Mary's Rise: From Pain to Power by

The rain was pouring, but it was not as cold as his words. "Mary, I can't do this anymore. I didn't sign up for poverty." John dropped the bag on the floor. Our baby, Grace, was crying on the bed, only three months old. I was holding her with one hand, the other hand trying to stop him. "Where are you going? John, she's your daughter," I whispered. He looked at me like I was a stranger. "You think I want to be a father to a child I can't even feed? Look at you, Mary. Look at this house. My friends are building mansions and you are here asking me for milk money." The door slammed. The rain continued. Grace cried louder. That night, I sat on the cold floor of our single room in Thika, with no food, no money, and a baby who wouldn't stop crying. My mother called me, I didn't pick. I was ashamed. Everyone had warned me. "John is not serious," they said. But love makes you deaf. At 2 AM, I stopped crying. I looked at Grace, her tiny fingers holding my thumb tightly. In her eyes, I saw a question: "Mama, will we survive?" I made a promise that night, not to John, not to my mother, but to myself. "They will know my name," I whispered to my daughter. "They laughed when he left. They will clap when we rise." I didn't know how. I had 200 shillings in my M-Pesa, a diploma no one wanted, and a child. But that night, Mary's Rise began. [Author's Note: If you have ever been left, betrayed, or told you will never make it, this story is for you. Please add this book to your library and comment. Should Mary forgive John when he returns?]