My Daughter-in-Law Abandoned Her Child with Me – 16 Years Later She Showed Up on My Doorstep
The loud knock on our wooden gate that night startled me.
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When I opened it, there she stood — poised in a body-hugging dress and high heels clicking against the cement. My former daughter-in-law, Marites. The same woman who had disappeared years ago, leaving her baby girl in my arms before running off in a stranger’s car.
Source: Original
Now, after sixteen long years, she was smiling as if nothing had happened. In her hands was a glittering gown and a sealed envelope. She swept past me and wrapped her arms around the girl she once abandoned.
My granddaughter, now a young woman, stood frozen. I didn’t yet know what Marites wanted, but dread already clawed at my chest.
I was a widow in my late fifties, running a tiny sari-sari store in Tondo, Manila. My only son, Ramon, worked hard as a jeepney driver before saving enough to train as a mechanic.
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By the age of 28, he managed to buy a modest two-bedroom home in Caloocan for his wife, Marites, and their little daughter, Liza.
Source: Original
“Nanay,” he told me proudly one Sunday afternoon, “itong bahay na ‘to para sa pamilya natin. Kapag may mangyari man sa akin, dapat kay Liza ito mapunta.”
He even made a simple will with the help of our parish priest, putting the house in his daughter’s name.
But before his dreams could bloom, a tragic accident at the talyer (auto shop) took his life. My granddaughter was only two.
Source: Original
I remember standing by his coffin, clutching little Liza. She played with my scapular, too young to understand why everyone around her was weeping. That day, even the sky seemed too heavy to shine.
At the funeral, I held the toddler close, while Marites stood stiff, barely acknowledging mourners. And when we returned home, I found her packing a suitcase.
“Bahala ka na sa kanya,” she muttered, tossing the house keys into my lap before slipping into a waiting car with another man.
That was the last time we saw her.
Source: Original
From that day, I raised Liza alone. Some neighbors whispered that she didn’t look like Ramon, but I dismissed it as tsismis. She was his daughter, I told myself — and I raised her as such.
Every responsibility that should have been shared between two parents fell on my shoulders.
I woke before dawn to restock my sari-sari store, lining up SkyFlakes, canned sardines, and instant noodles neatly on the shelves.
When sales were poor, I carried basins of vegetables to Divisoria, shouting myself hoarse just to earn a few pesos.
There were nights when we only ate lugaw with a pinch of salt, and mornings when my back ached so badly I wondered how I’d keep going. But then I’d see little Liza sleeping soundly beside me, her small hand clutching my duster, and I knew I had no choice.
Source: Original
Years passed. My body grew weaker, but my resolve never did. Liza blossomed into a kind, determined girl. She wore ukay-ukay clothes from Baclaran but carried herself with dignity. She never once complained that her friends had more.
But I knew one thing mattered to her — her upcoming JS prom. When she said she wouldn’t go because she couldn’t afford a gown, I refused to let her sacrifice her joy.
Source: Original
When I brought home a roll of blue satin from Divisoria, it glowed under the streetlights like the evening sky. I spread it across the table and imagined how beautiful she would look in it.
I spent nights at my old Singer sewing machine, stitching until my fingers ached. The night before prom, Liza stepped out from behind a curtain, the gown hugging her slender frame and shimmering under the dim bulb.
Source: Original
Her lips parted in astonishment, and I saw her stand taller, prouder — no longer the girl in second-hand clothes, but a young woman ready to claim her night.
“It’s perfect, Lola,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
Every sacrifice was stitched into that blue dress.
And just as we admired it, the knock came.
Source: Original
Marites breezed into the sala as if she had never left. She stood at the doorway like a celebrity making an entrance. Her hair was curled perfectly, her red lipstick gleamed, and her heels clacked against the floor like a countdown to a storm.
“My baby girl!” she exclaimed, hugging Liza tightly. But my granddaughter’s arms stayed limp at her sides.
Marites laid a garment bag on the sofa and unzipped it with a flourish. Out came a silver gown, sparkling with sequins, the kind displayed in Greenbelt boutiques.
Source: Original
“You can’t go to prom in… that,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the blue dress I had sewn. “Nakakahiya. Everyone will laugh. Wear this instead.”
Before I could respond, an envelope slipped from her purse. Liza picked it up. Her name was scrawled across the front.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Marites lunged for it. “Wala ‘yan. Give it back.”
Source: Original
But Liza opened it. My glasses shook as I read the papers. DNA test results.
“Lola… it says Papa Ramon wasn’t my father.” Her voice broke.
Marites smirked, triumphant.
“See, Aling Rosa?” she said coldly. “You’ve been clinging to her and the house all these years, pretending she was Ramon’s. But she isn’t. These papers prove it. Liza is mine alone. You had no right to keep her from me — or this house.”
She leaned closer, her voice like poison.
“You’ve built your life on a lie. Now it’s time for her to know her real family.”
Source: UGC
Liza’s eyes filled with tears. “You left me,” she whispered.
Marites waved a manicured hand. “I was young. I made mistakes. But none of that matters now. What matters is the truth — Ramon wasn’t your father. You’re mine. My marriage is over, my so-called friends are gone, and I have no one. You are my blood, my only child. I won’t let you slip away.”
But Liza’s gaze hardened. She clutched the documents and tore them into shreds.
“Maybe Papa Ramon wasn’t my father,” she said firmly. “But this woman—” she pointed at me, her voice trembling, “—this woman raised me when you wouldn’t. She is my family.”
Marites’s smile collapsed. Rage twisted her face.
“You ungrateful child,” she hissed. “One day, you’ll regret choosing this old woman over me.”
She grabbed her gown and stormed out, her heels echoing down the street until the gate slammed shut.
Source: Original
Liza threw her arms around me. “You’re all the mother I need, Lola.”
The next night, she walked into her prom wearing the blue gown I had stitched. When she came home past midnight, her curls undone, she whispered, “I was the most beautiful girl there. Because of you.”
Weeks later, she received her admission letter to the University of the Philippines — architecture, just like her Papa Ramon once dreamed of.
As for Marites, I heard rumors she had run off with another man in Cebu. But I no longer feared her. The will was clear: the house was in Liza’s name. And she had already proven strong enough to defend it.
Source: Original
That night taught me something. Family is not the one who gives birth to you. Family is the one who stays, who sacrifices, who stitches gowns by candlelight and works aching hours to keep food on the table.
Marites may have abandoned her child, but in doing so, she gave me the greatest gift: the chance to raise a girl who knows her worth.
In my place, would you have let Marites back into your life?
This story is inspired by the real experiences of our readers. We believe that every story carries a lesson that can bring light to others. To protect everyone’s privacy, our editors may change names, locations, and certain details while keeping the heart of the story true. Images are for illustration only. If you’d like to share your own experience, please contact us via email.
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