After Miguel said this, a strange commotion enveloped the entire hall.

Not a shout.
Not an argument.

But a simultaneous shudder—as if someone had pulled the plug on all the sounds in the room.

The crystal glasses stopped in midair.
The music cut off in the middle of a long note.
The MC froze, still holding the spare microphone, a trace of shock in his eyes.

Alejandro was the first to recover.

Her face turned pale, then red with anger.

“What did that kid say?”

“Isabela, is that how you raised your child?”

Her voice was sharp and rough—the confidence she had once had was gone.

Miguel remained standing.

Not shaking.
Not avoiding.
Not asking for my help.

His back was straight, both hands tightly grasping the microphone, very calm—a look that made many adults look away.

“I’m just telling the truth.”

“The person who can leave his wife, betray his family, and treat everyone else like disposable items…”

“If that’s not a dead soul, what is?”

There was a deep sigh from the front row.

Doña Rosario.

She stared at Miguel for a long time.

The excitement she had earlier poured out on the other boy was gone.

What remained was the sharp analysis of a woman who had lived long enough to know:
This boy will not be broken easily.

“Alejandro.”

“Be quiet.”

Her voice was not loud, but it was enough to cool the entire room.

Alejandro was stunned.

“Mom…”

“I said, be quiet.”

He slowly approached, using his cane, and stopped in front of Miguel.

Everyone held their breath.

In the Villanueva clan, everyone knew—when Doña Rosario stepped forward with a face like this, there was a crushing fate, even if no blood would be shed.

He bowed, his eyes level with Miguel’s.

“What is your name, son?”

Miguel answered without hesitation:

“I am Miguel Cruz.”

“I am the son of my mother—Isabela Cruz.”

Doña Rosario was slightly stunned.

The last name Cruz.

Not Villanueva.

A detail that seemed small—but it struck the very core of his dignity.

“Do you know where you are standing right now?” he asked.

Miguel nodded.

“Yes.”

“I am at your birthday party.”
“And I know this day should be happy.”

“Then why did you say those words?”

Miguel was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke—softer, but clearer than before:

“I don’t want my mother to bow down.”

“I don’t want you to think she’s worthless.”

“And I don’t want anyone to think that because I don’t have the last name Villanueva… we can be thrown out.”

The air seemed to freeze.

Marites became anxious.

She pulled Alejandro’s hand, whispered something, but it didn’t reach him.

Doña Rosario stood up straight.

She faced Alejandro.

“You’ve been a father for ten years.”

“But tonight, you’re like a child.”

“Mom!” Alejandro hissed.

“That kid has no respect—”

“Has no respect?”
“You brought your girlfriend and daughter to your mother’s birthday, and you forced your husband to divorce her in front of the entire clan.”
“Is that what you call respect?”

Alejandro was taken aback.

Doña Rosario turned to face me.

For the first time that night, she didn’t look at me as a daughter-in-law, but as a woman.

“Isabela.”
“Do you know why I’ve been silent all this time?”

I shook my head.

“Because I wanted to see…”

“If there was anyone left who knew how to protect the honor of the Villanueva family.”

She turned and looked around the entire hall.

“And I saw.”

“A ten-year-old boy… was the only one who could do that.”

The whispers erupted.

Marites turned pale.

“Doña Rosario…” she stammered.

“Alejandro and I are—”

“Don’t talk anymore.”

“You have no right.”

Doña Rosario waved.

“Security.”

“Get that woman and the child out.”

Marites screamed.

“Alejandro! Are you going to say something?!”

Alejandro was met with stares—from his relatives, his mother, mine… and Miguel.

Finally, he shouted:

“What are you doing, Mom?”

“That’s your grandson!”

Doña Rosario stared straight ahead.

“Grandson?”

“All I see is a child used by the elders.”

She turned to Miguel.

“And you.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

Miguel shook his head.

“I want to go home with my mother.”

I approached and held my daughter’s hand.

This time—no one stopped her.

Doña Rosario looked at me for a long time.

Then she said softly:

“Isabela.”
“Tomorrow, go see my lawyer.”

Alejandro was surprised.

“Mom!”

“I’m not done yet.”

“This marriage, I will arrange according to the law.”

“And I will not let my grandson—even if his last name is Cruz—lose his rights.”

That was the final blow.

03 — END
Three months later.

The divorce was finalized.

Alejandro lost control of the company—because there were more shares in my name than he thought.

Marites disappeared from Manila.

And Doña Rosario… moved to Cebu, distanced herself from the clan meetings.

Miguel changed schools.

She smiled more often.

And I…

For the first time in ten years, I went to bed without thinking about whose daughter-in-law I was.

One afternoon, Miguel asked me:

“Mom, are you sorry?”

I stroked his head.

“No.”

“Because I have you.”

Miguel smiled.

And the sunlight from Manila Bay hit my mother and me—

Not as bright as crystal.

But warm.

And true.