A desperate housemaid gave herself to her wealthy employer to save her sick mother. But after that one night, he made a decision that would change her life forever.
The night smelled of rain and regret.
Lucia Morales stood outside the iron gates of the mansion, her thin maid’s uniform soaked through, her fingers clenched tightly around her phone—the same phone that had just delivered the worst news of her life. Her mother’s condition had worsened. The hospital was demanding more than ₱300,000 for emergency surgery—money she didn’t have, money she couldn’t even imagine finding.
For years, Lucia had scrubbed floors, polished marble, and carried trays through hallways belonging to people who never bothered to learn her name. The Torres family was among the wealthiest in Metro Manila, their mansion standing behind high walls in an exclusive Makati village. And their patriarch, Alejandro Torres—a widowed businessman with silver hair and sharp, unreadable eyes—was the man who had hired her three years earlier. He was cold, but fair. Distant, yet observant. The kind of man who noticed everything, but rarely got involved.
That night, as a storm gathered over the city, Lucia made a decision that burned her soul.
She would ask for help.
Not as an employee.
As a woman with nothing left to lose.
Inside the study, Alejandro looked up from his laptop when she entered, trembling, rainwater dripping onto the thick carpet.
“Lucia?” His tone was firm, confused. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice broke instantly.
“It’s my mother. She needs surgery—urgent surgery. Please, Sir… Don Alejandro… I’ll do anything. Anything, for the money.”
The silence that followed was long and suffocating. His eyes darkened, as if weighing something deep inside himself. Then, with a calm that chilled her, he asked:
“Do you understand what you’re offering?”
Lucia nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“Yes, sir.”
Everything happened quickly, in silence, as if neither of them wanted to remember it. When it was over, Lucia felt hollow—violated by circumstance, complicit through desperation, all at once. Alejandro handed her a check without looking her in the eye.
“For your mother,” he said, his voice empty. “She’ll receive the best care.”
Lucia left the house before dawn, her hands shaking, her dignity bleeding into the darkness. She swore she would never see him again.
But two weeks later, he called.
“Lucia,” Alejandro said on the phone, his tone impossible to read. “We need to talk. I’ve done something… something that will change everything.”
Her stomach turned cold.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
His reply came slowly, deliberately—like a confession.
“I asked my lawyer to include you in my will.”
In that instant, Lucia felt the world begin to collapse beneath her feet—again, but this time in a way she never could have imagined.
She didn’t respond for several seconds. She stood frozen in her tiny kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, heart pounding violently.
“W-what… what did you say?” she murmured.
“I added you to my will,” Alejandro repeated, calm, almost businesslike. “You’ll receive a portion of my estate. It’s the least I can do.”
Lucia gripped the kitchen counter to keep from falling.
“Don Alejandro… why? Why would you do something like that?”
He hesitated.
“Because I owe you more than money. Because I can’t stop thinking about that night. About you.”
Her stomach tightened painfully.
“Please, don’t,” she said softly. “That night was a mistake. I did it for my mother, not for—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “But I can’t erase it. And I don’t want to.”
Lucia hung up before he could say anything else.
Her mother’s surgery was successful. The hospital bills were fully paid—because of him. But every time Lucia looked at her mother’s peaceful, recovering face, guilt crushed her chest. She wanted to confess everything, to tell her what she had done, but the words stayed trapped in her throat.
Weeks passed. Lucia resigned from her job at the Torres mansion. She found work at a small care home, trying to start over. But one afternoon, after a long shift, a black sedan pulled up beside her. Alejandro stepped out of the car. He looked older. Paler.
“I tried calling you,” he said. “You don’t answer.”
“Because there’s nothing left to say,” she replied, avoiding his eyes.
“There’s too much left to say.” He took a step closer. “Lucia… I’m sick.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. They told me two months ago.” His voice cracked slightly. “I have less than a year.”
The words hit her like a blow.
“I haven’t told anyone,” he continued. “Not my daughter. Not even my lawyer until recently. But I asked him to put my affairs in order. Lucia, you deserve—”
“No,” she cut him off. “Don’t you dare say I deserve anything. I sold my body for money. That doesn’t make me worthy. It makes me desperate.”
His eyes softened with something close to pain.
“Do you think I don’t know that? I think about that night every day. Not because of what happened—but because I realized too late what it meant for both of us.”
She looked at him, unable to speak. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The autumn wind swept around them, carrying traffic noise and dry leaves.
“I don’t want your money,” Lucia finally said, her voice trembling. “I just want my life back.”
He nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer. Then he said something that made her freeze.
“You already have it. And soon… you’ll have mine too.”
Three months later, Alejandro Torres died.
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