When The Poor Girl Suddenly Became Rich

Something felt off.

She didn't know when it started, or where, but she could feel it. At first it was subtle—barely noticeable, like a misplaced sock or an awkward silence at the dinner table. But as time passed, her gut feeling only grew stronger.

Gesly, her baby brother born out of the trauma of being the eldest child, wasn't quite the same anymore.

"Are you coming home later?" she asked while brushing her hair in front of the vanity.

"Not sure, Ate," he replied from the kitchen, packing his lunchbox like a professional meal prepper. "My friends and I have stuff to do after school. Research stuff."

Research stuff.

She'd heard that line several times this week. Always. Repeatedly. Almost every day.

And it always came with something like: "I might get home late." "I'll just text you where I am." "Don't wait up for me, Ate." "I brought an extra shirt."

Extra shirt?

Andi closed her eyes, watching Gesly through the edge of the mirror. He still dressed neatly. Still kept his hair tidy. But there was something new.

He smiled less. Complained less when she made him eat breakfast. Asked for fewer things. "Ate, can you buy me—" or "Ate, I have a story—" had become rare.

Gesly had grown quieter.

And as someone who had practically become a mom to him, she felt it more than anyone else would.

"What time are you coming home?" she asked again.

"Around nine, maybe," he answered, avoiding her eyes. "Depends how long the field interview takes."

"Field interview where?" Andi asked, trying not to let the worry show in her voice.

"Somewhere in, uh—Barangay something. Doesn't matter. It's public. Research, remember?"

Andi knew she shouldn't panic right away. Maybe this was normal. After all, Gesly was a teenager now. He wasn't the kid who used to hide behind her during thunderstorms. He had friends. His own world.

But why did something feel cracked? Why did it feel like... he was hiding something?

That Night

Still no Gesly.

It was 10:43 PM.

He wasn't answering calls. Not replying to messages.

Andi had finished her tea. Fourth glass. She'd rearranged the throw pillows in the living room. Bella had fallen asleep on the couch, clutching her tablet.

And her? She just sat there, staring at her phone screen.

C'mon, Gesly. Text me.

But nothing came.

Instead, something cold settled in her chest. A heavy kind of stillness that always arrived before something bad happened.

The kind of silence that only meant one thing: Something was wrong.

And she wouldn't be able to rest until she found out what it was.

---

The first thing she noticed that morning was his hoodie.

It was hot out, the sun was blazing, but he refused to take it off. Even though he was already sweating while eating breakfast.

The second thing?

His knuckles.

Small bruises. Scratches. Red marks like he'd just come from a fistfight.

"What happened there?" Andi asked, her tone casual, but her eyes sharp. She leaned forward from across the table, squinting as she reached for his hand.

But Gesly quickly pulled his hand away. "Nothing. I just bumped into the school gate yesterday."

Andi paused, fork mid-air. "Gate?"

"Yeah. The hinge is broken. I got hit while I was in a rush."

She blinked. "Do you get into fights with gates often?"

Gesly rolled his eyes. "Come on, Ate."

"Hm."

Andi didn't say anything else. She just nodded, gave a small smile, and finished her tocino in silence.

But in her mind?

Sirens.

Big, red, screaming sirens.

Later That Day

He left early. Again. Same hoodie. Same excuse.

"Group work, Ate," he said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

This time, Andi didn't stop him. She let him go. But she didn't smile back anymore.

She waited two hours. Pretended to clean the kitchen. Read a page from her notes. Deleted the same sentence three times.

Then she made a call.

Andi:

Alonzo. Can I ask a favor?

Alonzo:

Anything. What's wrong?

Andi:

I need to know where Gesly goes when he says it's "group work."

I have a bad feeling. Like… really bad.

But I don't want to scare him. Or make him shut me out.

Alonzo:

I'll find out.

That Night

He came home at 8:47 PM.

Another bruise on his arm. A scratch near his eyebrow.

"What's that this time?" Andi asked, not looking up from her laptop.

"I fell down the stairs."

"What kind of stairs punch people in the face?"

Silence.

She finally looked up, calm. Eyes steady.

"I'm not stupid, Gesly."

He didn't answer. Just nodded and walked upstairs.

No arguments. No excuses.

And that scared her even more.

---

It was late. The sky was dark, clouded, and heavy with the promise of rain.

But that wasn't what unsettled Alonzo as he sat parked in the corner of an abandoned lot, near a narrow alley where a friend had dropped him off. He'd only found the location from a fleeting MyDay story Gesly must've posted by accident.

This wasn't "group work." This wasn't a "field interview." And it definitely wasn't safe.

He spotted them from a distance. Teenagers circled around two boys facing off. A bottle being passed around. One had a metal rod. Most were smoking. Some had tattoos. And in the middle, there was Gesly.

Shit—

Alonzo didn't wait to finish the thought. He bolted from the car and crossed the street.

It was chaos—not loud, but threatening.

A punch. A shout. A shove. A swing.

And then—

"GESLY!" Alonzo roared.

Every head turned at once. The younger kids flinched. The older ones? They straightened up, puffing their chests like lions guarding territory.

Gesly's eyes widened. His lip was bleeding. Scratches lined his cheek. He was panting.

"Kuya—!" he started.

But Alonzo didn't wait. He grabbed him by the arm. "You're going home."

But before they could leave, three guys stepped in to block their way.

One held a chain. One had a neck tattoo. The third didn't look like a student—maybe hadn't been since high school.

"He's not going anywhere," said the one with the chain. "He's with us."

Alonzo slowly turned to face them, and even with the tension rising, he smiled.

A bad smile. A dangerous smile.

"Bullshit. You think I'll let you say 'he's with us' while I smash your faces in right here?"

Tattoo guy smirked. "And who the hell are you?"

And then—

Alonzo's fist slammed into the chain guy's gut before the guy could finish talking. He dropped like a sack of ice. Tattoo guy stepped back—too slow. Alonzo kicked his shin and elbowed him in the jaw.

"Don't even think about helping," Alonzo growled at Gesly, who was frozen in shock.

Another guy came forward—bigger. Carrying a baseball bat.

Alonzo sidestepped the swing, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him against a nearby tricycle hood.

One glance around and the rest backed off.

"You want more?!" Alonzo barked.

Silence. Angry. Cold. Defeated silence.

They all stepped back. Still fuming.

"In the car," Alonzo said, voice like ice. "Now."

Gesly didn't speak. Didn't ask questions.

He just obeyed.

Inside the car

Silent. Heavy.

"Kuya—" Gesly started.

"You're lucky I was the one who found you," Alonzo snapped. "If it had been anyone else—"

He slammed the steering wheel once. Just once.

But it was enough to make Gesly fall silent again.

"I'm telling your sister," Alonzo muttered.

"Kuya, please—!"

"You think I won't?! You're not just getting hurt, Gesly. You're throwing yourself into hell."

---

The house was quiet when the front door opened.

Andi looked up from the dining table, fingers clenched around a mug of untouched coffee. Her eyes—sharp, tired—went straight to the bruises on Gesly's face.

To the faint limp.

To Alonzo standing behind him, jaw tight, like he had just pulled her brother out of a fire.

And maybe, he had.

"Sit," Andi said, voice low. Controlled. Too calm.

The kind of calm that comes before a storm.

Gesly hesitated.

Alonzo gave him a nudge. "Just sit, man."

So he did.

Andi stared at him. Said nothing for a full minute.

Bella, upstairs, thankfully still asleep.

"Group work, huh?" she said flatly.

"Ate—"

"You got anything else to add to that script or are you done?" she snapped.

No shouting. No fists on the table. No glass shattering.

Just her voice—precise, surgical, like she'd rehearsed this moment all day.

"I swear to God, Gesly—if you don't talk, I'll make Lolo find out exactly where you've been. And unlike me, he won't ask first. He'll act."

Alonzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Watching. Silent backup.

And that's when Gesly did something unexpected. He sat back. Leaned into the chair. And looked his sister in the eye.

No tears. No rage. No fear.

Just stillness. Just quiet.

"I don't like being touched, Ate," he began. "Not when I don't expect it. Not when it's loud. Not when people scream in my face or talk too fast."

Andi blinked. Her lips parted—but she didn't speak.

"I don't like chaos," he went on. "But sometimes my brain looks for it. Needs it. Like… an itch in my skull I need to scratch. I need the rush. The pain. The control."

"Gesly…" she whispered.

"Lately, it's been too quiet here. Too safe. Too calm," he said, voice steady. "So I went looking."

Andi swallowed. "Looking for what?"

"For something that feels real."

He clenched a fist on the table. The scabs on his knuckles stretched and cracked.

"When someone hits you—and you hit them back—you feel your heart pounding. You're alive. You're not some orphan living in a museum of a house. You're not the dead weight your sister works overtime to protect."

"Don't you ever—" her voice cracked. "Don't you ever call yourself dead weight."

"But that's how it feels!" he snapped—for the first time. Then softened. "That's what I feel. Most days, I'm… numb. No matter the treats. No matter the new stuff. Not even Bella's hugs. Nothing clicks. No spark."

Andi's hands were trembling now. Alonzo stepped forward, ready to step in—but she raised a hand. Wait.

"You think beating up strangers will fix that?"

"No. But at least I feel something."

And that was it. That was the crack. The window.

A glimpse into the chaos hiding behind Gesly's usually quiet face.

This wasn't just rebellion. It wasn't hormones. It wasn't even the gang.

It was grief. Guilt. And something deeper—something unnamed.

Maybe depression. Maybe trauma. Maybe something undiagnosed.

But it was real. Heavy. And terrifying.

Andi stood up. Walked around the table. Knelt in front of her brother. And hugged him. Tightly.

No lectures. No screaming. No drama.

Just silence.

And the soft way her hand brushed the back of his neck.

"You're not broken," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.