After three years of marriage, I have experienced severe diarrhea more than a hundred times.
That’s always been the case—as long as I ate at my mother-in-law’s house, my stomach would definitely hurt.
At first, I thought I had a problem with my stomach.
But then I realized that when I ate at my mom’s house or when I cooked myself, everything was fine.
I tried to tell my wife about it.
At the time he was playing Mobile Legends, not taking his eyes off the screen. “What do you want to convey?”
“I feel like something is wrong…” “What’s wrong?” “Eating Disorders…”
Suddenly, he stopped, looking at me with a cold look. “Lina, are you speaking for sure?”
“I don’t mean anything else, I just feel…” “How do you feel? “Did your mother poison you?”
I said, it’s not like that.
But deep inside, I knew something was different.
That is, until I set up a camera in the kitchen.
It was late in the afternoon, and I had a stomach ache again.
There is currently a quarterly meeting at the company, and more than thirty people are crammed into the conference room.
As the manager was reporting on our performance, my stomach suddenly turned upside down.
I felt like something was squeezing my guts.
I tried to hold on, my palms soaked in sweat.
Five minutes later, I couldn’t take it anymore.
Suddenly, I stood up and walked out the door.
The boss stopped talking and looked at me.
All eyes in the room were staring at me.
I don’t care anymore; I made my way to the bathroom.
I stayed there for 20 minutes.
When I came out, my face was pale and my legs were still shaking.
When I returned to the meeting, the disappointment was evident on the boss’s face.
At the end of the meeting, he invited me to his office.
“Lina, how many times have you been sick this year?”
I nodded and replied, “It’s seven.”
“Is it all because of the tyranny?”
“A lot.”
He looked at me and nodded suspiciously. “You’ve got to get a good check-up. Work is important, but health is more important.”
I just nodded, unable to speak.
I’ve had a check-up.
It’s been more than ten times.
I’ve had endoscopy, colonoscopy, ultrasound, blood tests, and stool tests.
The doctor told me that my intestines were normal.
I was very healthy.
But why am I still?
It’s been three years.
It has been more than a hundred times.
I’ve thought about all the possibilities.
A food allergy?
I’ve done a test, but nothing.
Lactose intolerance?
Wala rin.
Dahil ba sa stress?
Why is it that every time I eat at my mother-in-law’s house it happens, but at my mom’s house there is no problem?
I made this observation to my wife.
At the time, he was playing a game, not even looking up.
“What do you want to say?”
“I feel like…”
“Year?”
I hesitated before replying: “Maybe there’s a problem with the food Mama is cooking.”
He stopped playing and turned to me.
The blade of his gaze.
“Lina, can you hear yourself?”
“I don’t mean anything else, I just feel…”
“What do you feel? “Your mother ruined you?”
Suddenly, he stood up.
“Every time we went there, my mom always prepared a lot of food. He even cooks a special dish that doesn’t taste too good for you because he knows your stomach is sensitive. Do you know how tired he is?”
“Alam ko, pen…”
“What? Are you going to eat your heart out when you think you’re going to die?”
“I don’t suspect him, I’m just telling a possibility…”
“What is the possibility? “Is your mother going to take care of your food?”
I just kept silent.
He kept playing and ignored me anymore.
That night, we sat next to each other in bed but turned our backs on each other.
I could hear her breathing, as I remembered all the previous times.
The first time was three days after our wedding.
My mother-in-law prepared a lavish feast in Quezon City to welcome me into the family.
I enjoyed eating.
That night, my diarrhea began.
My wife said I might just be changing in the water or in the air.
The second time was a week later.
My mother-in-law is still cooking.
I’m still pooping.
My wife said I might just have a really weak digestion.
Third, fourth, fifth…
Always after eating with them.
Every time I had a doubt, he would tell me that I was just too confused.
“Why did your mother kill you? He wants you to be healthy so we can have a good time.”
Totoo from ba?
I remember the way my mother looked at me.
Her smile was sweet, full of love.
But sometimes, when he turns around, I catch a weird look.
It’s hard to explain.
Malamic.
It was as if he was looking at an enemy.
I told myself that I might just be looking back.
My mother-in-law was very fond of me.
Every time we visited, she always cooked a lot of food.
Every time we came home, he would give us a piece of bread.
On Christmas or Birthday, he would give me a gift.
How could he hurt me?
But how can I explain my diarrhea?
Tatlong taon.
More than a hundred times.
Her cooking was always over.
I made up my mind.
I’m not going to tell anyone.
I bought a camera and am going to put it in my mother-in-law’s kitchen.
I want to know the truth.
Even that fact was just a figment of my imagination.
Even my husband would come up to me and tell me that I was crazy.
I need to know.
It was the weekend, and as usual, we went to my mother-in-law’s house in San Juan for lunch.
She was so excited, she went shopping early and was busy in the kitchen.
When I arrived, I was greeted by a delicious meal.
“Mama, Nandit na pio kami!”
My mother-in-law emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron stained with grease, and smiling happily. “Yes, Lina, you are here!” Sit down, it’s almost over!”
I smiled and sat down on the couch.
My wife came into the room to talk to my mother-in-law.
I was the only one left in sin.
I looked around the kitchen; The door opened a bit and I could see my mother-in-law’s shadow busy.
He moved so fast: slicing, mowing, arranging plates—the movement was continuous.
Soon after, the food was served.
There’s adobo, steamed fish, shredded broccoli, and soup.
There was a bowl of stewed shrimp placed right across from me.
“I know shrimp is your favorite so I bought you,” my mother-in-law said with a smile. “Since your tyan is weak, I don’t put too much spice in it, I just cook it fat.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I replied as I took a sip of my tea and ate it.
He watched me eat, eyes shining and lips slightly curved.
“Masarap ba?”
“A lot.”
“Okay, you’re going to have to eat a lot more.”
I even got one.
Everyone started eating.
My father-in-law and my wife were talking about business.
From time to time, my mother-in-law would put a dish on my plate.
“Come on, let’s get this fish out of the way, it’s not going to get any better.”
“Come on, let’s have a glass of wine, it’s good for you.”
“Come on, let’s eat some meat to make you stronger.”
I’m eating while answering, but deep down I’m counting down the time.
About two hours after eating, my stomach starts to swell.
I was right, on the way home, my stomach started to swell again.
My wife was screaming as I sat on the edge of the bed, shivering.
“Oh, what? “Is that the way it is again?” he glanced at me in the rear-view mirror.
“My stomach is hurting.”
He didn’t answer anymore.
As soon as the car stopped in front of the house, I ran into the bathroom.
I was inside for half an hour.
By the time I got home, my husband was watching TV.
I was reluctant to lean back on the couch.
He looked at me quickly. “Would you like to go back to the hospital?”
“I looked around and saw nothing.”
“Baka psychological lang ‘yan.”
I didn’t blink.
Psychological.
That’s always been what he said.
It was as if I was just a hallucinate or making up a story.
It was as if I was trying to make an issue with my mother.
I would never do that.
I just want to know why.
Why do I have to eat at their house every time I?
Why is there no problem elsewhere?
Why can’t it show up in hospital tests?
The next morning, Monday, I left work.
I went to an electronics store in Quiapo.
I bought a spy camera—it was too small.
It’s very small, easy to hide in corners that won’t be noticed.
It’s connected to an app on my phone, so the live feed can be watched at any time.
I kept it in my bag.
Next time we go to their house, I’ll keep it in the kitchen.
My wife didn’t know anything about it.
When he found out, he would be furious.
He would say I was crazy.
He said I was bashing his mother.
But I don’t care anymore. I need to put an end to this ordeal.
The opportunity I had been waiting for came along. The following week, we went to visit my in-laws again. While they were all busy watching the news in the living room, I pretended to be thirsty and went into the kitchen.
Every move I made was fast. I placed the spy camera inside a small hole above the cabinet, pointed right at the stove and the sink. As soon as I got out of the car, I hung up my phone. The view is clear.
“Lina, come on! “Lunch is ready!” my mother called.
I sat down at the dinner table. He looked at me as he ate. This time, however, I wasn’t scared. I knew I had an “eye” in the kitchen.
By the time I got home, I was feeling the familiar smell of Tyrannosaurus. But instead of crying, I grabbed my phone and opened the app. I’ve been rewinding the video since the time my mom came into the kitchen to cook.
At first, everything was normal. He cut vegetables, washed the fish. But at 11:00 a.m., before he served the meals, he did something that stopped my heartbeat.
He turned to the kitchen door to make sure no one was watching. Then, he pulled a bottle out of his apron pocket. It wasn’t a bottle of soy sauce or whey.
He opened the lid and carefully dripped a viscous liquid into the shrimp bowl and into the glass of juice that was for me. Then, he took the shrimp and stirred it gently.
As he did so, he looked in the direction of the door—and for the first time, I saw his face without a mask on camera. His once gentle face was replaced by a smug, menacing grin.
“Eat a lot, Lina… when you’re about to die of diarrhea,” she whispers in the video.
My whole body was shaking. I could almost put my phone down. It turned out that it wasn’t just food that was the problem—he had been intentionally poisoning me with laxatives or any chemical for three years!
I couldn’t control myself anymore. I stood up and faced my wife who was currently lying on the couch.
“Look at this!” he yelled, slamming the phone in front of his face. “Look at your ‘good’ mother!”
He was shocked and picked up the phone. As he watched the video, I could see a change in his face. From shock, to paleness, to anger.
“What is this, Lina? Why did you put a camera in your mother’s house?!” Instead of being angry at her mother’s actions, she yelled at me!
“Is that what matters to you?! The camera?! Look at what he’s doing! He poisons me every day! No matter how much I go to the hospital, no one comes out because he puts chemicals on my food!”
“Maybe… maybe it’s just a cure for your tyranny!” he continued to defend.
“Medicine?! Did you hear what he said in the video?! He wanted me to die! I suffered for three years, I lost my job, my body weakened because of him!”
Suddenly, the door to our house opened. It was Mom. She was carrying a container of food—probably “baon” for me again.
“Oh, boys, why are you fighting?” he asked as if he had nothing to do with what was going on.
I couldn’t speak in the intensity of the anger. I held up my phone and showed him the screen that paused the moment he dripped liquid on my food.
Mom’s smile faded. She stiffened where she stood. The plastic container she was carrying fell to the floor, the dish she was carrying throwing away.
“Why, Mom?” I asked softly, but full of anger. “Why are you doing this to me?”
She looked at my husband, then at me. Her eyes changed suddenly—no more pretense. It was full of open anger.
“Because you don’t deserve my son!” she cried. “Ever since you came, you’ve taken all of his attention! You think I don’t know? You want to keep us away from each other! If I can’t get you out of my mouth with words, I’ll put you through a lot of torture until you yourself give up and leave my son!”
I sat down on the couch. Three years of suffering, all of it just because of a mother-in-law’s jealousy.
I turned to my husband, hoping he would defend me. But he just crouched down, unable to look at me.
“I’m leaving,” I said in a cold voice. “And I’m not just going to leave this house… I’m going to take this video to the police. Let’s see how good the food is in the jail, Mom.”
When she heard the word “police,” her expression suddenly changed. Courage is gone; It was replaced by a great deal of fear. He knelt down in front of me, trying to hold my hands trembling with rage.
“Lina, don’t! Have mercy on me! “I just made a mistake, I just made a mistake!” she pleaded as tears flowed. “Don’t ruin our family just because of a video!”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “A video? Three years, Mom. I spent three years going back and forth in the hospital, fainting, almost losing my job, and crying every night because I thought I was seriously ill. You just have to look at it as you smile in front of me!”
I turned to my wife. “And you… Are you still looking at your mother as if she didn’t do anything wrong?”
My husband stood up, but instead of coming up to me, he went over to my mom to set it up. “Lina, the police are too busy. She is still my mother. Let’s talk about it privately, please?”
That’s where I proved everything. No matter how much this family hurts me, they will always put each other first and I will always be the loser. The love I thought we had built up over three years was a big lie.
“We’re done,” I said softly but firmly. “I’m not just going to leave this house. We’re going to be separated.”
I grabbed my suitcase that I had been preparing in the room for a long time. Every step I took out the door was like removing a heavy chain around my neck.
I didn’t listen to them any time they called my name. I went straight to the San Juan Police Station. I showed all the evidence–the video from the spy camera, the list of my hospital checkups, and the bottle of chemical that Mama had left on the floor of our house that I had taken before I left.
It turns out that the liquid he was mixing was some kind of powerful industrial-grade laxative that was slowly destroying the lining of my intestines. If it had continued for another year, I could have suffered permanent bodily injury or worse.
A few months later, the case became a topic of discussion. Based on strong evidence, Mama was charged with Physical Injury and Attempted Poisoning. “My wife? He tried to beg to drop the case, but I confronted him with my lawyer.
“I’m not doing this just to get revenge,” I told him the last time we met in court. “I’m doing this to get back the self you stole for three years.”
That was a year ago.
I now live in a small condo near my new job. There is no longer any fear of mealtime. The pain of tyranny that seemed to be squeezing my personality was gone.
Tonight I made a simple chicken sandwich. As I sat on the edge of my seat, I felt a sense of peace. My body is strong again, and my mind is now free.
Once, I looked at my scar on the tyan—a reminder of the past. But it doesn’t hurt anymore. It was a symbol of my courage to stand up and fight for my own life.
At the end of the day, every single one of my meals is no longer accompanied by bitterness… Because the only taste that stays on my tongue is the taste of freedom