I had been sending my mother 1.5 million pesos every month to care for my wife, Hue, after she gave birth to our son. From the moment I held my newborn in my arms, I felt a fierce responsibility not only to protect him but also to support my wife in every way possible. The money I sent was intended to ensure that she had everything she needed—nutritious meals, comfort, and a sense of security during her recovery. I imagined my mother as the perfect caretaker, preparing meals, attending to Hue’s needs, and making our home a sanctuary in the chaotic weeks following childbirth.

I was convinced that financial support alone, combined with my mother’s presence, would provide what Hue required. For months, I assumed that our arrangements were working as intended. I pictured Hue resting in bed, nourished by proper meals and cared for attentively. Yet, in reality, there had been a quiet, unseen suffering that I had completely overlooked, a betrayal that I could never have imagined. My trust in my mother had blinded me to the fact that good intentions on paper do not always translate to true care.