Since I agreed to let my stepfather live with me, the money in the closet has been disappearing little by little. I secretly followed him and was ashamed to discover the truth.
I’m 30 now. Dad left home when I was six, leaving Mom and me alone in this world. My mother never remarried, working two or three jobs to support me. For many years, the two of us depended on each other in a rented room in Quezon City.
After finishing college and getting a job, life wasn’t so hard for my mother anymore. Through an acquaintance from the parish, she met a man named Tito Danilo—my Uncle Dan.
Tito Dan was married once and had a son, but that child lives with his biological mother in Laguna. We rarely see each other, so our relationship is weak.
Since I’ve been with Mom, my uncle Dan has been very good to me. I feel like he truly cares for me, that he treats me like his own daughter. But in my heart, there’s still some distance, and I hide everything I feel.
Until one day, I accidentally overheard a conversation between my mother and my stepfather. I arrived home early, stood outside the door, and heard Mom say she would like another child to make the family more complete. Tito Dan gently refused:
“We already have Lyn, that’s enough. I’m afraid that if I have another child, she’ll think she’s no longer important. Although she hasn’t fully opened her heart to me yet, in mine, she’s already my biological daughter. She’s lived without a father since she was little, so I must give her all my love.
you are older now; it would be risky to have another child now. Who would take care of her if something happened to me? I don’t want Lyn to suffer.”
I couldn’t hold back my tears. The man I was secretly scared loved me with all his soul. From that day on, my perspective changed; I opened my heart, and slowly, I became close to Papa Dan.
At 24, I got married, and soon after, I had a son. With the love of my husband, the affection of my in-laws, and a stable job in Ortigas, I couldn’t ask for more. But tragedy struck: Mom passed away from a serious illness. I collapsed for a while. Thinking about everything my uncle had done for me and my children, I decided to bring Papa Dan to live with us in Pasig to take care of him, as a way of repaying him.
At first, my uncle refused and said “not to bother the children.” I begged him a lot until he agreed to come back.
But since he moved out, I discovered something strange: the money in the closet was slowly decreasing. My husband and I left for work early; my husband returned earlier than me; my son went to school. During the day, only Uncle Dan was home.
At first, I thought maybe my uncle was taking some money to buy something from the market, so I ignored him. But when this happened several times, I became suspicious.
One day, I left work early. I knew my uncle was going to pick up my son in a jeep, so I secretly looked in the closet—again, money was missing. I decided to set up a small camera in the room, waiting to see what would happen.
The next day, I saw someone enter the room and carefully open the drawer. And it wasn’t Papa Dan—it was my son. My heart sank. I hadn’t expected that from him.
When I confronted him and showed him the evidence, he wept, whispering,
“Mom, I just took a little money to buy a birthday present for my friend…”
Hearing that, I felt sadness and remorse. I blamed myself for not having taught him well, for having allowed him to secretly take money. I was even more ashamed when I almost wrongly accused Papa Dan—the man who had once refused to have a biological son just to give all his love to me.
That night, I apologized to my uncle. He just took my hand: “Children don’t know how to ask. You can teach them.” Then she encouraged her nephew by telling him stories of the old days when he wanted to buy a yo-yo but didn’t dare ask Mama for it, and finally, he would collect empty bottles to sell for some money—and he smiled gently. Without a word of reproach.
I sat next to my son, taught him how to say “please – thank you – forgive me,” and explained allowances and saving. We made a three-compartment piggy bank:
Share (for those in need),
Save (for gifts on special occasions),
Spend (for small everyday things).
My son nodded, still wiping away tears.
The next morning, I took my son to the barangay hall to meet the parenting program guidance counselor. He practiced saying “I’m sorry” and “next time I’ll ask first.” That night, my son wrote an apology card and left it in the closet: “I promise I won’t steal money again.”
That night, I set out a small tray of food and lit two candles—one for Mom, one for the new fiancé. I told my uncle:
“From now on, all household expenses will be visible on the refrigerator; the key to my closet will hang on a high hook; my husband and I will take turns checking; and I will give you money clearly every week.”
My uncle smiled: “Only with rules at home can children grow.”
Days later, the boy was proud: he saved up his money to buy colored pencils for his friend Miko for his birthday—with his “savings” money, with Mom standing next to him at the bookstore checkout paying the difference. He also asked me to write: “From your classmate.” I looked at Papa Dan—he nodded, his eyes warm like the light in a church on a Sunday afternoon.
I understood: my childhood was deprived of a father, but life gave me an important gift—an uncle who, although not a biological relative, is warm and generous like a brother. That love, sometimes, is worth more than blood.
That night, I left three phrases on my son’s nightstand:
Please – / No secrets.
Tell the truth – / Don’t be afraid.
Thank you – / Even if it’s just a small thing.
Then I picked up my phone and changed the contact name from “Tito Dan” to “Papa Dan.” I felt those two words “Papa” in my hand, and a different warmth filled me. In the kitchen, my uncle was boiling water to make hot chocolate for my son, softly singing an old song. I suddenly felt that this house, amidst the bustle of Manila, was peaceful in the simplest way: trusting each other, teaching each other, and truly loving each other.