Sometimes, the truth forces its way to the surface through the very betrayals we attempt to hide. A devastating medical diagnosis in Japan forces a reckoning, unraveling a string of deceptions that leads straight back to the doorsteps of the unlikeliest confidants in Marinduque.
To find out if DJ Pol was telling the truth about ignoring Dr. Becka, I decided to call the swine specialist directly right after my conversation with him. Surprisingly, they really weren't talking. I discovered they hadn't met even once since our trip to Davao, despite John having visited his uncle who lived right near her place.
The doctor grew even sadder upon learning that he could have easily seen her if he had wanted to. They had lost communication entirely because he refused to give their common friend the new cellphone number he was using. When I asked what number she had been trying to reach him on, I discovered a number I had never seen before. She then surprised me by asking if I knew a man named Sunty — she had heard rumors that John was recently upset and jealous because of him.
After weighing the situation and recognizing my own share of mistakes, I decided to do something I normally would never consider. Because I was the primary reason their communication was severed, and because John had explicitly demanded I "return" her to him during our bitter fight, I felt I owed them the chance to clear things up and decide if they still wanted each other. I gave Dr. Becka John's new cellphone number. I even advised her to call using a new SIM card so he wouldn't know it was her calling.
Around this time, back in Japan, I had been suffering from increasingly severe pain. In my twenties, I had been diagnosed with a functional ovarian cyst, and I feared the situation had gone acute. I was experiencing slight bleeding, terrible pain when urinating, and my lower stomach felt frighteningly heavy. Soon, the fever started.
I desperately wanted to hide it from Mitch so he wouldn't worry. I was scheduled to fly to the Philippines soon for Unice's graduation, and I planned to quietly have myself checked in Manila then. I forced myself through our grueling work routines, cleaning graveyards and waxing hospital floors as if nothing were wrong.
One day, while we were cleaning a nursing home, my severe pain made it nearly impossible to walk. Mitch, always intensely focused on his contracted timelines during work hours, grew angry. He yelled at me to hurry up. I knew how he got when we were working against the clock, but this time, my body simply couldn't take it. I leaned against the corridor wall and burst into tears, admitting how sick I was.
Shocked, his anger vanished instantly. He apologized profusely, made me sit in the corner, finished the massive job entirely by himself, and insisted on taking me to the hospital the very next day. I eventually agreed, asking to be taken to the same hospital where Michael had his surgery, knowing they could provide test results within the hour.
Mitch waited out in the car while I saw a male gynecologist. They ran tests, examined my urine, and performed an ultrasound. When I was called back into the office, the doctor hit me with two devastating realities. First, the ultrasound confirmed a mass on my right pelvis. Second, he told me I had Chlamydia.
He prescribed three weeks of antibiotics and bluntly advised me not to have sex with my partner again to avoid reinfection. Actually, his exact advice was to change my sex partner. I couldn't blame him for saying so. My medical profile stated I didn't have a husband. Where else could I possibly have contracted the illness from?
When I returned to the car where Mitch was waiting, I downplayed the situation entirely, claiming it was a minor issue that simply needed medication.
But the moment I got home, I immediately searched the internet to research the disease. The truth clicked with horrifying clarity. Suddenly, I knew exactly why John had struggled with erectile dysfunction — a common symptom of the disease — before our trip to Davao.
My energy briefly spiked when I called John one day, casually probing for signs of his guilt. His voice had returned to the cheerful, contagious laughter I remembered. He happily announced that Dr. Becka was back in his life, thanking me for giving her his number. I intentionally mentioned my "stomach and urinary" issues, hoping he would take the hint and confess. But he sounded so genuinely innocent, repeatedly asking what was wrong and if I was okay, that I realized he likely had no idea he was the carrier. I opted to keep my diagnosis to myself.
As my trip to Marinduque approached, the weight of the secrets became unbearable. I made a radical decision: I was going to tell the truth to the wives of the men involved.
I started with Sunty's wife. I called to tell her I was coming home and asked to visit. When we met, I told her the absolute truth: the politician I had been romantically involved with was actually DJ Pol, not her husband. She admitted she hadn't known what to believe and had been struggling with jealousy over my closeness with Sunty. Knowing the real score finally allowed her to stop worrying about me and her husband.
Next, my friends and I piled into my car one evening and drove to visit John's wife, Mean Pronounced "Me-an," common nickname in the Philippines.. As we brought in bags of groceries and souvenirs from Japan, I finally got a close look at her. She looked incredibly young, like a high school student, completely defying the reality that she had already nursed three babies.
She cooked my favorite dish using a native chicken. While we ate, I extended an invitation: I wanted her to bring her children to my place near the airport for a picnic. I had been apologizing to Mean and dropping hints about my affair with her husband for months, but she either couldn't or wouldn't connect the dots — especially since John always played dumb. Having stolen so much time her husband should have spent with her family, I wanted to try and make it up to her.
The day of the picnic arrived. I had food prepared, and after the children ate, they ran straight into the sea. Taking the opportunity, I invited Mean into my hut and pulled out a large box that my father had carried all the way from Manila. It was entirely filled with clothes, bags — including the very bag I had used in Davao — and footwear I had bought expressly for her. Hesitantly, she tried some items on, remarking quietly that she barely went out and didn't know where she would ever wear them.
I then changed into my swimsuit and joined her children in the water. Not long after, I heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle approaching. I knew John was supposed to pick his family up later in his jeepney; I had intentionally omitted him from the invitation because I wanted the day to be dedicated entirely to Mean.
To my absolute shock, it wasn't John. It was John's nephew driving the motorcycle, and riding behind him was a woman I had never met: John's mother.
I personally entertained her. She explained that she had asked her grandson to bring her to the beach specifically because she wanted to finally meet me. I had only spoken to her briefly on the phone once before. When Mean went into the water to swim, I was left sitting by the shore with John's mother.
We engaged in an incredibly open, surreal conversation. She confessed that she had explicitly warned John about his affairs. She revealed that John had actually introduced Dr. Becka to her at a relative's funeral nearly a year ago. But despite the warnings, John always reasoned that he wasn't intentionally abandoning his family, nor letting them go hungry, simply because he kept a mistress.
Looking her in the eyes, I confessed my relationship with John right there on the sand. I reassured her I had no intention of breaking his family apart, firmly stating I knew where my priorities lay. Yet, I couldn't hide my pride in telling her how convinced I was that her son truly loved me, detailing our romantic escape to Davao.
Our conversation was cut short when the children demanded attention. Eventually, as the afternoon wore on and the sun grew blisteringly hot, John's mother and nephew headed home. Mean and the exhausted children took a nap on the beddings inside my hut.
Seeing John's family sleeping peacefully on the exact same bed I frequently shared with him stirred a profound mix of complicated emotions within me. If he had worn cologne, Mean surely would have guessed he had been rolling in these sheets before she ever did.
This chapter represents the apex of the story's emotional complexity. The severe medical consequences of a reckless affair collide fiercely with deep-seated familial guilt. Rather than hiding behind deceit, the protagonist uses radical, unapologetic honesty—confessing to the wives and the mother-in-law—as a twisted mechanism to regain agency over the chaos she helped create.