They called me pambayad utang.
Not to my face at first.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuvnR8Nm7fo
At first, it was murmurs behind tricycle rides and gossip passed like candy between neighborhood sari-sari stores. But soon, I could hear it as loud as a drumbeat every time I walked past them.
"'Yan yung anak ni Mang Robert, 'di ba?"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3SJPtCj0C3
"Ilan na ba anak ng tatay n'ya? Labing-walo raw. Labing-pitong nanay!"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW2EPzoumEn
"Ay, pambayad utang 'yan. Bata pa lang, may itsura na. Delikado."
I was nine years old.
I didn't even understand the phrase at first. I thought it meant something to do with money.
Later, I realized it meant I was just another girl born to fix a man's mess. A receipt. A consequence.
They were talking about my father.
A Legacy of Damage
My dad was never completely absent.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPF7I5dB9nv
He showed up—at graduations, birthdays, big days that warranted a photo. He paid for my tuition. He paid for the other girls' tuition too. All eighteen of us. Eighteen daughters. Seventeen different women.
A math problem that left more bruises than answers.
He wasn't violent, at least not to me. But I knew how he hurt women. I heard stories. Watched my mother cry into her laundry. Watched other women glare at her across school events. Sometimes, his own daughters didn't know about each other until we bumped into one another accidentally.
I hated him for that.
And worse, I hated how everyone thought I would be just like him.
There was a time I used to stare at myself in the mirror and whisper, "Please, don't become him."
Because for a long time, I believed being a woman meant inheriting a curse.
Meeting the Mother
Dominic had been talking about it for weeks.
"Ma wants to meet you," he said one afternoon while we were doing a duet on the singing app in person for once, sitting side by side at his place. "She's old-school, but I think she'll like you."
I gave a nervous laugh. "People don't usually like me right away, Dom."
"She will," he said confidently. "You're successful, you're spiritual, you're the most grounded woman I've met."
I wanted to believe him.
I wore something modest. A soft blue dress. No lipstick. I brought ensaymada from a famous bakery—hoping the softness of the pastry would make up for how harsh people sometimes perceived me.
Her eyes found me the moment I walked in.
She looked me up and down—not with curiosity, but with cold analysis. Dominic hugged her. She nodded but didn't smile.
We sat. She offered juice. I accepted.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0U9Io4UBJw
Small talk happened. Stiff and sugar-coated.
Then came the storm.
"So," she said, eyes still on me, "I hear your father is Robert del Rosario?"
I nodded. "Yes po."
Her brow arched. "The one with all the daughters?"
"Yes po," I said again, a little tighter this time.
Dominic jumped in quickly. "Ma, Jaimie is different. She's a Latin honor graduate, works in telecom, raised her son on her own. She's not—"
His mother raised her hand. Silencing him like a student who had interrupted Mass.
"I'm not talking about her job," she said, her gaze fixed on me. "I'm talking about her blood."
I blinked. "Excuse me po?"
"You know the saying," she said without blinking. "Ang bunga ng puno, hindi nahuhulog nang malayo. Your father hurt women. Used them. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. If that's the tree, I don't trust the fruit."
The silence was deafening.
I couldn't believe she said it to my face.
Dominic's mouth hung open in disbelief, but he didn't say a word. Not right away. Not when it counted.
And I?13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmmC0TI6HCV
I just smiled.
That polite, soul-numbing, dead-eyed smile I'd perfected growing up around whispers and labels.
"Thank you po for the honesty," I said, my voice steady. "But if you're going to judge me by my father's sins, you might as well call your son a coward for not standing up right now."
Dominic stiffened beside me.
I stood, slowly.
"I'll go, Dom," I said, grabbing my bag. "I know my worth. And no mother, no past, no curse will ever convince me otherwise again."
I left her house with my head held high and my heart cracking quietly beneath my ribs.
Because no matter how far you run from your legacy—some people will always try to drag you back to where you started.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr5rE8eN9CZ
