In the early months of 2020, as the world retreated into the eerie silence of a global pandemic, the Daynolo family in Pasig, Philippines, was consumed by a different kind of fear. Their daughter, Mary Anne Daynolo, a 30-year-old receptionist working in Abu Dhabi, had vanished without a trace.

For ten agonizing months, they navigated a desperate search hampered by lockdowns and official bureaucracy, clinging to the hope that she was alive. They never could have imagined the horrifying truth: Mary Anne had never left the hotel where she worked. Her body lay hidden within its walls, a silent testament to a dream of a better life that had ended in the most brutal way imaginable.

Mary Anne was, by her family’s account, a woman of quiet strength. The most reserved of three siblings, she preferred to tackle her problems head-on, only sharing her struggles after she had already overcome them. Despite her serious nature, she had a sharp sense of humor and a deep love for her family.

Like many Filipinos, she saw working abroad as a path to a better future. After graduating from college, a frustrating local job and a battle with asthma pushed her to seek opportunities overseas, where many of her relatives were already working as Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs).

In February 2018, armed with a tourist visa and immense courage, she flew to Abu Dhabi. Her gamble paid off. Before her visa expired, she landed a position as a receptionist at the prestigious St. Regis Hotel. Her family in the Philippines was overjoyed, their anxieties eased by the knowledge that she was near relatives and her asthma had subsided in the city’s cleaner air.

For two years, Mary Anne built a life for herself, navigating the challenges of living alone in a foreign country. She used technology to stay close to her family, sharing her triumphs and hardships, all while counting down the days until her two-year contract ended. She was scheduled to fly home in July 2020, and her family was eagerly awaiting her return.

But as the world began to grapple with the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020, a dark cloud descended over Mary Anne. She confided in her younger sister that she was feeling exhausted—emotionally, physically, and mentally. She asked her sister to pray for her, a cryptic plea that she might get the things she “deserved.” It would be one of their last conversations.

On the night of March 4, 2020, just an hour before her shift was set to end, Mary Anne received a phone call. Who was on the other end of the line remains a mystery, but immediately after the call ended, she walked out of the hotel, leaving everything behind. Her purse, wallet, and other belongings were still in her locker. Her passport, the single most important document for an OFW, was left in her apartment. She was never seen alive again.

The initial hours turned into a frantic day. Her family in Pasig and her sister in Abu Dhabi, Marie, tried to contact her relentlessly. Her phone just rang and rang, unanswered. Friends and coworkers received no response. When Marie called the hotel, they confirmed Mary Anne had come to work but had left before her shift ended. The hotel’s management officially logged her departure as “job abandonment.”

But those who knew her, from her roommate to her colleagues, knew something was terribly wrong. Mary Anne had a stellar work ethic and would never simply walk away from her responsibilities.

On March 6, with her sister still missing, Marie went to the Mustafa police station to file a missing person report. The initial investigation explored several theories. Given her last message to her sister, investigators considered the possibility that she had willingly run away, overwhelmed by personal struggles.

Her family and friends vehemently rejected this, insisting that while she felt the pressure common to all OFWs, she had never shown signs of depression or expressed a desire to disappear. Another theory—that she might be hiding an unwanted pregnancy in a country with strict social laws—was also dismissed. Her family maintained that she was always open about her romantic life and would have needed her passport and money to start a new life elsewhere.

A flicker of hope emerged when a taxi driver turned in Mary Anne’s phone, claiming to have found it on the street. But that hope was quickly extinguished. The phone had been wiped clean, factory reset to erase all data. The driver had a solid alibi, and the trail went cold again. The investigation, already struggling for leads, was about to hit a wall: the COVID-19 lockdown. As the UAE, like the rest of the world, imposed strict social distancing and travel restrictions, the search for Mary Anne was severely hampered.

For months, the Daynolo family felt trapped in a nightmare. They relentlessly followed up with the Philippine Embassy and the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA), only to be met with the same answer: the investigation was ongoing, and little could be done. Frustrated and feeling abandoned, they took their plea to social media, creating a Facebook page to raise awareness. They posted photos, shared memories, and begged for any information, their posts a heartbreaking chronicle of a family’s unwavering love and deepening despair. September 29, Mary Anne’s 31st birthday, came and went, marked by sorrowful online tributes instead of celebration.

Finally, after ten months of agonizing silence, the family received the call they had been dreading. Mary Anne’s remains had been found. On January 30, 2021, her body was repatriated to the Philippines. The condition of her remains was so horrific, in such an advanced state of decomposition, that DNA testing was required to confirm her identity.

The family requested a second autopsy by the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) in the Philippines. While the official report was not made public, former Labor Secretary Silvestre Bello III shared chilling details, stating her skull was shattered and her body was barely recognizable.

The most shocking revelation was where she was found. After a nearly year-long search that spanned a city, it turned out Mary Anne’s body had been in a maintenance area on the roof of the very hotel she worked in all along.

The missing person case was now a homicide investigation. The Abu Dhabi police had a prime suspect: a Ugandan national known as “Paul,” who was not only Mary Anne’s coworker but was also reportedly her secret boyfriend. According to Bello, the motive was as tragic as it was possessive.

Paul allegedly did not want Mary Anne to return to the Philippines at the end of her contract. Their final meeting escalated into a violent confrontation, where he allegedly stabbed her in the neck. Authorities stated that during questioning, Paul confessed to the murder and led them to her body. He was arrested, along with two alleged accomplices whose involvement remains unclear.

For the Daynolo family, the discovery brought not closure, but a new wave of unbearable pain and anger. They expressed profound disappointment with the Philippine government agencies, stating that despite public promises of support, the only entity that provided genuine assistance was Mary Anne’s employer.

As they privately mourned and eventually cremated their daughter’s remains, their fight for justice was just beginning. Today, while the man accused of her murder sits in a prison in Abu Dhabi, the family continues to wait for a final verdict, their lives forever fractured by the loss of a beloved daughter who went abroad with a dream and never came home.