me tremble when I remember it.
The next day, before my daughter left with Adrian to go to Quezon City, I quietly hid a small voice recorder in her bag. My hands were shaking as I zipped it up, my heart pounding. I felt guilty for suspecting anything—but another part of me needed to know the truth.
That afternoon, Ana came home and cried again. I hugged her, pretending I didn’t know anything.
When she fell asleep, I turned on the voice recorder.
What I heard left me speechless.
Her grandmother’s voice was sharp and cutting:
“This girl is exactly like her mother. What kind of woman can’t even give birth to a son? If she can’t work hard enough to earn good money, just throw her away!”
Ana’s voice was filled with fear and emotion:
“I… I’ll try. Please don’t hate me…”
My heart shattered.
A ten-year-old child—why should she have to endure such cruelty?
Then I heard Adrian’s cold voice:
“She’s right. She’s just a girl. What’s the point of raising her if she’s going to get married anyway? Don’t spoil her too much.”
I was shaking. Tears streamed down my face.
The man I trusted the most—the father of my child—was not only indifferent, but actively involved in emotionally abusing our daughter.
I sat by Ana’s bed, looking at her tear-stained face. My heart was filled with pain and anger. During the day, she smiled and talked to me as if everything was fine… but behind my back, she was carrying the weight of rejection from her own family.
The next morning, I asked Adrian to sit down in the living room. I placed the recorder on the table and pressed play.
The voices echoed through the silent room. Adrian’s face turned pale.
I looked him straight in the eyes and said,
“Is this what you call ‘normal’? She’s only ten years old! She needs love—not rejection.”
Adrian stammered,
“I… I just wanted her to be strong…”
I gave a sad smile.
“You think you make a child strong by making her feel unloved? Do you realize how much she cries every time she comes back from your parents’ house?”
He was silent, his head hanging low. For the first time, I saw shame in my husband’s eyes.
That night, I hugged my daughter and whispered,
“Ana, I know you’ve been through so much. You don’t need to carry this burden alone. Be true to yourself—I will always be here for you.”
She froze, then burst into tears.
“Mom… I thought you wouldn’t believe me. I was scared that telling you would only make you sad…”
I held her tightly. In that moment, I realized something:
The greatest pain my daughter endured was having to go through it alone.
From that day on, I vowed she would never go to her grandparents’ house again. I told Adrian’s family in Quezon City: if you still carry prejudice against girls, please leave me and my daughter alone.
I also reached out to a child psychologist in Makati to help ease the pressure my daughter had been carrying.
For me—a mother living in the heart of busy Manila—nothing is more important than raising my child with love.
The truth revealed by that voice recorder caused a fracture in our family, but it also made one thing clear:
A daughter’s tears should never be ignored.