Rejoice was only eight years old when her life changed forever. The tragedy began with the death of her mother during childbirth, leaving her father, a hardworking mason, overwhelmed. Struggling to care for both a newborn and an older child, he made a heartbreaking decision: he took the baby with him to the city, leaving Rejoice in the care of her late mother’s sister, Aunt Monica.
“Just for a little while,” he assured her, squeezing her small hand. “You’ll stay with your mother’s sister. She will treat you like a daughter.”
However, from the moment Rejoice stepped into Aunt Monica’s house in Aba, her life became a nightmare. Monica was a bitter woman, harboring resentment after her husband left her for a younger woman. This bitterness manifested in her treatment of Rejoice. While her own children, Justin and Terry, enjoyed a comfortable life filled with private school, fresh bread, and clean clothes, Rejoice was relegated to sleeping on a mat in the kitchen, wearing tattered hand-me-downs, and eating only after everyone else had finished their meals.
“Do you think you’re a princess?” Monica would scream, hurling soapy water at her. “You come to my house acting like a lady?”
Rejoice endured a daily routine of washing dishes, fetching water, cooking, and scrubbing the bathrooms, all while facing physical abuse. Despite the pain, she never complained. At night, she lay awake, whispering to her deceased mother, longing for comfort.
“Mommy, I miss you. Why did you leave me?”
In school, Rejoice was quiet but intelligent. Her teacher, Mrs. Grace, often encouraged her, saying, “You have a gift, Rejoice. Don’t let anyone make you feel small.” Yet, Rejoice struggled to believe this. Her body bore the scars of abuse—whip marks on her back, burns on her arms, and bruises from her aunt’s heavy rings.
One fateful Saturday morning, everything changed. While cooking rice, Rejoice became distracted and forgot to check the pot. When Aunt Monica entered the kitchen and saw the burning rice, her fury erupted.
“Useless girl! Do you know how much rice costs at the market?” she yelled.
“Aunt, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, I was sweeping…” Rejoice stammered, but before she could finish, Monica grabbed a kettle of boiling water and poured it directly onto Rejoice’s face.
The scream that escaped Rejoice was not just one of physical pain; it was a cry of shattered innocence. “My face! Mommy! Mommy!” she screamed, rolling on the floor, clawing at the air. Her cousins, Justin and Terry, stood frozen in horror.
“Now you’ll learn! Stupid girl!” Monica shouted as she dropped the kettle and walked away, indifferent to the chaos she had caused.
Neighbors rushed in, alarmed by the screams. Someone called a man named Kevin, who took Rejoice to the nearest clinic. The nurses were horrified by her condition.
“Who did this? This isn’t an accident—this is boiling water! This is cruelty!” they exclaimed, rushing to provide care.
Rejoice’s face was covered in blisters and swollen beyond recognition. Her left eye was completely shut, and her skin was peeling. For days, she struggled to eat or speak, traumatized by the experience. The police were called, but Monica, a respected member of the church with strong connections, claimed it was an accident.
“She was playing in the kitchen. She spilled it on herself. God knows I love that girl,” Monica insisted.
Though many doubted her story, without evidence, the case could not proceed. Rejoice fell silent for weeks, retreating into herself. When she was finally discharged, she returned to her grandmother’s home, where she was met with love and care, but the scars—both visible and invisible—remained.
That night, sitting in her grandmother’s kitchen and gazing at the stars, Rejoice whispered, “God… why do the wicked win? Why did you allow this to happen to me?” She made a silent vow, “One day, I will not be poor. I will never beg for food again. I will never live in anyone’s house again.”
As she grew older, Rejoice faced the harsh reality of her scars. At nine, she learned that life was not fair. Though the burn had stolen her face, it could not extinguish her spirit. Living in her grandmother’s humble home, she found solace in books. Her grandmother, once a teacher, encouraged her to read and write, nurturing the spark of hope within her.
By the time she was twelve, Rejoice returned to school, her head held high and her face covered with a scarf. Despite the whispers and stares, she persevered. With the support of her friends, especially Zina, she began to reclaim her life.
Years later, Rejoice earned a scholarship for a regional science competition, marking her first journey beyond the village since the accident. In the city, she found acceptance and opportunities, free from the shadows of her past.
Eventually, she became a doctor specializing in pediatric care, dedicating her life to helping children who had suffered similar fates. The scars on her face became symbols of her resilience and strength, and she transformed her pain into a source of inspiration for others.
Rejoice’s journey was one of healing, forgiveness, and empowerment. She learned that while the past could not be changed, her future was hers to shape. Through her work at the hospital, she offered not only medical care but also love and understanding to those in need.
In the end, Rejoice became a beacon of hope, demonstrating that even the darkest experiences could lead to a brighter future. Her story serves as a reminder that resilience and compassion can conquer even the most profound suffering.
