I send my mother 1.5 million pesos monthly for my postpartum wife. Coming home early, I found my wife eating spoiled rice with fish heads. Furious, I confronted my mom, who sneered, “She doesn’t deserve better.” Then, I checked the family safe and found…

my sweat-drenched shirt like a physical wall. I bypassed the standard aisles and purchased the heavy, glass bottles of imported, nutrient-dense milk the obstetrician had specifically mandated. The price tag caused a brief, sharp pain in my chest—it was an exorbitant luxury—but I carried the frosted glass to the register with a sense of solemn duty.continue reading …