I don't know where to start. But okay, just keep my name Ella. My husband, Mando and I live a simple life. I sell ukay at the market, and he is a cleaner at a studio. We both make enough money—but sometimes, it's still not enough, especially when the rent is due.
That night, I noticed that Mando seemed to be overly affectionate. He brought a drink and some snacks. “So you can relax, Hon,” he said as he opened the bottle. I don’t drink often, but because of the fatigue and heat of the night, I got drunk. I don’t know what happened next. My body felt lighter, my vision blurred, and I suddenly lost consciousness.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt different. I was still in bed, but I sensed something had happened. Mando was silent. I didn't ask right away, but he just thought something was wrong. It wasn't until a few days later that I heard a rumor. Aling Bebang—our landlady—said she saw a woman in her house that night. And according to her, "that was the rent payment."...
It was as if the sky and the earth had fallen on me. When I asked Mando, he admitted it. “I’m sorry, Hon… I really can’t pull anything out. Rather than get kicked out…”
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm angry, yes, but despite everything, I'm still here. Not because I'm weak—but because I want to understand why he did that. Sometimes, in love, the heart is not enough. Respect is also needed.
Now, we live in different houses. But every time I think about it, I wonder—am I really a ransom, or just part of the payment for his shortcomings?
