My name is Maya. I came to my in-laws’ house at the age of 26. By then, my husband’s family had already endured many hardships. My mother-in-law had passed away early, leaving my father-in-law, Mang Ramu, to raise four children on his own. He spent his entire life growing rice and vegetables; he never had a steady job or a pension.
When I married his son, most of Mang Ramu’s children were already settled in their own homes and rarely visited. In his old age, he relied mostly on my husband and me for care.
Neighbors often whispered:
“Oh, look at her! She’s just a daughter-in-law, and see how she takes care of her father-in-law! Who would do this for so many years?”
But I saw things differently. This was a man who had sacrificed his whole life for his children. If I abandoned him, who would take care of him?
Those twelve years were not easy. I was young, often exhausted, and sometimes lonely. When my husband went to work in Manila, I cared for Mang Ramu and our youngest child. I cooked, did the laundry, and stayed awake at night listening to his breathing.
One day, exhausted, I said to him:
“Papa, I’m just your daughter-in-law… sometimes I feel this responsibility is too heavy for me.”
He simply smiled, held my trembling hands, and said:
“I know, daughter. That’s why I’m even more grateful to you. Without you, I might not have made it this far.”
I never forgot those words. From that day on, I promised myself I would make his life as comfortable and happy as possible. Every cold morning, I brought him warm shawls and blankets. When his stomach hurt, I cooked him soft porridge. When his legs ached, I massaged them gently.
I never expected anything in return. I did all this because I had come to see him as my own father.
Over time, Mang Ramu became weaker. At 85, a doctor at the government hospital told us that his heart was very fragile. In his final days, he would often share stories of his childhood and repeatedly say that his children and grandchildren should always live with respect and integrity.
Then came his last day. Struggling to breathe, he called me over. He handed me an old, worn pillow and weakly whispered:
“For Maya…”
Without fully understanding, I held the pillow close. Minutes later, he took his last breath.
That same night, sitting quietly, I opened the worn pillow. Inside, I was completely stunned: carefully folded notes, some small gold coins, and three old savings account passbooks.
I was overwhelmed with emotion and began to cry loudly. He had hidden the small savings and the proceeds from a piece of land he had sold in the village inside that pillow—and left it all to me.
Along with it was a letter, written in faint handwriting:
“Daughter, you are the hardest-working and kindest daughter-in-law I have ever known. I am not leaving you wealth, but I hope this will make your life a little easier. Don’t blame your husband’s brothers. I chose to give this to you myself because of your twelve years of devoted care.”
I cried without any thought of money or gold—simply for the love and gratitude he showed me. I had always thought my labor was just my duty as a daughter-in-law, but Mang Ramu taught me that sincere effort, even without expectation of reward, is never wasted.
Even on the day of his funeral, people whispered:
“What will Ramu leave behind? He didn’t even have a pension.”
I just smiled. No one knew the real inheritance he had given me—not just savings, but true gratitude and trust.
Whenever I see that old pillow, I remember Mang Ramu. In my heart, he was not just my father-in-law; he was a second father who taught me the true meaning of sacrifice, gratitude, and selfless love.
And every day, I tell myself: I will live my life better, fuller, and with more love—so that his most precious legacy will never be lost.