THE DAY I BECAME A MOTHER

Accepted Fate

Wake up! someone said.Who are you? Are you lost? How did you get in here? What are you doing here all alone in this chill morning?, a blur figure asked" My name is Matilda "I answered then he asked again, what are you doing in church by this time?,where are your parents immediately the stranger said parents I broke down in tears again for a moment I thought all those things was a judging thank God I didn't say much.

“It’s your fault. You went too far. I’m sure you’re one of those street girls who’ve gone wild and don’t listen to their parents. Now look at yourself,” he said.

I didn’t reply. I just stood there, stunned by the kind of false accusation he threw at me. He was still talking but I was no longer listening

I was having a flashback. I was sixteen, and all I knew then was my house, my school, my church, and my family’s restaurant and shopping mall.

That Friday, on my way home from school, right on my street, some hoodlums began to harass me. celeb was around the corner and he helped me.

Now, thinking back, I realize it was all staged — a setup from the very start. But at that moment, I was terrified. I couldn’t move or speak. My whole body trembled, and sweat ran down my face. It was the first time I had ever been harassed.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “They can’t hurt you anymore.

“Come, come, it’s late. Let’s hide in here,” he said, opening the door.

I hesitated. A wave of mixed feelings washed over me, but the fear of being harassed again drowned out every other thought.

We stayed inside his house for about three hours, talking and learning about each other. That was the mistake I made. He told me he was good at math, so I reached into my bag, pulled out my textbook, and handed it to him.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

I waited—naively, trustingly. When he returned, he was holding an orange juice and two tumblers.

He poured the juice into the tumblers and served me and himself.

I took a few sips — three, maybe — and suddenly, everything began to blur. My head felt light, my vision swayed, and for the first time in my life, I felt tipsy. Within seconds, darkness swallowed me.

When I woke up, I felt weak , drained, my body heavy and sore. I tried to move, but I was too weak

I tried to cover myself immediately, but my hands felt heavy, weak — as if they didn’t belong to me. He looked at me, smirking at my confusion. Then, his expression changed.

“Put on your clothes,” he said coldly. “Get out.”

He reached for something , a sharp, silver dagger that caught the light , and said, “I’m done with you.”

That was the moment I realized the depth of his wickedness, and I had fun, but if you tell a fly about this, I'll slit your neck, do you understand, I nodded quickly, got dressed and rushed

My mom wasn’t home when I got back that day.

I took some painkillers, hoping the ache would fade — but my monthly flow never came again after that day

present day

The stranger was gone.

It was daybreak — around eleven in the morning — and I was starving. I had never eaten that late before. My body still felt heavy, my head clouded.

I walked to a nearby food vendor and bought a plate of spaghetti and stew, with some rice and bread on the side. I ate slowly, trying to fill not just my stomach, but the emptiness I couldn’t explain.

I ate it all, but it wasn’t satisfying. Then I remembered my mom’s sumptuous meals, and I wished, more than anything, that she could forgive me.

I walked out of the church, knowing I had to find somewhere to stay. I asked around, but no one had a proper place for me. Eventually, I reached a neighborhood that looked like a ghetto. There, I spotted a small wooden structure, parched and patched with roofing sheets. The rent was fifty thousand naira. It was bigger than I expected.

I paid for it and used my allowance money to clean it, it was already far spent

The problem with the house was that it didn’t have a window. I had to improvise one using a piece of wood and some bedsheets, just for a bit of privacy. I felt uneasy , the environment was so insecure compared to the heavily guarded fence that had surrounded my duplex.

When I finished, I decided to sit outside my hut and observe my surroundings. To the east of the street, there was a club. What I saw through the leaves shocked me: prostitutes and their patrons, a world so different from the one I had ever known.

Some of them wore outfits so revealing that it was almost impossible to look at them without wanting to close your eyes. Others would walk past, shaking their bodies so intensely that it left you confused and uneasy, So for the rest of the evening, I just sat there — crying, sobbing, wailing softly into the night. My mind kept replaying everything, asking how I had gotten myself into the mess I was in. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know where to start.

I was only sixteen — barely six months into it — and already, life felt too heavy to carry.

After a while, when it got too late, I went inside and made a makeshift bed. It was uncomfortable, but manageable. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted off to sleep with no dinner, nothing to eat, with a heavy weight on my chest and a protruding belly.