While Carrying My Newborn Child, I Sold the House My Husband Thought Was His—Little Did He Know That Along with My Signature, the Fake Document and the Woman He Was Proud of Would Be Revealed

I only used one hand to sign the house papers.

My left arm was wrapped around my newborn son, while my right hand was shaking in pain.

When the broker asked me if my wife agreed to sell our home, I quietly replied:

“I am a widow.”

Adrian Salazar is still alive.

Healthy. Popular. Admired by many students and fans.

But as my husband and the father of our child, he has been dead for a long time.

I was at a real-estate broker’s office in Quezon City when my daughter Luna suddenly started crying. I was used to carrying her in one arm while soothing her with gentle rocking.

My wrist hurts.

It’s been almost a month.

The doctor said that this is common among new mothers who constantly carry the baby without getting enough rest.

While I was adjusting Luna’s blanket, my cellphone rang.

And Adrian.

Before I could answer, I heard a girl’s voice on the other line.

“Sir Adrian, your house is really terrible!”

That’s Bianca Reyes. His new assistant at the art studio.

“What a mess! It’s like having to use a map to get to the kitchen.”

He laughed.

Then he spoke again, seemingly nauseated.

“Why does it smell like diapers in here? Doesn’t your husband clean?”

I heard Adrian’s soft sigh.

“Mara wasn’t like that before.”

He paused for a moment before adding:

“Ever since giving birth, she has neglected herself.”

I’m not crying.

I quietly handed the broker the contract for the house listing.

Before I got pregnant, I loved Adrian with all my heart.

After I gave birth, I gradually understood that the person I leaned on the most was also the first to make me feel worthless.

I called my mom in Iloilo.

“Mom, I already bought the ticket. Luna and I are going home.”

He was quiet on the other line.

“Are you sure, son? You and Adrian are also ten years old.”

I looked at my son sleeping soundly in my arms.

“Mom, ten years together is no reason for me to spend the rest of my life with the wrong person.”

I don’t plan on using Adrian’s last name for Luna.

His birth certificate has not yet been registered.

When we arrive in Iloilo, I will use my last name.

Villanueva.

The last name my family has never been ashamed of.

The last name I tried to put aside because of my love for Adrian.

We were lovers for ten years before I got pregnant.

We both started out as students at the College of Fine Arts. I was the first to believe in his talent. I was the one who helped create his portfolio. I was the one who organized his first small exhibition in Cubao, even though we barely had any money to pay the rent.

When he became famous, I was proud of him.

When he became a lecturer and had his own studio in BGC, I was the first to tell him that he should pursue his dream.

So when he told me I was pregnant, he hugged me tightly.

“Mara, I promise. I will be a good father.”

He touched my stomach.

“As soon as this big exhibition is over, we will get married properly. I want to give you the wedding you deserve.”

I believed.

We weren’t married on paper, but I thought ten years of love was enough.

No, it’s not.

Bianca came as his assistant during my fifth month of pregnancy.

She’s beautiful. Young. Always well dressed. Always by Adrian’s side.

The man who sometimes wouldn’t let me go home alone gradually became busy.

He’s busy with new paintings.

Busy with interviews.

Busy with students.

Busy with the exhibit.

During every prenatal checkup, I sat alone in the clinic while other pregnant women held their husbands’ hands.

When my water heater broke, I called the ambulance myself.

Bianca brought my bag to the hospital.

It only contained one pack of diapers and two of Luna’s clothes.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am Mara,” he said while forcing a smile. “I’m not used to this kind of thing. Sir Adrian is also very busy.”

While I was in the delivery room, almost out of blood, Adrian’s mother and Bianca were outside.

When I was taken back to the room, I heard the voice of my mother-in-law, Aling Cora.

“Bianca, I wish you were the one my son married. You’re young, you’re still hardworking.”

He looked at Luna and grimaced.

“The child is so tiny. Maybe it’s because the mother is old.”

I am only thirty years old.

But I no longer have the strength to answer.

“Where is Adrian?” I asked.

Bianca smiled as if she had the right to explain.

“Sir Adrian has inspiration for his new collection. An artist cannot be disturbed when he is in momentum.”

My birth seemed like a small thing.

I was in the hospital for five days.

Adrian didn’t come even once.

Occasionally, he sends a message.

Thank you for giving me a child. He looks so cute in the picture.

Picture.

He never even saw his own son in person.

The day we got home, he was at home.

I thought he was waiting to greet us.

They had a good time.

He is packing for an exhibit in Cebu.

“Look, our child,” I said softly.

He briefly touched Luna’s cheek.

Then he frowned as he looked at me.

“Mara, why do you seem to have a smell?”

I couldn’t answer.

I don’t have clean clothes at the hospital.

No one brought it.

No one asked if I needed soap, food, or even a new nightgown.

Adrian spoke again.

“Maybe you could take a bath. And then…”

He looked down at my stomach, which had not yet completely shrunk.

“You’ll lose weight when you can. You weren’t like that before.”

I heard Bianca laugh softly at the door.

They left together.

That night, Aling Cora left Luna with me.

“Whoever gave birth will take care of it. My back hurts.”

Then she changed clothes and joined the neighbors’ zumba group on the covered court.

I hired two housekeepers using my own savings.

One to help Luna.

One to cook and clean while I recover.

Aling Cora was angry when she learned that serving her was not part of the housekeepers’ responsibilities.

Adrian called immediately.

“Mara, why are you making my mother suffer? She’s the one who’s helping you.”

I’m closed.

“Adrian, he’s not helping me.”

“You weren’t like that before,” he said coldly.

I looked at my trembling wrist.

“You weren’t like that before.”

I hung up the call.

The next day, I took Luna to the broker and signed the papers to sell the house.

The house was left to me by my grandmother before she passed away.

I paid for the renovation.

I am the one in the title.

But to Adrian’s friends and students, he introduced it as his home.

As I was returning home from the broker’s office, my lawyer friend, Attorney Lea Ramos, called.

He was breathing rapidly.

“Mara, don’t go home alone.”

“Why?”

“The broker sent me someone to verify your house records.”

My fingers are cold.

“What did you see?”

“There is a deed of sale with your signature. According to the document, Adrian sold the house last week to a company owned by a woman.”

My grip on Luna tightened.

“But?”

Lea was silent before answering.

“Bianca Reyes.”

And before I could understand what he said, my cell phone rang again.

And Adrian.

When I answered, his angry scream echoed.

“Mara! Why are there brokers in the house? What did you do to my property?”

I looked at my son who was sleeping soundly.

Then I quietly replied:

“Adrian, go home. I have something to show you.”

PARTE2

When I got home, Adrian was already in the living room.

Bianca is next to him.

Aling Cora was also there, crying and fanning herself while sitting on the sofa that I bought with my own money.

There are some documents lying on the table.

When Adrian saw me, he quickly stood up.

“What does this mean, Mara?”

I didn’t answer him right away.

I slowly placed Luna’s stroller next to the door.

She fell asleep after crying in the car.

Then Attorney Lea entered with a notary public and two male representatives of the real-estate agency.

“What is this?” Aling Cora shouted. “You are embarrassing my son in his own house!”

I smiled slightly.

“His own house?”

I approached the table and took the original certificate of title from my envelope.

“Read the name in the title.”

Adrian didn’t move.

Bianca suddenly turned pale.

Lea read the document clearly.

“Registered owner: Mara Isabel Villanueva.”

Not Salazar.

Not Adrian.

I.

The house was inherited from my grandmother. Before Adrian and I moved in there, it was mine.

Lea produced a second document.

“This is the deed of sale submitted last week. The buyer listed is Reyes Creative Ventures.”

I looked at Bianca.

“Does the company belong to you?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Mara…” he whispered.

“Answer me.”

“I didn’t know the house was actually yours,” he quickly explained. “Sir Adrian said he was the owner. He said it just needed to be temporarily transferred to my company to be used for the loan for the gallery.”

I turned to Adrian.

“Will you use my house as collateral?”

“Mara, listen first,” he said. “It’s just a business arrangement. I don’t intend to take the house.”

“But my signature is fake.”

The whole living room fell silent.

Lea brought the document closer to him.

“A forged signature on a notarized deed of sale is no small matter, Mr. Salazar. Especially if it was used for a loan application.”

Adrian’s face lost color.

“Mara, I won’t fool you. I just need capital for the gallery. You know that’s my dream.”

I laughed softly.

“Your dream?”

I looked around.

In the paintings hanging on the wall.

In the expensive light in the living room.

In the studio that I had renovated for him.

“All your dreams, I was the first to pay.”

I worked for several years as a freelance illustrator and art consultant while he waited for his name to be recognized.

I made his portfolio.

I was the one who talked to the first sponsor.

I planned the exhibit.

I edited every one of his interview answers because he would rather paint than answer emails.

I didn’t blame him.

Because I love him.

But now, the house my grandmother left for my future, she also wants to use without even talking to me.

“You don’t understand,” Adrian said. “I have a big opportunity in Singapore. If the gallery goes ahead, we’ll get our money back.”

“Us?”

I looked at Bianca.

“Why is the deed of sale in his company’s name?”

No one answered.

Which Cora was the first to explode.

“What’s wrong with Bianca helping? She’s the only one who’s always by Adrian’s side while you—”

He stopped.

“While I was what?” I asked.

“While you are busy with children!” he shouted. “Look at yourself. You are a mess. The house is not in order. You have no time for my child.”

I couldn’t move for a few seconds.

Then I smiled.

Not because I’m happy.

But because finally, everything is clear.

“Aling Cora, it was only two weeks since I gave birth when you left me alone with the baby. No one brought me clean clothes at the hospital. No one helped me bathe. No one asked if I was eating.”

I looked at Adrian.

“My wrist hurts because I carry Luna day and night. The house is messy because I’m recovering from giving birth. The smell of diapers is there because there’s a newborn baby in the house.”

I approached him.

“But instead of helping me, you laughed at me with your assistant.”

Adrian can’t look at me anymore.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he said softly.

“You didn’t mean to get caught.”

Lea took out another folder.

“There is one more thing that needs to be discussed.”

Adrian looked at him.

“As Mara’s legal representative, we sent this morning to the organizers of your exhibit the documentation regarding the eight paintings that you will include in the Singapore collection.”

Adrian was suddenly stunned.

“What documentation?”

I answered.

“My original sketches.”

Before I got pregnant, I created a series of paintings about women who were gradually disappearing from their own homes.

Women without faces.

Mothers with the burden of the house on their backs.

Hands that are slowly cracking as they cling to the things that are important to them.

I didn’t finish the series because I was busy with pregnancy and helping Adrian’s career.

One day, I showed him the sketches.

He said it was beautiful.

He said one day, I should finish it.

I didn’t know he copied the concepts.

He changed some colors.

He gave it his own name.

And showed it to Bianca as her new work.

“You don’t own the idea,” he said quickly.

“That’s right,” Lea replied. “But we have dated digital files, original canvases, emails and messages that prove Mara made the sketches before you started your collection. There are also some parts that are almost exact copies.”

“I don’t want to destroy you,” I said. “But I also don’t want to let you erase me from my own life.”

Adrian was stunned.

At first glance, he doesn’t look like a famous artist.

He doesn’t seem like a good lecturer.

He’s just a man who’s used to having a woman fix his mess while he receives the applause.

Bianca spoke while crying.

“Sir Adrian, you said you were separated.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

His face turned red.

“He said you two haven’t been together for a long time. He said he’s just waiting for things to settle down after the baby is born. He said…” She swallowed. “He said we’ll live here when the gallery is finished.”

Aling Cora covered her mouth.

“Adrian!”

His son did not answer.

I don’t need to know if anything happened to him and Bianca.

The fact that he promised my house to another woman while I was recovering from childbirth was enough.

The fake signature is enough.

Every day he leaves me alone is enough.

“Lea,” I said, “let’s continue with the case.”

Adrian stood up.

“Mara, don’t.”

He came to me.

“Mara, we’re ten years old. You can’t just throw that away.”

I looked at him.

That’s what my mother said when I said I was going back to Iloilo.

But now, the answer is clearer.

“I didn’t waste ten years, Adrian.”

I pointed to the document with my forged signature.

“You.”

“Mara, I love you.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You loved the way I cared for you. You loved the home I gave you. You loved my time, my talent, and my sacrifices.”

I took a deep breath.

“But when I needed it, you weren’t there.”

From the stroller, Luna suddenly cried.

I immediately came over and picked him up.

He fell silent when he heard my voice.

At that moment, I no longer felt any regret.

I am tired.

My whole body hurts.

I’m afraid of the new life we’ll face.

But for the first time after giving birth, I breathed a sigh of relief.

The deed of sale was declared fake.

The loan application was unsuccessful.

Organizers removed Adrian’s collection from the Singapore exhibit while investigating a complaint about copied artworks.

I also filed a complaint regarding falsification of documents and attempted fraud.

The process was not quick.

It wasn’t easy either.

But I didn’t wait for everything to be over before leaving.

I sold the house the right way.

At a price of ₱18 million.

I paid the bills, set aside a large portion for Luna’s future, and bought a small but cozy house near my family in Iloilo.

There is a garden in front.

There is a large window in the kitchen.

I have a small room that I turned into an art studio.

Not luxurious.

But quiet.

And no one makes me feel like being a mother is a burden.

A few months later, I started painting again.

Not to prove that I’m better than Adrian.

Not to retaliate.

But because I remembered that before I became the wife of a famous artist, I was also an artist.

Before I became a mother, I had my own name.

And even though I’ve become a mother, it doesn’t mean I have to disappear.

I finished the series about women who gradually disappear from their own homes.

But I changed the last painting.

Instead of a faceless woman, I painted a mother holding her child’s hand while walking out of a dark house.

Outside, the morning is bright.

I named the painting:

“I’m Going Home to Myself.”

When I had a small exhibit in Iloilo, my mother came carrying Luna.

He stared at the last painting and squeezed my hand.

“Son,” he said, “I am proud of you.”

I smiled.

I don’t know where Adrian was that night.

I heard he took a leave of absence from teaching while the investigation continues. I also heard Bianca left her studio.

But I don’t need to know everything.

Not all wounds need to be revisited to ensure they still hurt.

There are doors that are closed not because you are still angry.

But because in the end, you chose to protect yourself.

Message to Readers

It is not weakness to be tired after giving birth. It is not laziness to ask for help. And it is not an obligation for a woman to stay in a relationship that is gradually eroding her dignity just because they have been together for a long time.

Sometimes, the hardest decision is to leave.

But sometimes, that’s the first step back to yourself.