Chapter 42: Visiting
Nine o’clock in the evening, same day.
Timothy parked the 2020 Ford Raptor next to the road curb in Zaragoza Tondo Wet Market.
This was the place where his mother worked, and he could see from his seat where she was cleaning the stall she was helping with. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow across the damp concrete. Buckets of water sloshed as his mother dragged them across the ground, scrubbing the tiles with a ragged brush. Her apron was stained, her slippers wet, her arms moving in steady rhythm born from habit, not choice.
Beside her, little Angela sat on an overturned plastic crate, swinging her legs idly. She clutched a small school bag against her chest, her uniform wrinkled from the day. Every now and then, she yawned, trying to stay awake as she waited for her mother to finish.
Timothy leaned back in his seat, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The sight struck something deep inside him. He remembered nights when he had waited there too, younger and just as tired, watching his mother break her back for a handful of pesos. Years had passed, but nothing had changed for her.
Though he could change their life the moment he had gotten millions of pesos from flipping cars, he doesn’t have money for the life he had imagined for them.
Before this year ended, he planned on changing the life of his mother and little sister. No more working for odd jobs that pay about three to four US dollars per day. After all, he has the money, and they haven’t learned about the business he had been doing.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing on the stall where his mother bent over the basin.
"You won’t have to do this anymore, Mom," he whispered under his breath. "Not after tonight. Not ever again."
Angela shifted, rubbing her eyes before looking at her mother. "Mama, are we done yet?" she asked, her small voice carrying across the empty market aisle.
"Almost, Angela," his mother said gently, her voice weary but still kind. She gave the counter one last wipe, wringing out the dirty rag before tossing it into the bucket.
Timothy picked up his phone and dialed the number of his mother. He watched as his mother grabbed the phone from her apron pocket, pressing it against her ear with her damp hand.
"Timothy? Why are you calling?" his mother said, her voice tired but still carrying that motherly firmness.
"I just wanted to ask, when are you and Angela leaving?" Timothy asked, his gaze softening as he saw his little sister nodding off on the crate.
"Soon," Evelyn answered, glancing around the stall. "I’ll finish cleaning, then we’ll go. Just a little longer."
Timothy opened his mouth, about to tell her not to worry, that he’d pick them up, when a shadow stepped into view beside her.
A man, stocky and sharp-eyed, leaned against the stall counter. He was followed by another, thinner but mean-looking, his hands tucked into his pockets. Their presence was sharp, slicing through the normal rhythm of closing time.
Timothy froze, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t need to guess who they were.
"Evelyn," the stocky man said, his voice too loud for the quiet aisle. "Another day, another excuse? You’ve been paying scraps, but the interest keeps piling up. Do you think we’re running a charity here?"
"I told you," Evelyn said softly, trying not to wake Angela who was now rubbing her eyes. "I’ll pay. I’ve been paying every day. Just... not all at once."
The thin man gave a mocking laugh. "Not all at once? Woman, you’ve been paying coins while the debt grows legs. It’s been months. Don’t embarrass yourself. Do you even know how much you owe us now?"
Timothy’s jaw tightened. His mother had told him before that she had taken care of it. That the loans weren’t a problem, that everything was under control. He had believed her—because sometimes, a mother would rather break her own back than let her son carry her burdens.
But now, hearing them spit the truth in front of Angela, something inside him stirred.
The stocky man slammed his hand on the counter. "Fifty thousand pesos, Evelyn. Fifty thousand. And with your pace, you’ll be dead before it’s gone."
Angela flinched, clutching her bag tighter. Evelyn raised her chin, trying to hold firm. "I said I’ll pay. You’ll get your money."
The thin one leaned closer, his sneer widening. "Really? Because from here, it looks like you can’t even afford proper shoes. What are you paying us with? Soap water?"
Timothy’s hand slid across the Raptor’s ignition. With a low growl, the engine roared to life.
Both men paused, turning their heads at the sound. Evelyn blinked, her eyes widening as the headlights washed over the stall.
The black Ford Raptor rolled forward, its tires crunching against the damp pavement, until it stopped just a meter away.
The doors opened. Timothy stepped out, his blazer catching the harsh market light. His eyes met his mother’s—hers wide with shock, Angela’s mouth forming a tiny "O" as she whispered his name.
The loaners exchanged looks.
"And who’s this?" the thin one asked, raising a brow.
"My son," Evelyn said quickly, her voice wavering.
The men laughed. "Your son drives a Ford Raptor while you’re here scrubbing fish blood? And you still can’t pay fifty thousand? What kind of joke is this?"
Timothy’s eyes darkened, his jaw set like stone. He stepped closer, the weight of his stare silencing their laughter.
"Watch your words," he said evenly. "Tell me straight. How much is the total debt?"
The stocky man sneered but answered anyway. "Fifty thousand. All-in. That’s what your mother owes."
Timothy’s gaze flicked to his mother, who looked away, shame coloring her face. He turned back to the men.
"And what are these loans for?" Timothy asked.
The thin one shrugged. "Ask her. Groceries. Rent. School. You know how it is—living poor isn’t cheap."
He looked at his mother with a sigh. "Mom, I told you to not rely on these people. If you need money, you can just ask me."
"But Timothy, that’s your money and you worked hard for it," his mother said in a low tone, embarrassed by the ordeal.
Timothy flickered his gaze to the lenders and then said. "Fifty thousand right? Do you accept bank transfer?"
The stocky man chuckled, glancing at his partner. "Bank transfer? We usually deal in cash, but money is money. You really got that much on you, kid?"
Timothy pulled out his phone without hesitation, his thumb moving swiftly over the screen. The glow lit up his face as he opened his banking app. What’s your account number?" he asked flatly.
The men exchanged looks, their smug expressions faltering at his seriousness. The thin one muttered the details, almost expecting Timothy to bluff.
Seconds later, Timothy’s phone buzzed. Transaction complete. ₱50,000 sent. He raised the screen, letting the green confirmation glow in their faces.
"There," Timothy said, his voice cold. "Paid in full. No more excuses, no more harassment. From this moment on, you will never contact my mother again.
"Look boy, we will never contact someone who has an obligation to pay us. And since the loan between us and your mom has been settled, this is a farewell."
Timothy turned to Evelyn and Angela, his expression softening. "Mom. Angela. Get in the car. We’re leaving."