I had built a new support system; my friends and family rallied around me, celebrating the birth of my daughter with sincere joy and love. Unlike the conditional acceptance I had known with Marco’s family, their love was unyielding and pure, based on who Lila was — not on expectations or outdated beliefs.

As the weeks turned into months, the gossip from Quezon City trickled down. Marco’s family, once so prideful, were now in disarray. Their rigid expectations had led them to their own downfall. Aling Corazon’s proclamation echoed back to them, ironic and hollow. It was an unexpected twist of fate, one that brought a certain sense of vindication, not through malice but through the universe’s own balance.

Marco eventually reached out to me, his voice a mix of regret and longing. He wanted to see Lila, to know the child he had once dismissed so readily. At first, I hesitated; the wounds were not yet scars. But as a mother, I realized that denying him the opportunity to know his daughter would not serve Lila. It was an act of compassion for her, not for him.