BECAUSE OF OUR HARD LIFE, MY OWN MOTHER SOLD ME TO A RICH BUSINESSMAN — MY PARENTS DIDN’T EXPECT HIS PLAN FOR ME

I grew up accustomed to hardship. Our house was made of patchwork of iron and wood, and whenever it rained, we had to put buckets to catch the water that leaked from the roof. Mama sold food at the market, while Papa was a carpenter who rarely had a project. I was Lara, sixteen years old, and I often asked myself when this life would end.

One night, I heard Mama and Papa talking outside the house.
“I can’t find a new job,” Papa said as he squeezed his senses. “We can’t pay off the debt to Mang Roldan. We might even be evicted.”

Mama was silent. But there was a weight in his voice as he said, “Mang Roldan made me an offer… he said he knew a businessman who wanted to take care of a young woman. He said he would pay a lot.”

When I heard that, my knees buckled. I didn’t immediately understand. “Take care of her?” I asked myself. “Or sell me?”

The next day, Mama took me to town. I was wearing an old dress, and she braided my hair neatly, as if I were going to work. We stopped at a large house—white gate, expensive car, and gardens that smelled of flowers. That’s where I first saw Don Victor, a man in his fifties, wearing a robe, with a dark but not rude look.

He smiled at Mama. “Is this your son?”

Mama nodded, obviously nervous. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s kind too. I hope… take care of her.”

Don Victor handed me something—an envelope. And before I knew it, he had grabbed my arm.
“From now on, I’ll take care of him,” he said coldly.

I wanted to scream. But when I saw the tears in Mama’s eyes, I was silent. I didn’t know if it was because of shame, or because of the pain of the truth—that my own mother had sold me.

—

Inside the mansion, it felt like a different world. There was a soft bed, a complete meal, and the maids who looked at me as if I were strange. But even though the surroundings were beautiful, I cried every night. I thought Don Victor would use me as a slave—or worse. But he never touched me or insulted me. Instead, he taught me to read, write correctly, and use a computer. He even sent me to school in the city.

“Why are you doing this?” I once asked.
He was silent for a moment before answering, “I had a daughter before. She was your age. She died in an accident. Ever since then, I felt useless. But when I saw you in the picture your mother showed me… I saw my daughter’s eyes in you.”

I didn’t know what to feel. Was it anger because he bought me? Or pity because his heart was full of sadness?

Years passed. I studied hard, and Don Victor gradually became like a real father to me. I even called him “Father Victor.” I sent part of my allowance to Mama and Papa, but we didn’t hear from each other for several years. Until one day, Father Victor visited me while I was studying at the university.
“Lara,” he said, “there’s something you need to know.”
There was a sadness on his face that I had never seen before. “Your father has died. And your mother… is in the hospital. He said he wanted to see you.”

We immediately drove home. When I arrived at the hospital, I saw Mama—thin, weak, barely able to speak. When she saw me, tears fell from her eyes.
“Son…” she said softly, “forgive me. I only did that because I didn’t want you to starve to death. I thought I would lose you forever.”

I held her hand. “I don’t have to forgive you, Mama. Because if it weren’t for what you did… I might not have met Father Victor. I didn’t get an education. I didn’t learn how to love even when hurt.”

At that moment, I saw Father Victor smile and touch my shoulder. “He was right. Sometimes, pain becomes a path to a new beginning.”

A few weeks later, Mama passed away, but quietly and with a smile. I forgave her for everything, and I also forgave myself.

A few years later, I graduated from college and became a social worker. In every child I now care for, I see myself once lost in the darkness. Father Victor was always there, sitting quietly in front of the house, very proud of me.

One day, while we were having coffee together on the veranda, he said, “Lara, maybe it’s time for me to take a break. You can continue my projects for underprivileged children.”
I smiled. “I can’t promise perfect results, Dad. But I can promise to give my all—just like you gave me.”

And for the last time, he held my hand and looked up at the sky. “Now, I know that my life still has meaning.”

—

Sometimes, the wounds of the past don’t need to be erased—because that’s when you see how time has changed you.
The child who was once sold out because of poverty, now gives hope to others.
And the man who lost his son, finds a new reason to live.

Because sometimes, the people who come into our lives—even in the most painful ways—can also be the best blessings we never expected.