It felt like something exploded in my chest.
“Who, Mang Lito? Please tell me.”
He took a breath, his voice shaking. “Aling Norma’s nephew… Rodel.”
Rodel—the loafer from the next street, often drunk, and caught several times for petty theft. But why hadn’t he been suspected? Was it because it was easier for the police to accuse someone poor like my mother?
The next day, I followed Rodel. For an entire week, I watched his every move. One night, I saw him enter an abandoned warehouse. My hands trembling with fear, I followed him inside. The place smelled of cigarettes, with only a single light shining onto an old table.
And there I saw it—a black bag. Inside were items matching what had been stolen from the shop: jewelry, cash, and the old man’s watch.
I couldn’t hold back anymore. He stepped out of the shadows, shocked to see me.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted.
“I know what you did, Rodel,” I said, forcing myself to be brave. “And I’m not leaving until I get evidence to put you in jail and free my mother.”
He smirked. “You have no witnesses. No recording. And do you really think I’ll let you take that?”
As he moved closer to me, fear slowly wrapped around my body. But before he could reach me—
“Child, bring your phone closer.”
It was Mang Lito. He had been inside the warehouse the whole time, waiting. He had already called two village guards. My phone recorded Rodel’s confession as he bragged earlier—his words, his face, perfectly clear.
Rodel panicked and ran, but it was too late. The two guards rushed in and restrained him, while I stood shaking from fear.
When the police arrived, I handed over the recording and the bag.
Two weeks later, my mother’s case was given a new hearing. I sat inside the courtroom, trembling, as the recording was played.
“That’s me! I’m the one who robbed the shop!” Rodel shouted in the video, full of arrogance and pride.
When I looked at my mother, tears were already falling from her eyes.
After hearing the testimony, reviewing the evidence, and confirming the statements of the guards and Mang Lito, I heard the most beautiful words of my life:
“Acquitted. You are free.”
It felt like the whole world collapsed onto me. I ran to my mother and hugged her tightly, as if I would never let go.
She cried against my shoulder. “My child… why did you do this? You could have been hurt…”
“Mom,” I sobbed, “you’re my mother. I won’t let anyone step on you. And I will never allow you to be imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit.”
Mang Lito came closer and smiled. “There are still people willing to help, Ana—even if it’s not always obvious.”
I smiled back. “Thank you.”
As we walked out of the station, my mother held my hand.
“Ana… are we going home now?”
I smiled and squeezed her hand.
“Yes, Mom. We’re going home. And from now on… no one will ever try to destroy your name again. I won’t let them.”
As we walked home, I felt the cold breeze against my skin, as if reminding me that justice still exists in this world—especially when there is a child willing to fight for their mother.
That night, I held her tightly, knowing the nightmare was over.
And that we were finally starting again—free, at peace, and together.