You’re very lucky; your son is a good person, and you even married a rich man. But I’m the only mother who knows the pain of receiving money and not seeing your child. You have money, but your son doesn’t; that hurts a lot.
My name is Teresa, and I’m 63 years old. I was widowed young, raising my only daughter, Maria Luisa, on my own so she could go to school. She was intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Everyone said she was going to have a good life. And it turned out to be as good as some might have thought.
At 21, Maria Luisa met Kang Jun, a Korean man almost 20 years her senior. I objected, not because of discrimination, but because of the age difference and because I lived in a foreign country.
But my daughter’s mother is stubborn, I know what I’m doing. In the end, I agreed because of the determination in her eyes.
The wedding was simple. Less than a month later, she followed him to Korea. The day he left the airport, she hugged me and cried. I cried too, but I tried to hide it. I thought I would be going home after a few years.
But it isn’t. One year, two years, three years, up to the fifth, I didn’t dare ask any more questions. Only the money keeps coming.
Every year, exactly 8 million pesos along with a short message: “Mom, always be careful. I’m fine.” That word “fine” is what worries me the most.
The neighbors are whispering. The delivery is big, but it’s not going home; maybe something’s already happening.
I smiled, but I didn’t feel well that night. We had a video call once; she was still beautiful, but she had different eyes, always in a hurry, always distant.
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