When destiny is driven by a proposal.

Chapter one – Glimpse at April

APRIL’S POV

One day I will make it and get out of here. I am tired and life is just not fair. What happened? A question edged in all our minds. We stand on the cliff of existence, gazing into the void of injustice. Life, that mysterious tapestry, weaves threads of joy and sorrow, hope and despair. Yet, sometimes the balance is off, and we find ourselves troubled with more than we can stand.

Unfairness, like a persistent wave, sweeps across our pathways. It steals dreams, shatters illusions, and leaves us breathless for answers. We watch as others dance in the sunlight, while we sway through the shadows. We wonder why some carry lighter loads, while our shoulders slump under the heaviness of silent pain. But perhaps, unfairness is life’s absurdity. It sharpens our edges, carves resilience into our bones. It teaches us empathy, for we recognize suffering in others’ eyes. And in those moments when the world seems slanted against us, we find buried sources of strength. These thoughts swirl in my mind as I navigate the demanding restaurant. The clatter of plates, the hum of conversation—it all blends into a chaotic symphony. I watch the families, their laughter echoing across the room, and envy their togetherness. But for me, it feels like nothing ever changes. I need a big tip tonight. The thought drives me onward. I scan the room, assessing each table. Who holds the promise of generosity? My electricity meter ticks down, and Sharon’s sports day looms—a day that requires more than I can afford and provide.

Madam Rose might extend her shift. I need to ask her to look after Shaon for a while longer. I may have to work later this evening. The restaurant starts filling up — it’s the end of the month, after all. Every extra hour counts. My eyes settle on Table 4, where a middle-aged man sits alone. His gaze flits around, a touch unsettling. Yet, this table is mine tonight. Perhaps he waits for companions, or maybe he’s a solitary diner. Either way, I’ll work my charm, hoping for that elusive tip. Here goes nothing. I square my shoulders, summoning every ounce of hospitality. Tonight, I’ll work some magic with words, serve with grace, and hope that fate tips the scales in my favor.

My name is April, a name as sweet and fresh as the month itself – according to mama at least. People say my mother’s intuition was spot-on, ensuring a name that would resonate with me. And practicality—yes, that’s essential too. A name that dances easily on people’s tongues, like a familiar melody. I am a single mom, a title that carries a lot of weight on one’s shoulder. I have a 5-year-old daughter, Sharon, the personification of love. Her chatter fills my days, her intelligence a beacon of hope. That caring demeanor—oh, how it spreads like wildfire! Infectious, indeed. Sharon is my little star and one day she will illuminate the world. With her, it has to be different. I have already carried the load for her no need for her to undergo the same suffering I have had to.

Her dad, a chapter in my story. Once the prince who swept me off my feet, now just the role of a distant figure. A sperm donor, absent from any responsibility. His new life, his new family—perhaps and clearly, we don’t fit in, in his dream lifestyle. Those high school memories linger like old photographs. He was a quiet boy, modest yet magnetic, etched himself into my story. His tall, light-skinned frame strode across the soccer field, a captain leading both team and my heart. I was a virgin to it all, stepping into uncharted territory—the realm of men and love. He, with a reputation preceding him, became my personal enigma. His words, like fragile treasures, were all I possessed. And in that moment, when our eyes met, love bloomed—a delicate flower unfurling in the garden of my heart. And there it was—the moment when love expanded like a delicate blossom. The flutter of my teenage heart, the blush of anticipation—it all interlaced into the cloth of my existence. He was my first, and the world shifted. Love, like a fragile seed, took root within me. But life, unpredictable and stubborn, had its own plan. He vanished, a ghost in the night as soon as I whispered the truth: I am pregnant. Who would’ve thought that a few moments of intimacy could alter the course of life so deeply? The unexpected, like a sudden storm, sweeps us off our feet. And there I was, caught in the hurricane, my high school diploma left unfinished—a heartbreaking reminder of paths drifted.

Life, in its complex movement, turns twists of chance and consequence. The choices we make, some on purpose, others pushed upon us, shape our story line. Mom used to say that everything in life happens for a reason. I learned to accept the unfinished edges. They hold stories yet untold, dreams yet uncharted. Something I tell myself daily: a whispered chant, a link composed of the components of hope. They became my shield, my scope, my inspiration. “Believe, April. Believe in the strength that runs through your veins. The incomplete masterpiece of your life—each stroke, each colour—holds promise. And as the sun rises, as seasons change, repeat it like a sacred hymn: “It shall be well.”

The beginning, oh, how it tested me. Alone, with only my mother by my side, we weathered the storms together. She was my guiding star, showed me the ropes of being a young mother. A baby’s cries nonstop, demanding thundering through our nights. My mother, tired yet committed, disguised her own exhaustion with my need for answers.

This was my pain, stamped into my days. Sharon, my little star, held my universe within her laughter. She was mine, a promise I had to keep. In this life, pain and purpose entangle. And as the sun rises each day, I repeat my chant: “It shall be well.”

She has his eyes, a mirror reflecting the past. Strong-willed, like her absent father, she carries his stubborn flame. But her heart-oh, her heart, is a treasury of kindness. She gives, she heals, she loves. A pity, indeed, that he lost that golden heart along the way and missed out on the best part of her. Still, the unanswered question remains. Why did he lose interest? Perhaps he, too, faced life’s unfairness. Or maybe he just fell out of love, life’s weakness cut by time and situation. April, you are more than the sum of his absence. In this life, “We are the captains of our own ships, and the master of our fate”. I knew that these words needed to make sense at some point in my life eventually.

I am a fighter and had to be strong to survive in this world. For within me lies a story waiting to be told, a story of courage, love, and the quiet magic of a soccer field where dreams took flight.

Living in a city where the streets bear no welcome signs, and whispered warnings echo: “Enter at own risk.” Here, survival is a fight, and only the strong stand. My journey began with a twist of destiny, a pregnancy that changed the direction of my life. Grade 10, a crossroads where dreams collided with reality. Sharon, my personal anchor, needed my care. Dropping out of school left me to fend for my small family. I had to work.

The hood, a place of shelter, a place I called home, was a place of hardship, shaped the person I am today. It was not easy. These words, heavy with the weight of my journey, hint through the passages of time. Life, a blizzard that sweeps us along, leaves its marks , sometimes gentle and sometimes rough. Under the conditions, I try every day to put my best foot forward, but I am constantly broke. That is what keeps me up at nights. Thinking about where the next meal will be coming from.

Focus April, you are at work, the restaurant is starting to fill up. As I scan the crowd of people entering, I see who I can approach to sit at the tables I am serving. At the entrance of the restaurant I spot a middle-aged man, a traveler from afar looking for nourishment. He exudes an air of sophistication, wearing a tailored navy suit with a silk tie. I dashed across the room over to him, to ensure that he would be seated at one of my tables. Our eyes locked, and he smiled warmly, lighting up his face. “Would you like a table?” I asked. He nods, and I lead him to a private cozy corner, at an open window – table 4. Before sitting down, he takes off his blazer and places it on the seat next to him, he does the same with his tie, and opens the top button of his shirt, showing off some chest hair. I feel a surge of attraction as I get a peek at his chest hair peeking out of his shirt. I notice his muscular arms and chest, hugging his crisp white shirt. I gave him time to settle in not rushing him, as in my mind I was enjoying the show. I hope he didn’t get a glimpse of me admiring his physic. Oh, no he did, he looks up with a smile, anticipating the next words and expecting me to take the lead.

April, remove yourself from the thoughts in your mind, come back to earth and concentrate on the job at hand. He’s a customer that requires your helpfulness, at least for the service. He must be famished.