CHAPTER 5
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That morning felt different.
It was our one year anniversary.
I woke up early. The room was quiet. The air felt still, like heaven was watching.
I slipped out of bed and knelt down.
“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered, lifting my hands slowly. “Thank You for how far You have brought me.”
Was the journey smooth?
No.
But I still thanked Him. Because I believed God was still in my story… even when I did not understand it. Tears gathered in my eyes as I worshipped softly.
“Thank You for my marriage… thank You for my husband…”
The door opened. I did not turn immediately. I thought he would join me. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today… he would be soft.
I heard his footsteps. Then the sound of something dropping on the bed. His journal. His pen.
Silence followed. Heavy silence. I opened my eyes slowly and turned. Pastor John Anthony stood there. Looking at me. Not smiling. Not pleased. Just watching.
I quickly adjusted myself and knelt properly.
“Good morning, sir,” I said gently.
He did not answer at first. Then his voice came… cold.
“And what is good about the morning?”
My heart skipped. I forced a small smile.
“It is our anniversary today, sir,” I said carefully. “Congratulations to us.”
I waited. Maybe he would smile. Maybe he would say something kind. But instead… his face tightened.
“Congratulations to you,” he said sharply. “Not to me.”
The words hit me like a slap. My smile faded.
“Sir…?” I whispered.
He stepped closer.
“Where is the evidence of this marriage?” he asked, his voice rising. “One year… and nothing to show for it.”
My throat went dry. I could not speak.
“No child,” he continued. “Not even a sign.”
Tears began to gather in my eyes.
“And you are here celebrating,” he added, his tone filled with disgust. “Do you even think at all?”
I felt something break inside me.
“I… I am trying…” I said softly.
“Trying?” he snapped. “Trying what exactly?” His eyes burned into mine. “Do you know what my ministry needs?” he continued. “A child. A son. Someone to carry my name.”
Each word felt heavier than the last.
“And what have you given me?” he said. “Nothing.”
My tears fell freely now.
“You just sit there like everything is fine,” he went on. “Does your barren state not bother you?”
The word hit me hard.
Barren.
I felt it echo in my head.
“Or maybe you are comfortable like this,” he added with a bitter laugh. “A useless wife with empty hands.”
I gasped softly.
“People are watching me,” he continued. “They are expecting results. A man of God without a child? What kind of story is that?”
I could not hold it anymore.
My tears poured like water. Still on my knees. Still looking at the man I once called my answered prayer.
“Sir… please…” I whispered, my voice shaking.
But he did not stop.
“Maybe I made a mistake,” he said quietly.
Those words…They cut deeper than anything else. I lowered my head. I did not know when my body started shaking.
All my prayers.
All my hope.
All my faith.
In that moment… it felt like nothing.
He hissed loudly. The sound filled the room. Then he turned and walked past me. Like I was nothing. Like I was not breaking right in front of him.
“Do not make me late for church,” he said from behind me. “When you are done crying, go and dress up.”
His voice was normal again. Cold. Controlled. “We have a service to lead.”
The door opened. Then closed. And I was left alone. Still on my knees. Still crying. My anniversary morning… Became a moment I would never forget. Because for the first time… I did not just feel pain.
I felt empty.
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