She told him everything.
Daniel sat in silence for a long time.
“Rebecca,” he finally said, his voice heavy, “why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I was ashamed,” she cried. “I didn’t believe her words would follow me.”
Then he said, “We need to find that woman.”
“But what if she refuses to forgive me?” Rebecca asked, crying.
Daniel held her hand. “Then we keep begging.”
The next morning, they began asking around for Mama Agnes.
Some people warned them. Some told them not to try. Others said she had moved out of the area.
Just when they were about to give up, a young boy pointed them to a small village outside town.
“That’s where she stays now,” he said.
Rebecca looked at Daniel.
“I will kneel if I have to,” she said. “I will beg until she forgives me.”
The road to Mama Agnes’s village was long, dusty, and quiet.
Rebecca sat at the back of the old bus, one hand on her stomach, the other clutching her handbag tightly. Her eyes were swollen from too much crying.
Thirteen months pregnant, yet no baby.
Only pain, shame, and fear.
People inside the bus kept staring at her belly. Some whispered. Some shook their heads.
She heard one woman mutter, “Ah-ah, this one is too much. Be careful, oh.”
When she finally got off the bus, the village looked old and forgotten. Mud houses. Quiet paths. Tall trees swaying slowly, as if watching her.
She asked a small boy, “Please, where can I find Mama Agnes?”
The boy looked at her stomach, then silently pointed toward a lonely house near the bush.
Her legs trembled as she walked.
Each step felt like she was walking toward judgment.
Mama Agnes’s house was small and dark. No fence. No flowers. Just silence.
Rebecca stood in front of the door for a long time. Her hands shook.
Then she knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, harder this time.
The door creaked open slowly.
Mama Agnes appeared.
The moment Rebecca saw her face, her strength left her body.
She fell to her knees.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca cried loudly. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Mama Agnes said nothing.
Rebecca crawled forward, crying uncontrollably.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know my mouth and my hand would destroy my life. I slapped you out of pride. I mocked you because I thought I was better.”
She beat her chest in regret.
“Please, I’ve carried this baby for thirteen months. I can’t sleep. I can’t walk well. People laugh at me. My husband avoids me.”
She held Mama Agnes’s feet tightly.
“I’m begging you. Forgive me. If I die like this, please don’t let my baby die with me.”
Mama Agnes finally spoke. Her voice was calm, but heavy.
“Stand up, Rebecca.”
Rebecca did not move.
“Stand up,” Mama Agnes repeated.
Rebecca slowly stood, shaking badly.
Mama Agnes looked straight into her eyes.
“You did not slap me because you were angry,” she said. “You slapped me because you thought you were powerful.”
Those words pierced Rebecca’s heart.
“You looked at me and saw nothing.”
Rebecca broke down again.
“I know now,” she whispered. “I know—too late.”
Mama Agnes sighed deeply.
“I forgive you,” she said quietly. “You can go.”
As Rebecca traveled back home, hope and fear battled inside her heart. Would this be the end of her suffering, or the beginning of something even more painful?
The night Rebecca went into labor, rain fell heavily, as though the sky itself was crying with her.
Rebecca screamed as another sharp contraction hit her. Her body shook. Sweat covered her face.
Her husband panicked as he rushed her to the small clinic in their town.
“Doctor, please help my wife,” he cried.
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