Chapter One — The Root of Silence

Before she was born, the story of her life had already begun.

It began in a small household where love was measured not in affection, but in dowry.

Her Bernice mother entered the family as a young bride, carrying dreams of warmth and belonging. But instead, she was met with coldness. Her mother-in-law — the woman who should have been her shield — despised her from the start. Not because she lacked kindness, not because she lacked beauty, but because she brought with her no gold, no treasures, no heavy chests of dowry. She was not only look down but also mock inwardly.

Once, the family ate together as one, laughter and clinking utensils filling the home. But after her parents’ marriage, things changed. Under her grandmother’s harsh advice, her father — the second son — was asked to step aside, to move into his own space. The joyous meals became divided; the hearth that once united now carried an invisible wall.

Her father Ignatius was the second among four siblings: an elder sister, himself, a younger brother, and a younger sister. On her mother’s side, too, life was no easier — she was the youngest among three sisters, carrying the weight of being the last hope of her family.

The Father’s Childhood — A Boy in the Shadows

Before he became a husband, before he became a father, he was simply a boy who learned early that love is not always given equally.

In his mother’s house, affection was rationed like coins — some children received it freely, while others were left with only scraps. He was the second son, neither the pride of being the eldest nor the comfort of being the youngest. His elder sister had her place, his younger brother had his mother’s indulgence, and he… he had silence.

When he asked for books, his mother’s answer was always the same: “There is no money.” Yet when the younger son asked for eatables, for sweets, for little luxuries, the coins appeared as if by magic, without hesitation. Hunger became his companion, and so did the quiet knowledge that he was not cherished the same way.

He watched from the corners of the room as his siblings laughed, as their plates filled, as their requests were granted. He never shouted, never fought, never asked again. Instead, he learned to swallow disappointment and wear strength like a second skin.

And yet, he did not let bitterness devour him. Somewhere in the cracks of neglect, his heart bloomed with gentleness. Perhaps it was the absence of being loved that made him long to give love more fiercely. Perhaps it was hunger that made him want to feed others first.

Years passed, and the boy grew into a man. He carried his scars not on his body but in the silent ways he treated others. He did not complain, he did not demand. And when he met the woman who would become his wife, he made her a silent vow: she would never know the loneliness he once felt.

Even if the world despised them, even if his own family turned their backs, he would stand by her side. Because he knew what it was to be forgotten, and he would never let her live that fate.

He had been a boy in the shadows. But in his shadows, he learned how to keep another safe in the light.

# **The Mother’s Story — A Girl Raised by Courage**

She was only six when the world turned heavy on her small shoulders. At an age when most children still played in the dust, still held their father’s hand to cross the street, she stood at a funeral fire and watched hers vanish into smoke.

Her father had been her shield, her laughter, the warmth she barely had time to know. And then he was gone, leaving behind a widow with three daughters and a mountain of hardship.

Her mother, fragile in body but unshakable in spirit, did not crumble. Instead, she rose with grit that only desperation can teach. From dawn till dusk, she bent her back and blistered her hands, selling vegetables in the market, carrying baskets heavier than her heart could bear. She asked for no pity, no help from those who turned away. She simply worked, so her daughters could live.

The little girl grew up watching this iron-willed woman. Hunger visited often, so did ridicule, but she learned early to smile in spite of it. She wore hand-me-downs, she ate the smallest portions, but her heart never shrank. In its quiet corners bloomed a hope — that life was not only about loss, but also about the possibility of love.

That love came unexpectedly, wrapped in the rhythm of tradition. It was during the grand festival of their culture, when men and women gathered in a wide circle, dancing to the beat of drums that echoed through the valley. Lanterns swayed like fireflies, laughter filled the air, and the young girl of fourteen found herself across from a man eight years older, his eyes carrying both pain and promise.

Their hands did not touch, but in the circle of dance, something unspoken passed between them — a seed of destiny, fragile yet certain.

Two years later, at the age of sixteen, she married him. A man who had his own scars, his own shadows, but who chose her not for wealth, not for dowry, but for the quiet strength he saw in her eyes.

Together, they began a life not paved with riches, but with struggle and determination. She carried into her marriage the lessons her mother had etched into her soul: that love means sacrifice, that hardship is not the end, and that a woman’s courage can hold together even the most fragile of worlds.

It was into this fractured world, stitched together by duty and silent sacrifices, that the little girl — our heroine — would be born. A girl destined not just to endure her family’s struggles, but to rise above them.

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