It was for my daughter Sofia’s forty-third birthday, and I had spent three long months setting aside small portions of my pension just to afford that dessert—the same French cake she had adored since she was a little girl.
It cost 2,200 pesos. To many people, that might seem insignificant, but for me it meant delaying my medications, eating simpler meals, and staying home on weekends.
Still, I paid for it with a full heart. Because when a mother loves deeply, she convinces herself that every sacrifice is worthwhile if it earns even the smallest smile in return.
The taxi left me in front of Sofia’s luxurious home in Marina Bay—a tall, white three-story house with expansive glass windows, an infinity pool facing the ocean, and a sleek black gate that resembled the entrance to a high-end resort more than a family home.
Five years earlier, I had contributed eight hundred thousand pesos from my life savings toward its down payment.
“Just until we’re stable again, Mom,” Sofia had said back then, her eyes full of tears. “We’ll pay you back.”
She never did.