Maria and I have been best friends since college in Manila . We were from the same hometown in Batangas , lived in the same poverty, and ate instant noodles together in a damp rented room for four years. After graduating, we went our separate ways but kept in touch. Until one day, Maria texted me asking for a loan of $6,200 to renovate her parents’ house in the countryside.

She cried and said:

“I am stuck, the roof is leaking, my father is sick, my mother sells vegetables in the palengke…”

I gathered all my savings, plus borrowed money from acquaintances to give her enough money, promising to pay it back within the year.

But then Maria disappeared. No messages, no calls. Facebook was deleted. I was partly hurt, and ten times sad. Many times I wanted to call the police but thought “She’s a friend, there’s no way…” so I stopped.

Three years later, on my wedding day, while I was entertaining guests, a luxury SUV stopped in front of the wedding restaurant in Quezon City . A woman wearing a designer dress, sunglasses, high heels, and perfume stepped out — it was Maria.

The whole family looked at each other in surprise. She smiled as if nothing had happened, thrust a thick envelope into my hand and calmly said:

“Congratulations, today is the best day of your life.”

My hands were shaking as I opened the envelope amid the curious eyes of my husband and friends. There was no money inside, just a folded A4 piece of paper. I thought it was an apology or an explanation. But no — it was a bank statement, with a transfer of exactly ₱350,000 into my account… this morning. Below it was the familiar handwriting:

“I will pay you back with interest. And you… owe me an apology. – Maria.”

I froze. Looked again — the transfer wasn’t from Maria, but from… my husband, Miguel .

I pulled Miguel to a corner to question him, he stammered:

“Maria and I used to know each other before we met you. But we broke up. I didn’t know she was your friend… I didn’t expect her to come today.”

Next part

I was like a lifeless corpse that whole party. Not because the ₱350,000 was paid, but because I realized: I was betrayed — by both my best friend and my newlywed husband.

After the party ended, I received a text message from an unknown number:

“I didn’t come to ruin it, I just wanted you to know the truth. Don’t be like me — blindly trusting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

I sat silently in the hotel’s honeymoon suite, listening to the fireworks outside, my heart empty. Miguel knocked on the door several times, but I didn’t open it. I knew that from that day on, my marriage had begun with a rift that could never be healed.

The next day, I returned to my mother’s house in Batangas. Maria had disappeared again, but this time, she left me with a bitter lesson: sometimes the most precious wedding gift is not gold or silver, but the naked, painful, yet enlightening truth.