I saw a sad scenario yesterday. I was shattered.
I was in the hospital waiting bay for the children’s clinic, waiting for my friend who had brought her child for immunization.
There was a lady sitting alone, totally lost in her phone, in the seat in front of us. My attention wasn’t on her.
Shortly after, a lady came from the doctor’s office carrying a baby probably six months old. She was accompanied by an elderly woman who resembled the lady on the bench. Let’s call the bench lady Cindy.
Immediately babymama saw Cindy, she adjusted her baby tightly, facing the opposite direction — not Cindy’s direction.
Cindy was thrilled to see the baby; she immediately stood, hugged babymama and reached for the baby. “Is she okay? I came as fast as possible.”
Babymama quickly covered her baby, saying the baby wanted to sleep.
Cindy was confused. “How is she sleepy yet she’s playful?”
“It’s her sleeping time. I know her schedule. I’m the mother.” babymama said coldly.
Cindy stepped aside, looked at their mother, then asked calmly:
“You’re my younger sister, but I’ve always known you don’t want me to hold your baby. Why?”
“Stop exaggerating. The baby wants to sleep. That’s all.”
“Sis… since she was born, I’ve held her only once, and it was mum who passed her to me. You always say she’s sleepy, grumpy, or you simply want to hold her… then later I see you hand the baby to someone else. Why?”
“Don’t ask rhetorical questions. She’s my baby. I know what I’m doing.”
“We’ve all noticed that you don’t want me to hold your baby. Everyone tells me to be patient with you, but it hurts. Kindly… tell me why.”
Babymama turned her phone off.
“You want to know the reason? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because you don’t have a baby. You don’t have motherly instincts. That’s why.”
“I’ve been a mother twice, and I’m a nurse. I know everything on baby health. What is new to learn?”
“That’s the problem. You’ve been a mother twice… but you’re no longer a mother. I don’t know the type of spirit you carry that you’ve been an unsuccessful mother twice. I don’t want that energy near my child. And to think you’ve been divorced uncountable times… I don’t want your hands near my child. I don’t know what you do at night.”
“But I’ve been a mother even if my children were special. What wrong did I commit before your eyes?” she asked, voice shaking.
“Everything is wrong. Why two special children with two different men? How? Why you? If it was one man, I would understand but two? It means there’s something wrong with you. Why are you still the one always getting divorced?”
“But I’m still counted as a mother. I am one. Why would you think like this? You’re my sister! My two failed marriages are just bad luck. At the right time, I’ll have a family…”
Their mother, who had been silent, finally spoke, voice breaking:
“You don’t judge your sister when the world is already judging her. She’s your sister — with or without a child. She cannot harm your child. Stand by her side when others walk away.”
Babymama wasn’t moved.
“Mum, I wish her well. But the spirit she carries is what I don’t want near my child. Respect my decision.”
The mother was broken.
“She’s your sister. You cannot join the world in mocking her.”
Babymama wasn’t interested in any advice. She looked up from the phone and said, “The taxi is here. We’ll meet later, siz. I wish you well. Bye.”
She stood up and left.
Cindy cried — soft, silent sobs — with her mother holding her, consoling her until we left the hospital.
And as I watched her crumble in her mother’s arms, it hit me that pain doesn’t always come from enemies. Sometimes the deepest wounds come from the people who should have prayed for you, not spoken curses into your journey. Society already ripped her heart twice yet her own blood walked right into the wound and twisted it further. In that moment I realized some people don’t need more strength, they just need gentleness. Not pity. Just gentleness.