Chapter 1 - Rice Across the Street
I spent five years in Qatar making sure my children would never go hungry.
Then I came home without warning and found them begging for rice across the street—while my wife waited inside for her boyfriend.
I hadn’t even put down their gifts.
Two bags hung from my hands when I unlocked our gate in Pasig with the key I’d carried in my wallet for five years. For three days, I’d told Vanessa I was still in Doha. My contract had ended early, and I wanted to surprise her.
On the taxi ride from Manila, I kept picturing my children running toward me.
Sofia would probably cry. Caleb would probably climb me like a tree.
Instead, the house was silent.
No television. No footsteps upstairs.
Just perfume.
Vanessa stood in front of the mirror wearing heels and a fitted red dress. Her lipstick slipped from her fingers when she saw me.
“Joel?”
I smiled before I understood her face.
“Why are you here?”
That stopped the smile.
“My contract ended early.”
“You should have told me.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
She glanced toward her purse on the table.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
“Outside.”
“Where?”
“Playing.”
I looked at the clock.
Eight at night.
She folded her arms. “Don’t start interrogating me the second you walk in.”
I moved toward the window.
“Joel. Don’t look out there.”
I pulled back the curtain.
Sofia stood outside Aling Cora’s little eatery with an old plastic container in her hands. Caleb sat on the curb beside her.
Cora spooned rice into the container.
I dropped the bags.
“Sofia!”
My daughter turned.
“Papa?”
Caleb reached me first. His arms locked around my waist, and Sofia crashed into us a second later.
I knelt on the sidewalk.
They felt too light.
“Why are you asking for food?”
Sofia stared at my shirt.
“There’s nothing at home.”
“No dinner?”
She shook her head.
“No rice?”
Another shake.
Vanessa appeared at the gate.
“They’re making it sound worse than it is.”
“I sent sixty thousand pesos last month.”
“We have bills.”
“So they eat on the sidewalk?”
“It’s not like they go hungry every day.”
Then a black car stopped outside our gate.
The driver lowered his window.
“Babe, come on. We’re late.”
Vanessa went still.
Sofia gripped my hand.
“That’s Uncle Marco.”
“Sofia,” Vanessa snapped. “Be quiet.”
“He sleeps here sometimes, Papa.”
I looked at my wife.
She clutched her purse so tightly that the leather folded beneath her fingers. A white envelope stuck out of the top.
My full name was printed across it.
May you like
I had come home carrying presents.
My wife was carrying something she didn’t want me to see.
