Meanwhile, I was in Cebu, holding my daughter close, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions. The realization that I had made the right decision washed over me. My daughter, with her innocent eyes and gentle coos, was my world. Her gender did not define her worth or mine. She was a reminder of strength and resilience, a new chapter that I eagerly embraced.

In the following weeks, I received sporadic updates from friends who still resided in Quezon City. They spoke of the tension within the Dela Cruz household. Clarissa, once the favored woman, now found herself subjected to the same cold indifference I had experienced. Marco’s family, who had chased after the illusion of a male heir, now grappled with the consequences of their narrow-mindedness.

Despite the chaos that enveloped them, I chose not to dwell on their struggles. My focus remained on building a life for my daughter and me. We found joy in the simplest of things — morning strolls by the sea, impromptu picnics in nearby parks, and the comforting embrace of a supportive community.