Some people don’t actually hurt you directly, but they slowly consume you.
Not a scream. Not in the slap. Not in plain oppression.
But by taking it over and over again, by ignoring it, and by making you feel that in your own home, you are the guest.
My name is Nina Reyes. I have been married to Paolo de Leon for 3 years.
And for nearly two years, at three o’clock in the afternoon every Sunday, at exactly the same time, our doorbell rang as if the whole clan had an alarm.
I knew immediately who it was.
I wipe my hand off the apron and open the door.
And as expected, there was Karen, Paolo’s youngest sister, carrying three empty eco bags. Behind her, once her husband, Dennis, once their daughter Miko, seven years old, but most of the time—she was just enough to empty half the house.
“Are you ready?” she asked with a smile, but didn’t wait for an answer.
He went straight into the kitchen.
In the living room, my mother-in-law, Aling Cora, sat leaning on the sofa watching a noontime replay even though it was late in the afternoon. When you see Karen, you think it’s a party.
“Son, you have arrived! “Come on, I’ve got something for you.”
Once upon a time, it was money. Once upon a time there was a biscuit. At one point, I decided to buy something else from my house.
I’ll go back to the sink, wash the dishes, as I hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing.
I didn’t have to look back.
Alam ko na ang eksena.
This is the yogurt that I bought for my husband and I at the office.
This is the salmon that has been caught.
This is a box of dumplings I made on Saturday.
The grapes, strawberries, butter, cheese, bacon, even leftover dishes that can be eaten for dinner.
All of this goes into the eco bag.
“Yogurt is so good,” I could hear from behind me. “Miko loves it. In just three days, it was too late.”
I don’t answer.
I was just stacking the dishes on the dish rack like I wasn’t hearing anything.
“Hey, it’s a fresh turkey. Come on, I’ll take it. I don’t have time to go shopping tomorrow.”
Seems like a simple favor. It just seems natural. It felt like it was part of everyone’s routine—except me.
When I walked out of the kitchen, I could see the fridge almost empty. Three bags, full of them. All that’s left is a bottle of soy sauce, half an onion, and a little ice in the freezer.
“Come on, let’s go,” Karen said as if she had delivered a gift.
And my mother-in-law, with a smile, will escort her to the door.
When they leave, I’ll be the one to clean up the biscuit crumbs on the floor. I’m going to fix the glasses they used. I’m also wondering what I’m going to feed my husband when he gets home.
At first, I was silent.
Sabi ko sa sarili ko, baka minsan lang.
Once upon a time, it became a week. Week after week, it became normal. At the same time, I felt like I had a responsibility in their eyes.
When Paolo came home and opened the fridge, he just glanced for a moment and then closed it immediately.
“Is there anything else to eat?” he asked.
“Nothing. Karen took it back.”
He stopped. About two seconds. And then that face—the one you know you’re missing but doesn’t want to make a scene—comes back to his face.
“Let it go. I’m just going to buy it out.”
“Last week was the chicken. A week ago, I had beef chops. And now it’s all about fruit and vegetables.”
I said calmly, even though my heart was pounding.
“This happens every week, Paul. What is left of us?”
He sat on the bed that night and couldn’t look me straight.
“Alam mo namang medyo gipit sila,” sabi niya. “Tsaka sabi ni Mama, pamilya naman.”
Pamilia.
I smiled at the time, but it was bitter.
By the time Karen got married, her parents had given her nearly ₱300,000. Complete with appliances and cash gifts. When Paolo and I were given only ₱15,000 and were told “save money, it’s just a new beginning.”
I never confessed that.
But now, every Sunday, I feel like they’re slowly taking away from me the right to be called the housewife of this house.
Once upon a time there was food. Once upon a time, it was used.
Is this the silk scarf my mom gave me on my birthday? I saw Karen at a family lunch.
Is this the special tea set I brought from my house? You have squinted his eyes several times.
And the worst part is, it’s not getting them.
Paolo’s silence was unmistakable.
He seemed to want peace even though I was the one who was slowly being crushed.
