My name is Margarita Ellington, and at seventy years old, I never imagined that the most painful words I would ever hear would come from the child I raised alone. Six months ago, my daughter Lily knocked on my door, newly divorced and desperate, with her two children.

I had been living alone in a large five-bedroom house in a quiet subdivision in Quezon City since my husband passed away. When Lily told me through tears that her husband had left her for a younger woman, I opened my door without hesitation.
“Mom, I have nowhere else to go,” she cried. “Just for a while… until I can get back on my feet.”
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