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For much of her married life, Selena Verano lived with a quiet, unspoken ache. Her husband, Ramon, earned a generous income as a senior engineer in Manila. Yet every morning, without fail, he placed a single one-hundred-peso bill on the kitchen table before leaving for work.
“For the day,” he would say in a soft, steady voice.
As her friends thrived, she found herself quietly drifting from them, unable to explain why she had so little control over her own household. Resentment grew, followed soon by suspicion. She wondered if Ramon was keeping secrets. Perhaps another household. Or perhaps he simply did not trust her.
Whenever she tried to talk, he offered the same tired line:
“Selena, trust me. Everything is under control.”
But nothing felt under control to her. She felt small, stifled, and alone.
Then one April morning, Ramon left the house unusually tense. They had agreed to talk that evening, to finally lay everything on the table. Selena had spent the whole night rehearsing what she needed to say.
But he never returned home.
A week later, a notary handed her a small key. It belonged to the safe Ramon kept locked inside his study. Selena hesitated before opening it, unsure what she was about to uncover. Had there truly been another woman? Another life? Had she spent years living in the shadow of betrayal?
With trembling hands, she opened the safe.
“For Selena,” the letter began. “If you are reading this, I am no longer with you. I am sorry for years of silence. Everything I did was for your protection.”
Selena’s breath caught.
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