SA HARAP NG BUONG OPISINA, BIGLANG YUMAKAP SA AKIN ANG LIMANG TAONG GULANG NA BATANG KASAMA NG CEO NAMIN AT SUMIGAW NG, “IKAW PALA SI TITA INA!”
SA HARAP NG BUONG OPISINA, BIGLANG YUMAKAP SA AKIN ANG LIMANG TAONG GULANG NA BATANG KASAMA NG CEO NAMIN AT SUMIGAW NG, “IKAW PALA SI TITA INA!”—NAGTAWANAN ANG ILANG EMPLEYADO DAHIL AKALA NILA ANAK NIYA AKO SA LABAS, PERO NANG DALHIN AKO NG CEO SA OPISINA NIYA, MAY INILABAS SIYANG LUMANG DRAWING MULA SA BULSA NG BATA AT DOON KO NALAMAN KUNG BAKIT PAMILYAR SA KANYA ANG MUKHA KO.
Ako si Ina Reyes.
Dalawampu't apat na taong gulang.
At hanggang sa araw na iyon, masasabi kong napakasimple ng personal kong buhay.
Walang boyfriend.
Walang ex.
Walang complicated relationship.
Walang secret admirer na alam ko.
Hindi dahil ayaw kong magmahal.
Sadyang masyado akong naging abala sa pagbuo ng buhay na gusto ko.
Scholar ako noong college.
Pagkatapos ng graduation, pumasok ako bilang junior financial analyst sa Valmora Foods, isang malaking kumpanyang may warehouses at distribution centers sa iba't ibang bahagi ng bansa.
Hindi ako executive.
Hindi rin ako prodigy na twenty years old pa lang ay nakaupo na sa boardroom kasama ang mga bilyonaryo.
Ordinaryong empleyada ako.
Pero masipag.
Maingat.
At medyo obsessive sa spreadsheets.
Ang CEO namin ay si Nicolas Valmora.
Thirty-seven.
Tahimik.
Mahigpit.
At bihirang ngumiti.
Hindi siya yung CEO na sumisigaw at nagtatapon ng papel.
Mas nakakatakot siya dahil hindi niya kailangang gawin iyon.
Kapag may mali sa report mo, titingnan ka lang niya.
Then ask:
“Na-check mo ba ito?”
At somehow, gusto mo nang umamin sa lahat ng kasalanan mo mula kindergarten.
Tinatawag siyang “Freezer” ng ilang empleyado kapag wala siya.
Hindi ko alam kung alam niya.
Probably.
Hindi rin totoo ang tsismis na wala siyang pamilya.
May pamilya siya.
May matandang ama.
May nakatatandang kapatid na babae.
At may limang taong gulang na pamangkin.
Iyon ang hindi alam ng karamihan.
Lunes nang umagang unang dumating sa opisina ang batang iyon.
Nasa lobby ako noon, nakikipagtalo sa printer technician sa cellphone habang may hawak na folder at pandesal.
Then bumukas ang elevator.
Lumabas si Nicolas.
At may hawak siyang maliit na kamay.
Napatingin kaming lahat.
May batang lalaki sa tabi niya.
Curly hair.
Blue backpack.
May dinosaur na nakasabit sa zipper.
Naka-polo pero magkaiba ang kulay ng medyas.
Napangiti ako.
Hindi dahil cute lang siya.
Dahil impossible iyong combination sa tabi ni Nicolas na parang ipinanganak nang naka-three-piece suit.
The child saw me.
Huminto siya.
I stopped too.
His eyes widened.
Then he released Nicolas's hand.
“Sebastian.”
Hindi nakinig ang bata.
Tumakbo siya sa akin.
Napaatras ako nang bigla niya akong yakapin sa baywang.
Then he shouted:
“Ikaw pala si Tita Ina!”
Natahimik ang lobby.
I looked down.
“Ha?”
He looked incredibly happy.
“Ikaw!”
“Sebastian.”
Nicolas was already walking toward us.
The boy pointed at me.
“Tito Nic, siya!”
Naramdaman kong lahat ng tao sa reception ay nakatingin.
I wanted the floor to open.
“Sir…”
Nicolas looked almost as uncomfortable as I was.
Almost.
“Sebastian, let go of Ms. Reyes.”
“But she's Tita Ina.”
“I know.”
I froze.
Excuse me?
“You know?”
His jaw tightened.
“Ms. Reyes.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Office.”
That sounded even worse.
Habang naglalakad kami papunta sa elevator, narinig kong may bumulong sa likod:
“Patay.”
I agreed.
Pagpasok namin sa opisina ni Nicolas, naupo si Sebastian sa sofa.
Ako naman, nakatayo sa harap ng desk na parang naghihintay ng disciplinary action.
“Sir, hindi ko po alam kung bakit ako kilala ng bata.”
“I know.”
“Never ko pa po siyang nakita.”
“I know.”
“Then bakit—”
“Sebastian.”
The child opened his backpack.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Lumapit siya sa akin.
“Sa'yo.”
I took it.
Drawing.
Crayons.
May malaking bahay.
Tatlong tao.
Isang maliit na batang lalaki.
Isang matangkad na lalaki.
At isang babaeng mahaba ang buhok.
Sa ilalim ng babae, may sulat:
Tita Ina.
Napatingin ako kay Nicolas.
“Sir?”
He exhaled.
“It's my fault.”
Then he explained.
Sebastian's mother, Clara, was Nicolas's older sister.
Two years earlier, Clara and her husband died in an accident.
Nicolas became Sebastian's legal guardian.
Hindi niya ito ibinalita sa kumpanya dahil ayaw niyang gawing public curiosity ang bata.
Sebastian struggled after losing both parents.
May therapist.
May school counselor.
May yaya.
May grandparents.
Pero ang pinakamahirap para sa kanya ay ang tanong kung bakit ang ibang bata may nanay at tatay na sumusundo sa school.
One evening, Sebastian apparently saw Nicolas reviewing photos from a company outreach program.
I remembered that event.
Nagkaroon kami ng weekend feeding program at vaccination drive para sa mga alagang hayop ng ilang low-income families.
I volunteered.
May company photographer.
One photo showed me crouching beside a little girl while holding her puppy.
Sebastian saw it.
“Who's she?”
Nicolas answered:
“Ina.”
Wrong answer.
Because my name is Ina.
But to a five-year-old Filipino child—
ina also means mother.
I covered my mouth.
“No.”
For the first time since I joined Valmora, I saw Nicolas look embarrassed.
“Yes.”
I started laughing.
I tried not to.
Failed.
“Sorry, sir.”
“It's not funny.”
“Medyo po.”
Sebastian pointed at the drawing.
“Tita Ina.”
Apparently Nicolas had spent several weeks correcting him.
“Her name is Ina.”
“I know. Tita Ina.”
“She's not your mother.”
“I know.”
But Sebastian started drawing me anyway.
Not because he believed I was literally his mother.
Because he liked the picture.
And because my name amused him.
“So bakit niya ako nakilala agad?”
Nicolas looked away.
That was suspicious.
“Sir?”
He walked toward his desk.
“There were other photos.”
“How many?”
“A few.”
“How many is a few?”
Sebastian answered.
“Marami.”
I looked at Nicolas.
His ears turned slightly red.
Interesting.
But before I could interpret anything, he said:
“Ms. Reyes, I apologize. I should have explained better to him.”
“It's okay.”
“It isn't your responsibility to entertain him.”
“Okay.”
“And you don't have to interact with him if you're uncomfortable.”
That sentence mattered.
Because he didn't hand me a child and suddenly decide I should become instant mommy.
He apologized.
He gave me an exit.
I looked at Sebastian.
He was drawing again.
“Why is he here today?”
Nicolas's expression changed.
“His nanny had a family emergency. My father is out of town. I have meetings I can't cancel.”
I nodded.
Then returned the drawing.
“Cute.”
Sebastian beamed.
“You like dinosaurs?”
“Opo.”
“What kind?”
“Triceratops.”
His face became serious.
“Wrong.”
I blinked.
“Wrong?”
“T-rex.”
“Excuse me?”
“T-rex is best.”
I looked at Nicolas.
“Sir, I'm afraid we have a serious conflict.”
His lips moved.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
That should have been the end.
It wasn't.
Over the next few months, I occasionally saw Sebastian at company family events.
Sometimes he'd wave.
Sometimes he'd run toward me.
But Nicolas never asked me to babysit.
Never used his nephew as an excuse to force closeness.
Then one Saturday, we had a company tree-planting activity.
Sebastian came.
He followed me around for half the morning.
At lunch, he fell asleep with his head on my arm.
Nicolas approached.
“I'll take him.”
“Okay.”
But when he tried to lift him, Sebastian woke up.
“No.”
“Sebastian.”
“Tita Ina.”
He clung to me.
I laughed.
“Traitor.”
Nicolas looked at me.
“He normally prefers me.”
“Not anymore.”
“You sound proud.”
“A little.”
That was the first time Nicolas smiled at me.
A real smile.
It changed his entire face.
And unfortunately for me—
I noticed.
After that, we began talking.
Not dating.
Talking.
Coffee after meetings.
Occasional lunch.
Messages about work that slowly became messages about normal things.
He discovered I loved cheap horror movies.
I discovered he couldn't cook rice properly without a rice cooker.
I found out the terrifying CEO kept emergency dinosaur stickers in his wallet because Sebastian sometimes had panic attacks.
He found out I sent part of my salary to my parents every month.
One night, after a late budget meeting, we were the last two people in the conference room.
He asked:
“Can I ask you something personal?”
I closed my laptop.
“Depends.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I stared at him.
“Sir.”
“Nicolas.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Why?”
“You're my CEO.”
“I know.”
“That's exactly the problem.”
He nodded.
No argument.
“I like you.”
My brain stopped.
“What?”
“I've liked you for a while.”
“How long?”
“Before Sebastian saw your photo.”
I remembered the company outreach pictures.
Oh.
“So the maraming photos…”
He looked embarrassed again.
“I didn't take them.”
“But you saved them?”
Silence.
I laughed.
“That's worse.”
“I realize that.”
Then his expression became serious.
“I don't want my position to pressure you.”
That stopped my laughter.
“If you're not interested, nothing changes professionally.”
I studied him.
“Sir—Nicolas—kahit interesado ako, complicated ito.”
“I know.”
“You control my department.”
“Indirectly, yes.”
“So dating you while reporting through your organization could become unfair to me and to other people.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
No romantic speech.
No “rules don't apply because I'm billionaire.”
We discussed it like adults.
Eventually, after consultation with HR and compliance, I transferred to a separate affiliate where Nicolas wasn't part of my reporting or evaluation chain.
Hindi niya ako pinromote.
Hindi niya dinoble ang sweldo ko.
Actually, the new role was harder.
I accepted because it was a genuine career opportunity independent of our relationship.
Only after the transfer became official did we go on our first actual date.
No private island.
No helicopter.
We went to a science museum.
Because Sebastian invited himself.
“Date natin ito,” I whispered to Nicolas.
“I tried.”
Sebastian was pressing every button on an exhibit.
“You failed.”
“I know.”
Then the boy ran back.
“Tita Ina! Look!”
I smiled.
And suddenly, I realized I didn't mind.
But I also understood something important.
Loving Nicolas did not automatically make me Sebastian's mother.
The child already had a mother.
Clara.
She was dead.
Not erased.
So I never encouraged Sebastian to call me Mommy.
When he asked once:
“Pwede Mommy?”
I crouched in front of him.
“You already have a mommy.”
“She's in heaven.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you?”
I thought.
“Tita Ina muna.”
“Forever?”
“Hindi ko alam.”
He considered it.
“Okay.”
Then he asked for ice cream.
Children can be wonderfully practical.
My relationship with Nicolas grew slowly.
And he wasn't always easy.
He was controlling about schedules.
Terrible at discussing feelings.
Kapag worried siya, nagiging bossy siya.
Once, may officemate akong nag-alok ihatid ako pauwi after a late meeting.
Nicolas heard about it.
He became quiet.
Too quiet.
That night he asked:
“Did he drive you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
“Because you were with Sebastian.”
“I could have picked you up.”
“I know.”
“He likes you.”
I stared.
“Who?”
“Your coworker.”
“And?”
Nicolas frowned.
“And nothing.”
“Correct.”
He looked irritated.
Then I said:
“Don't ever use work to punish someone because you're jealous.”
His expression changed.
“I wouldn't.”
“Good.”
“I'm allowed to dislike him.”
“Of course.”
“Very much.”
I laughed.
“That's your problem.”
He eventually laughed too.
That was our relationship.
Not billionaire orders everyone around because he's in love.
Boundaries.
Arguments.
Apologies.
Learning.
Two years later, Nicolas proposed.
Not in the company lobby.
I would have killed him.
He proposed in Clara's old garden at his father's house.
Sebastian was seven.
He held the ring box.
Nicolas knelt.
I immediately said:
“Stand up.”
He blinked.
“Can I finish?”
“Sorry.”
Sebastian whispered:
“Tita Ina, you're ruining it.”
“Okay, sorry.”
Nicolas started again.
“I spent most of my adult life believing that if I could control enough things, I could keep the people I loved safe.”
He looked at Sebastian.
“I learned the hard way that isn't true.”
Then at me.
“You taught me something different.”
“What?”
“That loving someone isn't keeping them where you want them.”
“It's making room for them to choose you.”
I cried.
He asked me to marry him.
I said yes.
Then Sebastian raised his hand.
“I have question.”
We both laughed.
“What?”
“When you marry Tito, what do I call you?”
That question had been waiting for two years.
I sat beside him.
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
“Can I call you Mommy Ina?”
My throat tightened.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Mommy Clara is my first mommy.”
“Yes.”
“And you're Mommy Ina.”
I looked at Nicolas.
He was already crying.
So much for Ice Man.
I hugged Sebastian.
“Okay.”
He whispered:
“But I don't have to call you that when I'm mad.”
I laughed into his hair.
“Deal.”
We married six months later.
Small ceremony.
Family.
Friends.
A few coworkers.
No viral proposal.
No company-wide spectacle.
And no, becoming Nicolas's wife didn't turn me into an instant executive or billionaire princess.
I kept working.
Kept my own account.
Kept my career.
Nicolas remained intimidating in meetings.
At home, Sebastian discovered his uncle could be defeated simply by saying:
“Mommy Ina said yes.”
Which caused another household rule.
“Stop using me against your guardian.”
“But it works.”
“Exactly why you have to stop.”
Years later, may bago kaming empleyada na nakakita ng framed photograph sa office ko.
Picture iyon naming tatlo.
Nicolas.
Sebastian.
Me.
She asked:
“Ma'am, anak niyo po?”
I looked at the photo.
Sebastian was thirteen by then.
Taller.
Still obsessed with dinosaurs, although he denied it.
“Anak ko.”
Then she said:
“Kamukha po ng husband ninyo.”
I smiled.
“Magkamag-anak kasi sila.”
She looked confused.
I didn't explain.
Because family stories don't always fit neatly inside one sentence.
I began my twenties believing my life had to happen in order.
Career.
Boyfriend.
Marriage.
Then children.
Instead, a five-year-old boy ran across a lobby and called me by a name he misunderstood.
That misunderstanding didn't make me his mother.
It didn't make Nicolas my soulmate.
It simply introduced us.
Everything important happened afterward.
The conversations.
The boundaries.
The difficult choices.
The days Sebastian missed Clara.
The nights Nicolas worried he was failing as a guardian.
The moments I wondered whether there was enough space in their grief for me.
There was.
Not because I replaced anyone.
Because families can grow without erasing the people who came before.
Sometimes Sebastian still calls me Tita Ina when he wants something.
Especially money.
When I complain, he grins.
“You said Tita Ina muna.”
“Muna was twelve years ago.”
“Technically, you never gave an expiration date.”
Nicolas usually laughs.
Then I remind both of them how our story began.
With a CEO who accidentally told a grieving child that the woman in his photograph was named Ina.
A little boy who misunderstood.
And me—
the NBSB employee who walked into work expecting nothing more dramatic than spreadsheets and Monday traffic.
I didn't become an instant mommy that morning.
I became someone a child wanted to know.
The rest took years.
And I'm grateful it did.
May you like
Because the best part of becoming a family wasn't the moment Sebastian first called me Mommy.
It was the day I realized he no longer needed to ask whether I was staying.
