It Was The Demons, Not Me

It Was Demons, Not Me Chapter six

One morning, I woke up knowing I didn't have classes.

For the first time in days, I had a whole day to myself.

I decided to go to the mall.

I needed space.

I needed to get away from the house, away from him, and away from all the questions running through my mind.

Maybe if I spent the day alone, I could finally think clearly.

I arrived at the mall and walked around for a while before finding a quiet restaurant.

I sat at a table by myself and ordered some food.

While I waited, I took a book and a pen out of my bag.

I opened to a blank page.

At the top, I wrote:

MY LIFE FROM NOW ON.

I stared at those words for a long time.

Then I started making a list.

There were two options.

Option One: Leave him.

I could end the relationship.

Find my own place.

Start over.

Protect myself and my baby.

It sounded like the right thing to do.

But then reality hit me.

I was struggling financially.

I was still studying.

Rent was expensive.

Food was expensive.

Toiletries were expensive.

And soon, I would need baby clothes, nappies, medicine and everything else a baby needs.

If I left him, I knew I might receive little or no financial support from him.

I could not depend on him to suddenly become responsible just because we had a baby.

I stared at the second option.

Option Two: Pretend.

Pretend that everything was fine.

Pretend that I was still in love with him.

Stay until my baby was born and he had helped me through the pregnancy.

Let him continue paying the rent.

Let him buy food and toiletries.

Let him help with the baby's things.

And quietly prepare myself for whatever came next.

I felt ashamed even writing it down.

Was I becoming selfish?

Was I using him?

Or was I simply trying to survive?

I put the pen down.

The waiter brought my food.

I ate slowly while thinking about my baby.

I didn't want my child to come into the world with nothing.

I didn't want to be homeless.

I didn't want to abandon my studies.

I wanted stability.

I wanted to survive.

Then I ordered ice cream.

While I waited for it, I picked up my pen again.

I looked at the two options.

My heart already knew which one I was choosing.

I would pretend.

I would smile.

I would act like I still loved him.

I would accept his help.

And I would keep quiet.

I would forget about the fake mother.

I would forget about the lies.

I would forget about everything I had discovered.

At least, I would try.

Maybe if I stopped asking questions, everything would become normal again.

Maybe I could make it through the pregnancy peacefully.

Maybe I could protect my baby until I was strong enough to stand on my own.

The ice cream arrived.

I took the first spoonful and looked out through the restaurant window.

People were walking around the mall, laughing, shopping and enjoying their day.

Nobody knew what was happening inside my heart.

Nobody knew that the woman sitting quietly at that table had just made a decision that could change her entire life.

I closed my notebook.

I had made my choice.

I would stay.

But I would no longer stay because I believed everything he told me.

I would stay because I needed to survive.

I would smile when I needed to smile.

I would pretend when I needed to pretend.

And slowly, I would try to forget.

The fake mother.

The lies.

The secrets.

The anger.

The demons I believed I had seen.

Everything.

I finished my ice cream and stood up.

As I walked out of the restaurant, I whispered to my unborn baby:

"Mommy will make a way for us."

I didn't know whether I was making the right decision.

But I knew one thing.

I wasn't ready to lose everything.

Not yet.

It wasn't easy.

Every morning, I had to wake up and remind myself why I had chosen to stay.

But there was one thing I noticed—I no longer cried the way I used to.

And somehow, that meant less stress for me and, most importantly, less stress for my unborn child.

I decided that if I was going to stay, I would stop fighting every battle.

I woke up every morning pretending that I didn't mind.

I washed his clothes.

I did the dishes.

I cleaned the house.

I cooked.

And I did everything with a smile.

Sometimes, I would look at him and smile as if nothing had ever happened between us. I laughed at his jokes. I asked him how his day was. I made sure he had food when he came home.

But deep inside, I knew the truth.

I was pretending.

I wasn't doing these things because everything was suddenly perfect. I was doing them because I had made a decision to survive.

I didn't want arguments anymore.

I didn't want tears anymore.

I didn't want stress.

I had my baby to think about.

And that changed everything.

During those days, I found myself going back to God.

I prayed differently.

I didn't pray to change him anymore.

I prayed for myself.

I asked God to forgive me.

I repented for the things I believed I had done wrong and begged Him to give me another chance.

“God, please have mercy on me and my child,” I whispered during one of my prayers. “Please strengthen me until the day I am free.”

I didn't know exactly how I was going to free myself.

I only knew that I couldn't stay trapped forever.

I still called the situation demons because, in my heart, that was how I understood the darkness I had experienced. But I also knew that I needed God to give me wisdom, strength and courage to make the right decisions.

Then something beautiful happened.

I started thinking about my baby.

Instead of seeing my pregnancy as another problem, I started seeing my unborn child as a blessing.

I had already begun thinking about names, but one name kept coming back to my heart.

Praise.

I didn't know why, but the name felt special.

Praise.

Every time I thought about it, I felt something inside me change.

For the first time in a long time, I felt whole.

I felt like I was starting again.

I felt loved by God.

There was joy inside me that I couldn't explain.

I would sometimes place my hand on my stomach and smile.

“Praise,” I would whisper.

My baby didn't know anything about the problems surrounding me.

My baby didn't know about the lies.

My baby didn't know about the fake mother.

My baby didn't know about the arguments or the secrets.

My baby only knew me.

And I refused to let my unborn child carry the weight of everything I was going through.

I never hated my baby.

Not even for a day.

Instead, every day I learned to love and cherish my child more.

I became protective of my peace.

If something could bring unnecessary stress, I avoided it.

If an argument started, I tried to walk away.

If I felt overwhelmed, I prayed.

If I felt afraid, I placed my hand on my stomach and reminded myself that I wasn't alone.

I had Praise.

And I had God.

That became enough to keep me going.

But while I was becoming more peaceful inside, something else was happening.

He was beginning to notice me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it.

He would look at me for longer than usual.

Sometimes, when I smiled at him, he would stare at me as though he was trying to understand something.

One evening, while I was folding his clothes, he stood quietly near the doorway.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

I looked up.

“What do you mean?”

“You've changed.”

My heart skipped.

I quickly smiled.

“Changed how?”

He walked closer.

“You're quieter now.”

I laughed softly.

“Maybe I'm just tired.”

He didn't laugh.

He kept looking at me.

“You don't argue with me anymore.”

I lowered my eyes and continued folding the clothes.

“I don't want to argue.”

He was silent for a moment.

Then he asked, “Are you angry with me?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

But inside, I knew the answer wasn't that simple.

I wasn't angry.

I was planning.

I wasn't fighting.

I was waiting.

I wasn't trying to change him anymore.

I was trying to change my own life.

He walked away, but I could feel that he was still thinking about me.

That night, as I lay in bed with my hand resting gently on my stomach, one question kept coming into my mind.

He was starting to see my distance.

Should I be worried?

Because pretending to love someone was easy when they believed the act.

But what would happen when they started seeing through it?

And for the first time, I wondered if my silence had made me safer—or had made him more suspicious.