I WAS THE POOR BOY SHE MARRIED TO REBEL AGAINST HER PARENTS. I THOUGHT SHE LOVED ME. UNTIL I FOUND HER IN BED WITH MY BEST FRIEND.
# THE DRIVER’S SON
## Chapter 1: The Bedroom
The air conditioner was set too cold.
I stood in the doorway of my own bedroom, watching the sheets move in rhythm. The lamp on the nightstand cast a yellow glow across the skin of two people who were supposed to love me.
One was my wife. The other was my best friend.
“Astrid,” I said.
Her head snapped toward me. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.
“Elias—” She pulled the sheet up to her chest. “This isn’t—”
“Don’t.” My voice was calm. Too calm. “Don’t insult me by lying.”
Ramon sat up beside her. He didn’t look guilty. He looked like he had been waiting for this moment. His chest was bare. His hair was messy. He had the same grin he used when we were teenagers stealing mangoes from the neighbor’s tree.
“Elias, brother,” he said. “You came home early.”
“I live here.”
“Right.” He laughed. The sound was different now. Sharper. Crueler. “You live here. In this house. With this woman. Because she picked you.”
I looked at Astrid. Her engagement ring was on the nightstand. She had taken it off.
“When did this start?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” Ramon swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wasn’t wearing anything. The tattoos on his back caught the light. I remembered getting one of those tattoos with him. A stupid dragon. We were eighteen. We thought we were invincible.
“Elias,” Astrid said. Her voice was shaking. But not with guilt. With irritation. Like I had interrupted something important. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Talk about what? How you’re sleeping with my best friend in my bed?”
“It’s not what you think—”
“It’s exactly what I think.” I stepped into the room. The carpet was soft under my feet. My shoes were still on. I hadn’t even taken them off. “How long?”
Ramon stood up. He grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.
“She needed someone real,” he said. “Someone who understands her. Not someone who’s grateful for leftovers.”
My hands clenched at my sides.
“Ramon,” Astrid whispered. “Don’t—”
“What? He’s going to find out anyway.” Ramon walked toward me. He was taller than me. Always had been. “You think she married you because she loved you? She married you to piss off her parents. You were a project, Elias. A charity case. The driver’s son who needed a leg up.”
I remembered the wedding. Three hundred guests. Astrid’s father giving me a handshake like I was a cockroach he had to tolerate. Her mother refusing to call me by name. Just “the driver’s boy.”
And Astrid, holding my hand, whispering: *”It’s okay. I love you. They’ll come around.”*
“I brought you into this company,” I said. “I gave you a job. A future.”
Ramon laughed again. “You gave me a job? You convinced your wife to give me a job. That’s not the same thing.”
Astrid was crying now. Or pretending to. Her tears were always perfect. Just the right amount. Just the right timing.
“Elias, please—”
“Please what?” I asked.
“Please don’t make this hard.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her nails were freshly painted. Red. The color she wore when she wanted to feel powerful.
“Make this hard?”
“He’s just a charity project,” Ramon said. “You’re the real man.”
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Final.
I looked at them. My wife. My best friend. Standing together against me.
And I smiled.
“Thank you,” I said.
Ramon frowned. “What?”
“Thank you. Now I have a reason to take everything back.”
I turned around and walked out of the room.
Behind me, I heard Astrid say, “What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
The door closed with a soft click.
—
**End of Chapter 1**
—
## Chapter 2: The Staircase
I walked down the staircase without rushing.
The stairs were marble. Cold. Expensive. I counted each step. Twenty-three. I had counted them a hundred times before. When I first moved into this house, I used to count them to remind myself I was lucky. The driver’s son, living in a mansion.
The mansion. It belonged to Astrid’s family. I was just living in it. Like a guest who overstayed his welcome.
My father used to park his car at the back of this house. He would wait for hours while Astrid’s father attended parties. I would sit beside him in the driver’s seat, eating pandesal from the corner store, watching the rich people go in and out.
He would say: “Elias, one day, you will be inside. Not outside.”
I was inside now. But I was still outside.
The living room was empty. The maids had gone home. The security guard was watching TV in the guardhouse. The house was quiet except for the humming of the refrigerator.
I walked to the study. The one Astrid’s father used. The one he told me never to enter without permission.
I went inside.
The room smelled like old paper and whiskey. The desk was mahogany. The chair was leather. The walls were lined with books nobody ever read.
I sat in the chair. It was too big for me. But I didn’t care.
I opened the drawer. The bottom one. The one with the lock.
I knew the combination. Astrid had told me once, drunk and laughing, when her father was away.
“2890,” she had said. “His birthday. How original, right?”
I turned the dial. Click. Click. Click.
The drawer opened.
Inside was a folder. Red. Thick. Marked “Elias Diaz.”
I opened it.
The first page was a letter. From a law firm in Manila. Dated six months ago.
*Dear Mr. Diaz,*
*We are pleased to inform you that you are the sole beneficiary of the estate of Mr. Robert Montgomery, your biological father. Upon your twenty-fifth birthday, you will receive…*
I stopped reading.
My biological father.
The man my mother never talked about. The American who had come to the Philippines for business and left before I was born. My mother said he was a “tourist.” She said he was “nobody.”
He was nobody. He was also a silent partner in Astrid’s family’s company.
I had found the letters by accident. Three years ago. Cleaning out my mother’s closet after she died. A box of papers. A photo of a tall man with blue eyes standing beside a car. A copy of a birth certificate with his name on it.
I had kept it secret. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was still hoping Astrid would love me. I was still hoping I could be part of her world without needing my real father’s money.
I was wrong.
Now I understood.
Robert Montgomery was worth more than Astrid’s entire family. And he had left everything to me. His shares in the company. His properties. His money.
But there was a condition.
I had to reach twenty-five. And I had to present myself to the board.
I looked at the letter again. The date was approaching. Two months.
I closed the folder.
Behind me, I heard footsteps.
“Elias?”
Astrid’s voice. Soft now. Apologetic.
I turned around. She was standing in the doorway, wearing a robe now. Her hair was wet. She had taken a shower.
“I know,” she said. “I know I messed up.”
“You did.”
“But it didn’t mean anything—”
“Don’t.” I stood up. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been lying for months. Years. The only person you’ve been honest with is Ramon.”
“He’s leaving,” she said. “I told him to go.”
“Good. He’s not welcome here anymore.”
“And me? Am I welcome?”
I looked at her. She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful. Even when she was saying horrible things, she was beautiful.
“Astrid,” I said. “I’m going to ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Did you ever love me?”
She paused. One second. Two.
“Of course I—”
“The truth.”
She looked down at her hands. “I loved what you did for me. You were kind. You were gentle. You never asked for anything.”
“I asked for love.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I took a deep breath. The air was cold. My chest hurt.
“You need to leave,” I said. “This house. The company. Everything.”
“What?”
“This was your parents’ house. Not ours. It was never ours.”
“Elias, where will I go—”
“I don’t care.” I walked toward the door. “You should have thought about that before you slept with my best friend.”
I walked past her. She reached for my arm. I pulled away.
I walked to the front door. I opened it. The morning air was warm and smelled like rain.
I walked down the driveway. Past the gates. Past the guardhouse. Past the street where my father used to wait.
I didn’t look back.
—
**End of Chapter 2**
—
## Chapter 3: The Letter
I stayed at my father’s house for three weeks.
The house was small. Two bedrooms. A kitchen with a gas stove that always took three tries to light. The floor was tile, cracked in places. The roof leaked when it rained.
I loved every inch of it.
My father didn’t ask questions when I arrived. He just opened the door, looked at my face, and said: “Come in, anak.”
I sat at the dining table. The same table where I had done my homework, eaten my meals, and dreamed of a different life.
“Pa,” I said. “I need to tell you something.”
He sat across from me. His hands were calloused from decades of driving. His face was lined from years of sun and worry.
“I know, anak,” he said. “I know.”
“Know what?”
“About your real father.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. Yellowed. Old. “Your mother gave me this before she died. She told me to give it to you when you were ready.”
I took the paper. It was a letter. Handwritten. In my mother’s shaky script.
*Elias,*
*If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth while I was alive. Your father is a good man. But he’s not your father by blood.*
*Your real father was a man named Robert Montgomery. He loved me. He wanted to marry me. But my family refused. They said an American could never love me. They said he would leave.*
*He left. But not because he wanted to. He had to go back to the US. Business. His family. He promised to come back for me. He never did.*
*He didn’t know about you. I didn’t tell him. I was ashamed. I was scared. I thought I could raise you alone.*
*I was wrong.*
*If you ever find him, tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I always loved him.*
*I love you, Elias. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.*
*—Mama*
I read the letter three times. The words blurred after the first.
“Pa,” I said. “Did you know?”
He nodded. “I knew before I married her. She told me everything. I didn’t care. I loved her. I loved you.”
“You raised me. You worked for her family. You never said anything.”
“I couldn’t. Not until you were ready.”
I folded the letter carefully. The paper was brittle. I was afraid it would tear.
“What happened to Robert Montgomery?” I asked.
“He died a few years ago. But before he died, he found out about you. He tried to contact you. He left you something.”
“His shares.”
My father looked surprised. “You know?”
“I found the papers. In my wife’s house.”
“Wife.” My father said the word like it tasted bitter. “She doesn’t deserve you.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to take the shares?”
I looked at the letter again. My mother’s words. Her love. Her mistakes.
“I’m going to take everything,” I said.
The next morning, I called the law firm. The same one from the letter.
*”Mr. Diaz, we’ve been waiting for your call. Please come to our office. We have documents for you to sign.”*
I went to Manila. I signed the papers. I opened the envelope.
The shares were worth millions.
I walked out of the office and called my father.
“Pa,” I said. “I’m coming home. I need to tell you something.”
“Anak, is it good news?”
I smiled. “It’s the best news.”
—
**End of Chapter 3**
—
## Chapter 4: The Meeting
The boardroom was cold. Just like my bedroom had been.
I sat at the end of the table. My father sat beside me. His hands were folded on the table. He looked nervous. I squeezed his arm.
“They’ll be here soon,” I said.
“Anak, are you sure about this?”
“Pa, I’ve never been more sure.”
The door opened.
Astrid’s father walked in first. His name was Don Ignacio. He was tall. His hair was gray. His suits were always expensive.
“Ignacio,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
He stopped. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t call me by my first name.”
“Today, I do.”
Behind him came Astrid’s mother. Then Astrid herself. Then Ramon.
Ramon. He was wearing a suit. He looked important. He looked like he belonged.
“Elias,” Astrid said. Her voice was careful. “What’s this about?”
I gestured to the chairs. “Sit down. Please.”
They sat. All of them. On one side of the table. Me and my father on the other.
“Ignacio,” I said. “Do you know who Robert Montgomery was?”
Don Ignacio’s face went pale. “Where did you hear that name?”
“He was my father.”
The room went silent. The air conditioning hummed.
“Your father?” Astrid’s mother laughed. “Your father is a driver.”
I looked at my father. He nodded.
“I’m not talking about him,” I said. “I’m talking about my biological father. The one who was a silent partner in your company. The one who owned fifteen percent of your business.”
Don Ignacio stood up. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” I opened the folder on the table. The one from the law firm. “I have the documents here. The shares. The contracts. Everything.”
“He didn’t have a son—”
“He didn’t know he had a son. My mother didn’t tell him.”
Don Ignacio sat down slowly. His face was gray.
“Fifteen percent,” he whispered. “You own fifteen percent.”
“More than anyone else in this room.” I spread the documents on the table. “And I have the right to call a vote. A vote to remove the current management.”
Astrid stared at me. “Elias, you can’t—”
“I can. And I will.”
“This is my father’s company—”
“And I own more of it than he does.”
Ramon spoke up. His voice was sharp. “You think money makes you better than us?”
I turned to him. “Better? No. But money makes me powerful. And power is what you wanted, right?”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
“Ramon,” I said. “You were my best friend. I trusted you. I gave you a job. I gave you a future. And you repaid me by sleeping with my wife.”
“Elias—”
“Don’t. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I’m done.”
I turned to Astrid.
“And you. You married me to rebel. Not because you loved me. That’s fine. I was happy to be chosen. But you humiliated me. You let your family humiliate me. You let everyone call me the driver’s son like it was a curse.”
“Elias, please—”
“I’m not going to destroy your family,” I said. “But I’m going to take my place. My real place.”
I stood up. My father stood with me.
“If anyone in this room has a problem with that,” I said, “you’re welcome to leave.”
No one moved.
I looked at my father. He was smiling. Tears were in his eyes.
“I’m proud of you, anak,” he said.
“Thank you, Pa.”
Astrid stood up. “Elias, can we talk? Alone?”
I looked at her. She was beautiful. But beauty wasn’t enough.
“I’m done talking,” I said. “I’m done forgiving. I’m done being less than I deserve.”
I walked to the door.
“Elias,” Astrid called out. “What about our marriage?”
I turned around. I looked at her. At Ramon. At her parents.
“Our marriage ended the night I saw you in bed with him,” I said. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
I walked out.
The sunlight hit my face. Warm. Bright. Free.
—
**End of Chapter 4**
—
## Chapter 5: The Future
I didn’t go back to the mansion.
I didn’t need to.
I had my father’s house. My father’s love. My mother’s letter. And my real father’s legacy.
I moved into a small apartment in Makati. Two bedrooms. A view of the city. I didn’t need marble floors or crystal chandeliers.
I needed peace.
The lawyers handled everything. The shares were transferred. My name was on the board. People who had called me “the driver’s son” now called me “Mr. Diaz.”
But I didn’t let it change me.
I went to the office every day. I wore simple clothes. I shook hands with everyone. The guards. The cleaners. The junior staff. I remembered where I came from.
One day, Astrid came to my office.
She didn’t look like a heiress anymore. Her hair was plain. Her clothes were simple. She had lost weight.
“Elias,” she said. “Can I sit down?”
“Sure.”
She sat in the chair across from me. The same chair Ramon had sat in when I gave him a job.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I said it before. But I mean it now. I was wrong. About everything.”
I said nothing.
“I thought if I married you, I could show my parents I was independent. But I was never independent. I was just running away.”
“You were running away,” I agreed. “I was running toward you. That’s the difference.”
“I know.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m seeing a therapist now. I’m trying to be better.”
“That’s good.”
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to take me back. But I wanted to tell you in person.”
I looked at her. She was trying. I could see it in her face. The vulnerability. The sadness.
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I was angry. But now I’m just—”
“Just what?”
“Done. I’m done with anger. I’m done with revenge. I’m done with living in the past.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Astrid, I hope you find happiness. I really do. But it won’t be with me.”
She stood up. “I know. I just… I had to try.”
She walked to the door.
“Astrid,” I said.
She turned around.
“Ramon isn’t your friend. He’s never been your friend. He just uses people.”
“I know. I found that out the hard way.”
She left.
I sat in my office, looking at the city. The buildings were tall. The sky was blue. The traffic was loud.
My phone buzzed. A text from my father: *”Anak, dinner at 6. I’m making your favorite.”*
I smiled. I typed back: *”I’ll be there, Pa.”*
I closed my eyes.
I thought about my mother. Her letter. Her love. Her lies. She had protected me the only way she knew how.
I thought about my father. The man who raised me. Who taught me to work hard. To be honest. To forgive.
I thought about myself. The driver’s son. The poor boy. The charity project.
None of those names fit anymore.
I opened my eyes.
I looked at the papers on my desk. Contracts. Reports. Plans for the future.
I didn’t need to crush the people who hurt me. I didn’t need to take their money. I didn’t need to destroy their lives.
I just needed to live mine.
I stood up. I grabbed my jacket. I walked out of the office.
The security guard nodded at me. “Good evening, Sir.”
“Good evening, Kuya. How’s your daughter?”
“She’s doing well, Sir. Thank you for asking.”
I smiled. “Tell her to study hard. Education is everything.”
“I will, Sir.”
I walked to the elevator.
The doors closed. The floor numbers changed. 15. 14. 13.
When the doors opened, I was on the ground floor. The lobby was filled with people. Workers. Visitors. Everyone going somewhere.
I walked through them. I walked out the door.
The air outside was warm. The jeepneys were honking. The street vendors were selling barbecue and balut.
I hailed a jeepney.
“Bayan, Kuya,” I said.
“Oo, dali.”
I climbed inside. The seat was plastic. The handle was sticky. The man beside me was carrying a sack of rice.
I didn’t care.
The jeepney started moving. The wind blew through the open sides.
I looked at my hands. The same hands I used to wash cars with. The same hands I used to type invoices with. The same hands that held my mother’s letter.
They had never felt stronger.
I thought about the future. I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t need to know.
I just needed to keep going. One step at a time. One day at a time.
The jeepney stopped. I got off.
I walked to my father’s house. The door was open. The smell of adobo came out.
“Pa,” I called. “I’m home.”
“Come in, anak. The food is ready.”
I walked inside.
The table was set. Two plates. Two glasses. A bowl of rice. A pot of adobo.
My father was sitting in his usual seat. He was smiling.
We ate. We talked. We laughed.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a guest.
I felt like I belonged.
—
**THE END**
