I am 40 years old this year but I have never had a girlfriend. I married a dishwasher who has a 3 year old son. On the wedding day, the worst thing happened.
My mother feared I’d die alone. At 40, dark, quiet, a plumber-electrician in our Manila barangay, I had no prospects. Neighbors whispered: “Hard to find a wife.”
One day she insisted: “Marry Maria, the dishwasher. Kind, hardworking, with a three-year-old son. Do it for me.”
I didn’t love her, but I pitied Mom. Just us two. So I agreed.
Wedding day: scorching sun, rented coat, shaking bouquet. At Maria’s old Quezon City house, Mom wondered: “Where’s her son?”
I shrugged—maybe hidden to avoid gossip.
Music played. The bride descended.
THUD. Mom collapsed behind me.
I turned. She stared, mouth open, pointing.
Maria wasn’t the simple dishwasher in slippers. She wore a white gown, gold jewelry sparkling. Relatives gasped: “Dishwasher looks rich!”
Her parents emerged in elegant barongs: “We give our youngest daughter today.”
A three-year-old boy ran up, hugging her gown: “Sister, take me!”
Shock. We thought he was *her* son.
Her mother laughed: “He’s *our* youngest. He followed his sister to help at our cousin’s café last summer.”
Laughter erupted. Misunderstanding cleared.
The wedding overflowed with joy.
I married to please Mom, but gained a kind, beautiful wife with a golden heart.
Don’t fear being late to love. Sometimes, at 40, the right person arrives—even in a quiet barangay.
