Translated by Irish Ann. This short story was first posted in Filipino, thanks to Tambalan of Love Radio Manila.

I could feel my hands trembling uncontrollably, a familiar reminder of old age. Still, I reached for a piece of paper on the table and began drafting a letter to the woman I dearly love.

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Inyang,

My love, this will probably be my last letter to you. I write not to say goodbye, but to ask for a promise: that even if we are no longer together, you will still remember me.

I remember our youth as clearly as if it were yesterday, those days when I was still courting you, when I had to ask permission from your parents. I knew too well your father didn’t approve of me. I couldn’t even lay a kiss on your hand with those watchful eyes constantly lingering in the background during my visits. It took months before your parents finally allowed us to be together. How many piles of wood did I chop? How many drums of water did I fetch? Still, how could I complain? It was all worth it.

Nothing compares to the joy I felt when your parents accepted me. That, I believe, was the happiest day of my life. Like a scene from a movie, under a mango tree with the sky and moon as our witnesses, our lives changed forever. My heart pounded as I kept the ring I inherited from my parents hidden in my pocket. I had already asked for your parents’ blessing, and yet my voice still threatened to give out as I stood before you. My hands shook as I tightly gripped the ring, praying I would be able to place it on your finger.

I don’t know how I found the words, but when I asked you to marry me, I smiled the moment I heard your answer. I couldn’t promise you wealth. I couldn’t promise a marriage free of misunderstandings or arguments. I couldn’t even promise to be a perfect husband. But what I did promise was this: to prove to you and your family every day that I was worthy of you.

Marriage was perhaps the greatest test of our love. There were times we barely saw each other because of work. I always reminded myself that we needed to endure this, for a better future and for the family we were building. Still, it pained me to come home and find you already asleep from exhaustion.

I remember the time you filed for leave just to take care of me when I got sick. As I watched you gently blow on the soup to cool it down before feeding me, it hit me, I wasn’t giving you the life I had promised. I wasn’t proving myself worthy of being your husband. From that moment on, I changed. I made sure we went out together at least once a week. I came home early so we could spend time together, share our stories, and simply enjoy… life.

I was overjoyed when we were blessed with our firstborn, and then the two children that followed. They grew, and so did their world. I saw the moments when you questioned yourself, wondering if you had raised them right. I remember when our youngest got into a fight, and our eldest came home late at night. You scolded them, and then slipped quietly into our room to cry. My love, please know this: you raised them well. You never failed as their mother. They will carry your lessons into their own families one day.

So, promise me, promise me that even if I am no longer by your side, you’ll keep me in your heart. Being left behind is the hardest and most painful thing. But I’ll face it. I have no regrets, for in this borrowed life, I was blessed to meet you. Until we meet again.

With all my love,

–

I slowly stood up. Using my wooden cane, I approached Inyang. I folded the letter and placed it gently in the cold hands of my wife.

With a grieving heart, I watched as my son closed the coffin. That was the last time I saw my wife, waiting as I am now, for the day we’ll see each other again.