The scars they left

The scars they left part 5

Part 5 — The Testimony That Will Shook the Church

The hospital room was unusually quiet.

The only sound was the slow beeping of the monitor beside my bed and the soft cry of my mother, who sat in the corner with her face buried in her hands.

She looked completely broken.

After a long silence, she stood up, walked slowly to my bedside, and held my cold fingers tightly.

Her hands were shaking.

“My child…” she whispered, struggling to hold back her tears. “Please… tell me the truth. Who is responsible for this pregnancy?”

I closed my eyes.

For weeks, I had carried a secret so heavy that it felt like it was crushing my soul. Shame had chained my mouth, and fear had convinced me that nobody would ever believe me.

But looking into my mother's tear-filled eyes, I knew I couldn't hide anymore.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Mummy… I'm sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. “I honestly don't know who impregnated me.”

The room fell silent.

My elder brother, who had been standing near the window, slowly turned around.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I repeated. “I don't know who the father is.”

My mother's eyes widened in disbelief.

“How is that possible?” she cried. “What do you mean you don't know? How many people have you been sleeping with?”

Her question pierced my heart.

I wasn't angry with her.

She didn't know the nightmare I had been living.

With trembling lips, I finally spoke the names that had haunted me for so long.

“Reverend Jeremiah… and Reverend Peter.”

“Jesus!”

My mother screamed.

My brothers stepped back as if lightning had struck the room.

“No… no, that's impossible,” one of them muttered.

My elder brother stared directly at me.

“You mean… the Reverend Fathers? Those men of God?”

I nodded slowly, unable to lift my head.

“Yes.”

He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“All this time?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Tears flooded my face.

“They told me it was deliverance,” I cried. “They said evil spirits were inside me. They convinced me that the only way God could set me free was through special spiritual cleansing.”

My voice became weaker.

“They abused my trust… over and over again.”

My mother suddenly remembered something.

She covered her mouth with both hands.

“Wait…”

Her voice trembled.

“Are you talking about the period Reverend Jeremiah told us that God revealed you should remain inside the church for prayers and fasting?”

I looked at her.

My heart shattered.

“Yes, Mummy.”

She collapsed onto the chair beside me and began to cry uncontrollably.

“Oh God… Oh God…”

She kept repeating those words as guilt consumed her.

“I was the one who left you there,” she sobbed. “I believed I was taking my daughter closer to God.”

I reached for her hand.

“Mummy…”

She immediately hugged me, and both of us cried together.

“My child,” she whispered, “listen to me carefully. What happened to you was evil. We trusted the wrong people, but you are still my daughter, and I will never abandon you.”

For the first time since everything happened, I felt a tiny piece of the burden leave my heart.

Then my mother wiped her tears and asked another question.

“The abortion…”

She looked straight into my eyes.

“Did Reverend Jeremiah know about it?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“Tell me everything.”

“He called a nurse himself. She came secretly and gave me an injection. They told me everything would disappear.”

The room exploded with outrage.

My younger brother kicked the plastic chair across the room.

“That monster!” he shouted. “I'm going to the church right now!”

He rushed toward the door.

“No!”

My mother stood up immediately.

“Sit down!”

Her voice carried an authority none of us had ever heard before.

My brother stopped.

She faced all of us with tears still running down her cheeks.

“If you confront him now, he will deny everything. We need wisdom, not anger. God sees the truth, and the truth will speak.”

The room became quiet again.

A few minutes later, the doctor returned with my discharge papers.

The only thing stopping us was the remaining hospital bill.

Without hesitation, my mother turned to my elder brother.

“Go and meet my friend, Mama Grace,” she said. “Tell her I need to borrow the remaining money. I'll repay her somehow.”

He nodded and hurried away.

An hour later, he returned with the money.

My mother paid the bill.

I was finally discharged.

Walking out of the hospital felt strange.

The bright sunlight touched my face, but my heart was still surrounded by darkness.

When we arrived home, my mother prepared warm food for me, but I couldn't eat.

That evening, she entered my room carrying a Bible.

She sat beside me and gently stroked my hair.

“My daughter,” she said softly, “people may try to silence you, but your voice matters. Don't allow shame to become your prison. The people who harmed you will answer for what they've done.”

I looked at her.

“What are you going to do, Mummy?”

She closed the Bible.

“You'll know on Sunday.”

Those words echoed in my mind for days.

Sunday morning arrived.

The church was filled with joyful worship.

People danced.

People clapped.

People shouted “Hallelujah.”

Yet every sound felt distant to me.

Reverend Jeremiah stood confidently on the altar, preaching as though he had never destroyed anyone's life.

My hands became cold.

I couldn't even look at him.

The service continued until the announcer smiled and said:

> “It's time for testimonies! If the Lord has done something in your life, please come forward.”

Suddenly…

My mother stood up.

I grabbed her wrapper.

“Mummy… where are you going?”

She gently removed my hand and looked at me with fearless eyes.

“To speak the truth.”

Before I could stop her, she walked toward the altar.

The entire congregation watched as she climbed the steps.

An usher handed her the microphone.

Reverend Jeremiah smiled, unaware of what was about to happen.

My heart pounded so loudly that I could barely breathe.

Then my mother lifted the microphone to her lips…

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