My son Paulo had only been married to Mira for a week. Their wedding in Batangas was modest, yet filled with laughter, tears, and promises from the heart.

Mira appeared to be the perfect daughter-in-law: gentle, courteous, smiling warmly, always treating everyone in the family with respect.

Even neighbors and relatives spoke highly of her.

“We are truly blessed to welcome such a gracious daughter-in-law,” I would proudly say to my friends at the market.

But only a few days after the wedding, I started to notice something unusual…

The Secret of the Sheets

Each morning without exception, Mira carried out the  bed sheets and blankets to wash and hang under the sun. Sometimes, she even replaced them twice within the day.

I once asked her,

“Why do you change the  bedding daily, hija?”

She gave me a sweet smile and answered,

“I’m allergic to dust, Nanay. I sleep better when everything is fresh.”

Yet I remained doubtful. All the linens were new, fragrant, and carefully chosen for the wedding.

And no one in our family had allergies.

I slowly grew suspicious that something else was being hidden…

The Surprising Discovery

One morning, I pretended I was going to the market.

When Mira headed downstairs to the kitchen, I quietly slipped into her room.

The moment I opened the door, a strong metallic odor rushed to my nose.

My heart pounded heavily.

I moved toward the  bed and slowly lifted the sheet…

My legs almost gave way.

The white mattress was covered with bloodstains—thick, layered, and everywhere.

And it wasn’t menstrual blood. It looked different—darker, heavier, more unsettling.

Panicked, I opened the drawers.

Inside were rolls of bandages, a bottle of antiseptic, and a blood-stained undershirt neatly folded and hidden.

Mira’s Truth

I rushed downstairs, grabbed Mira by the wrist, and brought her back up.

“Explain this to me! What’s going on here? Why is there bl0od? Why are you hiding this?!”

At first, she remained silent. Her whole body shook, her eyes brimming with tears, lips trembling.

Then she collapsed into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Nanay… Paulo has late-stage leukemia.
Doctors said he only had months left.
We rushed the wedding because I couldn’t leave him.
I wanted to stay… no matter how short the time.”

My world collapsed.

My son—the boy I had raised, cared for, and cherished—had concealed this only to shield my heart.

He chose to endure silently so I wouldn’t break down.

A Mother’s Resolve

That night I couldn’t close my eyes. I lay staring at the ceiling, imagining the pain Paulo must have endured, and the quiet devotion Mira had shown.

The next morning, I went to the market and bought fresh sheets. I helped Mira wash the old ones. Every day, I rose early to be present—to stand by her, to stand by them both.

And one morning, as we changed the sheets together, I embraced her tightly.
“Thank you, Mira… for loving my son.
For staying.
For choosing him, even knowing you would lose him.”

After All

Three months later, in the stillness of morning, Paulo passed away peacefully in his sleep—Mira clasping his hand, whispering “I love you” until her last breath to him.

There was no agony. There was no fight. Only serenity. And a faint smile upon his face.

From that day forward, Mira never left.

She did not go back to her parents.
She never remarried.
She stayed with me, helping manage our humble food stall.
She treated me like her very own mother.

It has now been two years.

And when people ask,

“Why does Mira still stay with you?”

I simply smile and say:

“Because she wasn’t just my son’s wife…
She became my daughter too.
And this will forever be her home.”