Episode1: Anita’s Birth
The birthing specialist wiped the blood from Anita’s tiny body and wept. On the
Dirty iron bed, a young woman took her last breath, her face pale, her lips cold. Anita had just entered the world, but her mother had left it. She was a womb opener, the very first child and her mother paid for that first breath with her own life.
When the news reached Mr. Michael, Anita’s father, he fell to the dirt floor of their living room and wept. He held his newborn baby girl close to his chest. Her small hands clutched his shirt. He looked down at her red, helpless face and whispered through his tears, "I will never leave you, my little star. I promise," he said as hot tears rolled down his eyes.
Truth is, his wife had gone into the labor room after the doctor had checked her, and she was 10cm dilated but she had already lost strength. Mr. Micheal was praying silently, waiting to hear the cry of a baby and to see the beautiful face of his wife smiling after she might have delivered their bundle of joy.
So sad, she died after baby Anita came into the world. Before the doctors could give her proper attention after much bleeding, she gave up the ghost.
Micheal was still in shock carrying his little baby, who the nurse had just finished cleaning her body. He was so pained in his heart, his eyes were turning red, and he felt like screaming so loud.
With the help of a nearby friend, he went to his house that moment while his wife's dead body was taken to the mortuary.
He felt like the word was ending and that his life was crushed. He tried being strong for the newborn, but everything seemed impossible. His emotions were failing him and his mental health was becoming unstable.
Friends and relatives had come to console him. After much consolation, he and his family members and relatives buried his wife in the general cemetery.
Mr. Micheal was still in shock at how his beautiful wife left him with their bundle of joy all alone in the world of the living.
Weeks turned into months and Mr. Micheal was still mourning his beloved wife. Relatives came to Michael months after the funeral. They brought women with them.
"You are still a young man, Michael," his older aunt said, pointing at a woman sitting in the corner. "Marry another wife. She will take care of this child so you can work," Michael’s older aunt said when he came to visit him with a young lady.
Michael shook his head firmly. "No, Aunty. A stepmother might not love her. Anita killed no one. It was her time to come, and it was my wife’s time to go. I will raise my daughter alone," he said as he frowned his face.
"You are making a big mistake!" the aunt warned. "How can a poor man raise a motherless child without help?" She asked, looking surprised.
Michael did not answer. He just held Anita tighter.
Life became a daily battle. Michael took every manual job he could find in the village. He cleared thick bushes under the boiling sun. He carried heavy bags of cement on his shoulders until his skin peeled off. He washed dirty cars by the roadside.
Some days, he had no money to buy milk for baby Anita. On those dark days, he gave her warm sugar water and rocked her to sleep in his arms, singing soft songs while his own belly rumbled with hunger.
Years passed, and Anita grew into a sweet, smart little girl. But she knew she was different. She saw other children wearing bright clothes and walking with both a mother and a father. Sometimes she wondered if she was just being unlucky or carried back luck everywhere she went. She had always wanted to make good friends. But everything seemed so difficult for her. She was tired of being discriminated against by children in her environment. She was always feeling lonely and sad.
One hot afternoon, ten-year-old Anita came home from school crying. Her uniform was torn, and her eyes were swollen.
Michael dropped his shovel and ran to her. "Anita! What happened, my child? Who hurt you?" he asked, looking concerned.
Anita threw her school bag on the ground. Tears washed dirt channels down her face. "Papa, the kids at school said bad things to me almost every day i go to school. I'm tired. They call me the daughter of a poor man and a lazy fool. This really hurts me so much," she cried.
Michael knelt in front of her, wiping her face with his dusty shirt. "What did they say?"
"They said I am a bad child! They said I killed my own mother when I was born!" Anita sobbed, her small chest heaving. "They called me a cursed girl! Is it true, Papa? Did I kill Mommy?"
Michael felt as if a sharp knife had been driven straight into his heart. Tears filled his eyes, but he forced a warm smile and grabbed both of her hands.
"Look at me, Anita," Michael said, his voice deep and steady. "Look into my eyes."
Anita looked up, her lips trembling.
"You are not a curse. You are a blessing," Michael said softly. "Your mother loved you before she even saw you. She gave her life so you could live yours. You are my light. When I am tired, I look at your face and I find the ability to work again. Never let anyone call you a curse. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you, Papa," she said softly as she cleaned her teary eyes.
.
"Good. Now dry your eyes. We may be poor, but we have love. And love is bigger than money, now go inside." Anita went inside feeling relieved.
One fateful day, Mr. Michael collapsed at a construction site. The heavy wooden beams had fallen on his lower back.
When Anita ran to the local clinic, she found her father lying on a narrow wooden bench, unable to move his legs.
"Daddy...!" she cried, falling to her knees beside him. "What happened?"
Michael squeezed her hand, trying to hide his terrible pain. "It is nothing, my daughter. Just a little rest, and I will be fine." He lied.
The local doctor pulled Anita aside. "His back is badly damaged, Anita. He cannot do heavy work anymore. If he tries, he will never walk again," the doctor told the little girl.
That night, in their tiny room, Anita sat by her father's bedside. Tears dripped onto her lap.
"Papa, I am stopping school," Anita declared, wiping her eyes. "I will go to the market and sell vegetables. I will carry loads for people and do any other work so that we get money that will feed us," she said, looking concerned.
Michael raised his hand with great effort and touched her cheek. "No, Anita. You will not drop out."
"But Papa, you cannot work. How will we buy food? How will we pay for my exams?" she asked, shining her eyes.
"Listen to me, my child," Michael said, looking directly into her eyes. "My body may be broken, but my dream for you is not broken. Books are your only way out of this darkness. Promise me you will keep studying."
"I cannot leave you to suffer, Papa!" she cried out.
"If you drop out, my suffering means nothing," Michael said, his voice shaking with deep emotion. "Promise me, Anita. Promise your father," he said, holding her hands.
Anita sobbed loudly and buried her face in his chest. "I promise, Papa. I promise!" She said as she rested her head on her father's chest in tears.
The next day, she woke up at four in the morning to go prepare food for her father and clean the house. Then she ran to school. In the evenings, instead of playing, she washed dishes for a rich restaurant owner in exchange for leftover food and a little money to buy soap and candles.
Late at night, while her father slept, Anita sat on the dirt floor, studying under the weak light of a single candle. Her eyes would burn, her head would ache, but every time she felt like giving up, she remembered her father's calloused hands and his strong words, "You are my light."
Across the tiny room, Michael groaned in his sleep. The wooden bed creaked loudly every time he shifted his weight. His spine was still swollen from the construction site accident, and some nights, the cold air made his bones ache so badly that he could only sleep for an hour at a time.
Anita placed her worn textbook on her lap and looked over at him. Her heart twisted into a tight knot. She stood up quietly on her bare feet, taking soft steps, so the dry dirt floor would not crunch under her shoes.
She knelt by her father’s bedside and gently pulled the thin, faded blanket up to his shoulders.
Michael’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at her through the dark, his voice weak and husky.
"Anita... why are you still awake, my child? What time is it?" he asked with a worried face.
"It is two in the morning, Papa," Anita whispered, smoothing the gray hair on his forehead. "I am almost done reading my chemistry notes."
Michael reached out his shaky hand and placed it on her head. "You need to rest, my daughter. You woke up at four yesterday morning. You washed dishes at the restaurant until late evening. Your body needs sleep,"he said again, looking very worried this time.
"I am fine, Papa," Anita said, forcing a warm, reassuring smile even though her back was aching and her eyes burned with tired tears. "I am not sleepy at all. I want to read one more chapter before the candle burns out," she said quietly.
Michael shook his head slowly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I should be the one taking care of you, Anita. A girl your age should be thinking about new dresses, playing with her friends, and dreaming about the future. Instead, you are slaving away for a bowl of rice and a few coins."
"Papa, please do not talk like that," Anita said, holding his calloused palm tightly against her cheek. "You carried bags of cement for ten years just to buy my school uniform. You refused to eat so I could have breakfast before going to school. Taking care of you now is not a burden. It is my duty, and I do it with joy."
Michael pressed his lips together, swallowing hard as a single tear escaped his eye and rolled into his gray beard. "Your mother would be so proud of you, Anita. You have her stubborn heart," he said as he managed to smile.
"Does she really look like me, Papa?" Anita asked softly. It was a question she asked whenever the nights grew too cold and quiet.
"She had your exact eyes," Michael whispered, smiling through his pain. He looked into her eyes and smiled again. "Whenever i look into your eyes, i see my beautiful wife again, Anita. You look just like your mom, wow," he said.
A few minutes later, they heard a knock on the door. Who could it be? It was 2:20AM and it was dangerous to open the door because it was midnight.
Anita became scared, her father couldn't stand up from the bed because of his back pain and Anita became very scared to go open the door.
"Knock knock knock, " the sound came again and Anita shouted, "Who's there?" But everywhere went silent.
Who could that be?
To be continued
