In January 2012, Albert Locaberte navigated the familiar sterile bustle of Ninoy Aquino International Airport, his baggage heavy. It was weighted not just with clothes, but with the profound sacrifice of an Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW).

He was heading back to Riyadh, back to his job as a delivery truck driver, and back to a life of solitude. He was leaving his family again—his wife, Ofelia, and their only daughter, Marjerie—all to build them a better future.

The night before, at their last supper, Ofelia had been unsettlingly quiet. Albert laid out his plans: finishing their new house in Taytay, saving for Marjerie’s college tuition, starting a small business upon his final return.

Ofelia simply nodded, offering the occasional, thin smile. Her eyes, however, held a heaviness that Albert, in the rush of departure, couldn’t quite place.

He boarded the plane, his mind on his work, his heart with the family he was working for. He had no idea he was leaving them for good.

Back home, the void left by Albert’s departure was quickly filled by something else. In the first few weeks, Ofelia managed the household, but neighbors soon noticed a change. She spent long hours sitting out front, staring into the distance, lost in thought.

Then, the visits started. Rudy Pasqua, Albert’s kumpare (best friend and co-sponsor) and Marjerie’s ninong (godfather), began stopping by. What was once an occasional visit from a trusted family friend became a weekly, then almost daily, occurrence. He would offer to help with chores or repairs. No one thought much of it; Rudy was family, known for being helpful. But unseen by the neighborhood, a dark betrayal was taking root.

The secret began with casual jokes and check-ins, which soon escalated into hushed, nightly visits. Rudy would wait until Marjerie was asleep and the neighborhood was dark before slipping into the house. They were careful, but not careful enough.

One night, young Marjerie was awakened by the sound of the gate. Peeking through a crack in her window, she saw a figure: her Ninong Rudy, slipping out of their house, jacket in hand, head down as if not to wake anyone. The next morning, she asked her mother about it. Startled, Ofelia quickly fabricated a story: Rudy had just left something behind and was trying to be quiet.

But Marjerie wasn’t the only one who noticed. Albert’s nephew, Jason, who was staying nearby with his aunt, Aling Mercy, also grew suspicious. He saw Rudy’s frequent, lengthy visits. He saw the way they acted.

One evening, he saw Rudy embrace Ofelia in a way that was not friendly. He finally confided in Aling Mercy, Albert’s aunt, who was now sick with worry. She feared the worst, a fear that would soon be confirmed in the most tragic way possible.

In November 2012, nearly a year into Albert’s contract, the secret imploded. Ofelia, feeling dizzy and weak, dismissed it as heat and fatigue. But when the symptoms persisted, she bought a pregnancy test. In the bathroom, she stared in disbelief at the two clear, positive lines. Her world tilted. She was consumed by a paralyzing fear—fear of Albert finding out, and fear of Rudy’s reaction.

That afternoon, she confronted Rudy. The color drained from his face. As Ofelia’s panic rose, so did the tension. Rudy, clearly cornered, insisted on one “solution”: they had to get rid of the child, and fast, before anyone knew.

Ofelia didn’t agree immediately, but in the following days, the fear of shame and of losing everything consumed her. One morning, without telling Marjerie, she took a jeep to Taytay, Rizal, a small envelope of cash clutched in her hand. A contact led her down a narrow alley to a small house, where an old woman, clearly experienced in this illicit trade, accepted her. For Php 3,000, the “problem” would be solved.

The procedure was over before dark. Ofelia returned home, crying, her stomach aching and her conscience heavy. But she forced herself to act normal, desperate to erase any trace of what she had done.

Two days later, her body gave out. She began to bleed, severely. She tried to hide it, tried to get up and make breakfast for Marjerie. She only made it a few steps from the kitchen before she collapsed, unconscious. It was Marjerie who found her, pale, cold, and lying in a pool of blood. The terrified child ran screaming for Aling Mercy.

They rushed Ofelia to the hospital. She spent two days in the ICU, the doctors speaking in hushed tones about “complications” and an “illegal procedure.” On the third night, Ofelia d-ed.

In the aftermath, the entire barangay was in shock. The questions began: Why so sudden? What really happened? But one person was conspicuously absent. Rudy Pasqua. From the moment Ofelia was rushed to the hospital, he had vanished. He wasn’t at his home, his old hangouts, or answering his phone. He had disappeared like a ghost.

In Riyadh, it was 2:00 PM when Albert’s roaming number rang. It was his daughter, her voice trembling, incoherent with tears. When the words finally became clear—”Mama is g-ne”—Albert dropped to the cement floor, the phone falling from his hand. His world, the world he had been working so hard to build, simply ceased to exist.

It took three agonizing days to arrange his flight home. Every minute on the plane was a new torture, trying to understand what happened. His relatives had been vague: Ofelia had collapsed, an attack, severe bleeding. The details were missing.

When he landed in Antipolo, the cold night air and the silence of the wake hit him like a physical blow. Marjerie sat in a corner, her eyes dry, as if she had no tears left. The next day, as Albert sorted through Ofelia’s belongings, Jason approached him.

He sat his uncle down and, in a low, serious voice, told him everything. The visits. The late-night departures. And the final, crushing rumor: Ofelia had been pregnant.

Albert was speechless. He couldn’t process the idea that Rudy—his kumpare, the man who wore a barong at Marjerie’s baptism, the man he called brother—could be at the center of this. That night, scrolling through Ofelia’s phone, he saw it. The call log was filled not with his number, but a new one. Aling Mercy confirmed his worst fear: it was Rudy’s.

The picture of betrayal was now complete and horrifyingly clear. His grief, deep and suffocating, began to curdle into a white-hot rage. He had sacrificed everything for his family, only to have it destroyed by the one man he trusted to protect them.

A month after the funeral, Albert went to the police and filed a blotter report. He had no hard evidence for a criminal case, only testimony, but he needed a record. Then, he began his own hunt. He went to Rudy’s old construction site in Cainta. The foreman said Rudy had called weeks ago, claimed an emergency, and never returned. He asked around at old drinking spots. Someone had seen him in Pasig, but he’d vanished after news of Ofelia’s d-ath spread.

For nearly a year, Albert searched, fueled by a singular, burning need for answers. In late 2013, he got a tip. A contact was sure he’d seen Rudy leasing a small room in an old apartment building in Pasig.

That night, Albert went to the address. The building was dark. He climbed the wooden stairs to the unit at the end of the hall. A faint light glowed from within. He took a deep breath and knocked. For the first time since he left for Saudi, Albert and Rudy were face to face.

The silence was broken in an instant. Albert lunged, his fist connecting with Rudy’s face. The fight was brutal, a desperate clash in the small room. Albert, powered by a year of stored-up rage and pain, was stronger. In the chaos, a bottle smashed on the floor. Albert’s hand found the jagged edge. In a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, he lunged. The fight stopped. Another life was lost.

Albert walked out of the building, the weight on his chest heavier than ever. Hours later, just before dawn, he walked into the nearest police station in Pasig. Alone, without a lawyer, he sat down and calmly surrendered himself.

The trial began in March 2015. The case of Albert Locaberte, the betrayed OFW, was the talk of the town. The courtroom was packed. The prosecution argued for murder, but the defense had a powerful, tragic story to tell.

Marjerie, now a young woman, took the stand. She recounted seeing Rudy leave their home. Jason presented his old notebook, where he’d logged the dates and times of Rudy’s visits. The doctor’s testimony was damning, confirming Ofelia d-ed from “septic shock due to post-ab-rtion infection” from a non-medical procedure. Text messages from Ofelia’s phone laid the affair bare.

The defense argued for mitigating circumstances under Article 13 of the Revised Penal Code: passion and obfuscation, provocation, and emotional shock. Albert was not a cold-blooded killer; he was a broken man who had been pushed past his limit.

The court agreed. Albert was found guilty, but of homicide, not murder. He was sentenced to three years and six months in prison. In the courtroom, Albert and Marjerie embraced, a silent, tearful exchange of pain and forgiveness.

Albert served his time quietly. Marjerie visited, leaving him a letter of thanks for being a good father despite it all. When he was released, he was a free man, but the world had changed. His criminal record was a permanent stain, making a return to Saudi impossible.

Instead of despairing, Albert started over. An old neighbor gave him an unused pares (beef stew) cart. On the side of an alley, Albert Locaberte began a new chapter. His pares became a local favorite. Marjerie, now a working college student studying education, would help him on weekends.

On her graduation day, Albert sat in the back row, his applause the loudest in the hall as Marjerie, the daughter he had sacrificed everything for, received her diploma. He never remarried, pouring his life into his small business and his daughter.

The past was a dark, inescapable part of his story, but it was, at last, finished. The man who had lost everything in a fog of betrayal had finally found a new, hard-won hope in the light of day.