So I called Atty. Ramon, the lawyer who handled Ernesto’s papers.
“Attorney, I found some documents. I need to speak with you.”
He told me to come in the next morning.
That night, I slept deeply for the first time since Ernesto died.
I dreamed of him saying,
“It’s time, mahal. Time to stand up for yourself.”
In the morning, I dressed carefully—my maroon dress, the one Ernesto always loved.
I looked in the mirror and didn’t see a grieving old woman.
I saw strength.
When I showed the documents to Atty. Ramon, his eyes widened.
“Ma’am Lourdes… this is a fortune. And everything is legally yours.”
“I know,” I said softly. “What can I do?”
“First, the sale of your Tagaytay rest house was illegal—Marissa had no right to sell it. We can recover it immediately. We can also file charges—”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want charges.”
He looked confused.
“What do you want, Ma’am?”
