The ceremony was held in a grand mansion in Tagaytay.
As Ella stood in a white gown far too expensive for her humble dreams, her heart felt unbearably heavy—not from joy, but from fear.
At the altar stood the man she was to marry. Don Armando’s body filled the space, his shirt straining slightly at the seams. Sweat glistened on his brow as he smiled at her with small, tired eyes.
He spoke in a deep, low voice.
“From now on,” he said, “I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about money again.”
Ella nodded, forcing a faint smile, but inside her, something screamed:
“I’m doing this so Mom can live. For my brother.”
That night, there was no kiss of love, no laughter or champagne. Only the sound of rain against the window—and a young bride silently crying herself to sleep.
