Chapter 1: I am Saintilia

My name is Saintilia, though everyone has always called me TiTi. It’s a nickname that carried the warmth of familiarity, the sound of a simpler time when life was predictable, and the future seemed to stretch out endlessly before me. Who could have predicted that this day would come? a day where I found myself confined to bed, my body a fragile vessel for the new life growing inside me, trapped by a complicated pregnancy that held more questions than answers.

For almost seven months, hope and love have taken root within me, growing steadily, a testament to my strength and resilience. With every flutter, every heartbeat, I've marveled at the miracle unfolding inside me, the promise of a new beginning. Yet, with each passing day, I'm reminded of the precarious balance between life and reality, a dance so delicate that one wrong step could change everything.

The doctors have told me that to ensure the safe arrival of my precious baby, I must remain in bed for the remaining weeks. It felt as though time had slowed to a crawl, each moment stretching into an eternity as I lie here, grappling with a complex mix of emotions. The ever-present fear lurking in my thoughts; and an unwavering determination that anchored me through the long days and restless nights. This bed has become my island in a vast sea of uncertainty. And though my body felt weak, my spirit clung to the belief that I could see this through.

My heart yearned for the day when this confinement will yield a treasure beyond measure. When all this pain and uncertainty will be replaced by the warmth of my child’s breath. Becoming a mother was a journey paved with challenges, each step more arduous than the last. A path I never imagined would be so fraught with difficulties that seemed at times to stretch beyond the limits of what a person could endure. But I was no stranger to hardships. I’ve been tested in my entire life by cruelty and unfairness, by the many disappointments that chipped away at my spirit, by deceit that shattered my trust, by lies that clouded my judgment, and by heartbreaks that left scars.

The emotional and mental anguish of these experiences demanded more than just resilience. A determination so fierce that it became my lifeline. There were moments when I questioned whether I could keep going, when the weight of it all seemed unbearable, but something inside me refused to give up. It was as if a fire had been lit in the depths of my soul, a burning desire to not just survive but to overcome, to rise above the pain and find happiness on the other side. And I did find happiness, in the quiet moments of peace that followed the storms, in the small victories that reminded me I was stronger than I knew.

Each challenge I faced, each tear I shed, forged me into a woman who knew her own worth, who understood the value of perseverance, and learned that true happiness wasn’t something that was handed to; rather something to fight for, something that was earned. I honestly did not know that every struggle I’ve endured would lead me to this moment. Though I Walked through fire and came out the other side, I was not unscathed, but stronger, and wiser. I faced everything with a soul that refused to be broken. However, my journey now was different.

My suffering allowed me to navigate through difficult situations without losing sight of my ultimate goal. Additionally, I learned how to adapt to challenging circumstances, and coped in the face of adversity while holding onto the belief deep within my heart that a lifetime of happiness awaited me. So, I was not just a survivor but a warrior, and this child will be my greatest triumph. I sat in front of the mirror, admiring the features of my reflection staring back at me. My eyes traced the small lines, each one telling a story of tears, and the evidence of the wisdom I had gained over the years. Etched with memories and emotions that had molded me into the person I had become.

My mind was filled with anticipation, and the depth of my eyes captivated me. I could see the entanglement of vulnerability and strength, a testament to the resilience I had developed since childhood. I was always told, over and over, how pretty I was. But as a child I did not understand what it meant to be pretty. My fingers lightly brushed the strands of black hair away from my face, reminding me of the time my father attempted to braid my hair. And I smiled a little. I learned to embrace both challenges and joys, for they were symbols of my existence.

Looking intensely in the mirror, inspecting the silhouette of my face; I understood why having a face like mine was considered pretty. the ambitions and aspirations that once seemed so far away, and yet, here I was, having lived, and navigated through unexpected detours with grace and determination. Looking at my features, a storm of thoughts swirled in my mind making me wonder what it would have been like to have Paulette around. Perhaps the feeling of having a mother would have mattered during my younger years growing up, but I was not lucky. I supposed it made sense to think of her now since I myself would become a mother soon.

My father, Jonas, had a way of making the world seem simpler, more bearable, with just a few words. He used to say, with a twinkle in his eye and a proud smile on his lips, that people were just jealous because his baby girl was the smartest and prettiest in the entire village. He’d say it with such conviction, as if it were an undeniable fact, that even the sky would blush in agreement. As a child, I’d laugh and roll my eyes, pretending to dismiss his words as the playful exaggerations of a doting father. But deep down, I relished the warmth of his affection, in the unwavering belief that, to him, I was something special.

Thinking back on those moments now, I realize there was more truth to his sentiment than I gave it credit for at the time. It wasn’t just about beauty; though in his eyes, I was indeed the prettiest in the village, but about the way he saw me, the way he made me feel valued and loved. His words were like seeds planted in the fertile soil of my young mind, and over the years, they took root and grew into a quiet but steadfast confidence. I remembered one incident, where I was sitting in front of a classmate during a school dance. Jonas had asked our neighbor Adeline to fix my hair. So, there was absolutely no reason for my hair to annoy anyone.

My classmate Ellie, whom I thought was my friend, out of nowhere, she began pulling on my hair, and called on the others to join in. Ever since, that incident kept me from making friends. And Jonas decided to ask Celia to be my private tutor in her spare time so that I didn't have to be around the other kids. After Jonas's unexpected passing, the weight of my loneliness became painfully apparent. And every time life threw a challenge my way, every time I faced a situation that threatened to break my spirit, I could hear Jonas’s voice echoing in the back of my mind.

“You’ll be okay TiTi, because you’re the prettiest in the village.” At first, it seemed like a superficial thing, something to brush off with a smile. But as I grew older, I began to understand that what he was really telling me was that I was enough, that I had something within me that made me worthy, that I could stand tall no matter what difficulty I faced. Those spoken words were embedded deep within me and became my shield against the harsh realities of life. They gave me the courage to face obstacles, to hold my head high when others tried to bring me low, to believe in myself even when the world seemed determined to make me doubt.

They were more than just a father’s proud boast but a lifeline, a reminder that I had a place in this world, that I had value. They were the foundation upon which I built my resilience, the quiet strength that allowed me to survive. Even when things got tough and seemed impossible, when disappointment and heartbreak threatened to crush me. I could always remember that, in his eyes, I was enough, and that gave me the strength to keep fighting.

"You look just like your mother." Those who knew Paulette would say, whenever they saw me. She was the embodiment of elegance and grace. They would recount tales of her sharp chestnut eyes that could pierce through any pretense and yet soften with a smile that radiated warmth and kindness. We were both tall, slim, curvy, and busty. Was it what they meant? I knew nothing more beyond the stories told by strangers and the rumors that surfaced after Jonas’s passing that she had taken her own life. I only wished she had lived long enough for me to have known her.

I often traced the lines of my face, comparing them to her old photographs that Jonas kept tucked away in his wallet. The arch of my brows, the curve of my lips, trying to find the similarities that others seemed to see so clearly. But no matter how long I looked, I couldn’t quite discern any real comparison. My eyes, though chestnut like hers, lacked the same depth and mystery. My smile, though warm, didn’t quite carry the same grace. I felt a mix of sadness and acceptance, realizing that no matter what I couldn't long for something I never had. I often found myself imagining what it might have been like if I had grown up with a mother, learning from her, being molded by her influence. What kind of person would I have become had I known her not just as a hearsay, but as a living, breathing presence in my life? But no matter how much I tried to conjure those images, they always felt hollow.

Throughout my thirty years, I was around many women, and Victoria was the only one who wanted to be my mother. In many ways those women had influenced me, each leaving their mark on me in different ways. Some were fleeting presences, offering wisdom in passing, while others lingered longer, becoming steady fixtures in my life. But none had filled the void quite like Victoria. She said she loved me, and wanted to guide me. She was there for me in ways that went beyond my expectations.

Victoria was the woman who celebrated my victories, the one who taught me how to navigate the complexities of life, with a fierce and practical wisdom that only comes from someone who has lived through her own share of trials. She herself grew up without a mother, so she could relate to that missing part of my life. And as I stood on the threshold of becoming a mother myself, I began to understand that perhaps Paulette might have loved me as Jonas wanted me to believe.

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