The hospital room was quiet, with only the sound of the monitor and Mang Fidel's faint breathing. He was pale, frail, and an IV needle was attached to his hand.
The doctor entered, carrying the test results. Aling Mirasol immediately stood, her face etched with worry.
"Doctor, how is my husband?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The doctor took a deep breath. "Based on the biopsy and scans, Mr. Fidel has colon cancer. It's already stage 3. He needs surgery as soon as possible to remove the affected part of the intestine before it spreads."
Aling Mirasol's knees buckled. "Surgery? How much will it cost, Doctor?"
"If it's done in a public hospital, it will be around two hundred thousand pesos or more. In a private hospital, half a million or higher, depending on complications. After surgery, he will need chemotherapy. Each session costs twenty to forty thousand. Typically, there are six to twelve sessions."
Aling Mirasol covered her mouth, barely able to breathe at what she heard. Tears fell from her eyes.
"My God… where are we going to get that much money?"
Michael and Ryan remained silent in the corner. They looked at each other—knowing this was exactly why they had sold Renzo. But they couldn't admit it.
The weight of their guilt pressed heavily on their chests, especially as they listened to their mother crying.
Aling Mirasol walked closer to the bed and held Mang Fidel's hand.
"Fidel… we need money. You need to fight. Don't leave us."
Mang Fidel's voice was weak, almost a whisper.
"Mira… don't worry. I will fight… for you all."
But behind it all, Michael and Ryan's eyes were restless—because they knew the money needed for the operation had been paid for with the disappearance of Renzo.
Outside the hospital, it was almost dark. Aling Mirasol sat on a bench, clutching a small handkerchief, wiping her eyes again and again. She had little strength left after hearing about the medical expenses.
Michael and Ryan sat quietly nearby, their faces serious, their minds burdened.
"Bro…" Ryan whispered faintly, almost inaudibly. "The money… let's give it to Auntie. For Father's sake."
Michael looked at him, guilt heavy in his eyes. "If we give it, she'll ask where it came from. How will we explain?"
"I understand," Ryan answered, his head bowed. "But… maybe this is the only way to save Father."
The two fell silent. The air grew heavier, as though a voice in their heads kept whispering the truth—that the money came in exchange for Renzo's life.
After a long pause, Michael nodded firmly. "Alright. But only the two of us will know this. Don't ever mention it to anyone… not even to Auntie Mirasol."
The next day, Michael came to the hospital carrying an envelope. He approached Aling Mirasol, who sat by Mang Fidel's bedside.
"Auntie… I've saved some money. And Ryan… he pitched in too. Here," he said, handing her the envelope.
Aling Mirasol was shocked, puzzled but didn't press further. When she saw how thick the envelope was, she clutched her chest. "Michael… Ryan… where did you get this much money?!" she asked, her swollen eyes wide with disbelief.
The brothers exchanged glances. Michael quickly spoke, forcing his voice to stay steady.
"We've been saving for a long time. And… a relative helped. What's important is, we can now use this for Tatay."
Tears once again rolled down Aling Mirasol's cheeks, but this time with a glimmer of hope. She hugged them tightly.
"Thank you, my sons… thank you. This will help your father so much, all because of you."
As their stepmother embraced them,
Michael kept his eyes fixed on the floor, hiding the stabbing pain in his chest. Instead of relief, he felt the crushing weight of guilt, knowing every cent in that envelope was paid for by the disappearance of their younger brother, Renzo.
Inside the hospital room, Mang Fidel lay weak but awake. Aling Mirasol sat beside him, holding his hand, the envelope from earlier still in her grasp.
Michael and Ryan stayed silent in the corner, unable to meet their parents' eyes. The air was heavy—not just because of Mang Fidel's illness, but because of the secret they carried.
"Michael… Ryan…" Mang Fidel called weakly, struggling to sit up. "Thank you for your help… but, my sons… where did you really get this money?" His breathing was strained.
Aling Mirasol turned to them too, her face showing the same doubt. "Yes… you don't have jobs. You couldn't possibly have saved this much. Tell me the truth."
Ryan's eyes widened, his hands trembling. "Bro… I can't take it anymore…" he whispered.
Michael closed his eyes, holding back tears, but the guilt was unbearable. Slowly, he stood and approached his father's bed.
"Father… Auntie…" his voice shook, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry… this is our fault."
"What do you mean?" Aling Mirasol asked, shocked.
Michael's shoulders sagged as the truth poured out. "Renzo… we sold him. To those men… so we could get money."
It was as if the world collapsed on Aling Mirasol. She froze, nearly dropping the envelope.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" she screamed, standing up, trembling with rage and disbelief.
Ryan burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Auntie! We didn't want to, but because of father's illness… we didn't know what else to do. We were scared—we didn't want to lose him!" His head hung low as he sobbed.
"You monsters!" Aling Mirasol shouted, pushing Michael in the chest. "You sacrificed your own brother! How could you do that to Renzo?!"
Mang Fidel grew weaker, his eyes wide, his lips barely moving. "Ren…zo…" he whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.
Aling Mirasol broke down, sobbing as though her heart had been ripped apart. "My God… where is my son now?!"
The brothers bowed their heads, unable to look at her. But beneath their confession, a decision slowly formed: they had to find and save Renzo—before it was too late.