I was in JHS when I found out the woman I had known all my life as my mother was not truly my mother. My aunt revealed it to me out of anger. As far as I was concerned, I was living with both my aunt and my mother. Then one hot afternoon, I made my aunt angry. She lashed out, “You should be grateful I’m taking care of you when your idiot mother abandoned you.”

It felt like a slap in my face. “Who is my mother?” I cried. She didn’t tell me. All she said was that the woman I knew as my mother was in fact, my grandmother. 

It was after this revelation that I met my father. He would visit me with my siblings when school was on vacation. I wanted to ask him questions about my biological mother but he was always distant during our interactions. This didn’t give me the courage to ask him questions. 

When I was about to complete Junior High School, I moved in with my father. I could no longer bear my aunt’s harsh treatment. Also, an incident happened with my aunt’s husband that scarred me. One day I followed this man to the farm as I usually did. When we got to a place where there was no one in sight, he tried to take advantage of me. I fought him off, but he still forced his fingers on me. I wish I could forever erase that memory from my mind. 

I never told my aunt or grandmother about it because I was scared they wouldn’t believe me. So I chose to go live with my father.

Growing up wasn’t easy. I didn’t receive the kind of love every child deserves. But moving in with my father made life slightly more bearable. When I started Senior High School, I’d occasionally visit my grandmother and aunt. I did this until I finally completed high school.

Then, in January 2025, my grandmother fell ill and passed away. I cried like never before. This woman had been my entire world—my rock. I lived with her until I was 16. Unlike my aunt, she was good to me. This is why I believed she was my mother. I always wanted the chance to repay her for her kindness. But sadly, she passed away before I could do that. 

As if that pain wasn’t enough, my father, who had been ill since August 2024, passed away in March 2025—just three months after my grandma. The only two people I thought I had were both gone.

Now, here is my problem. Two years ago, I found my biological mother’s number in my father’s phone. I called her. But from the moment she picked up, I could feel she didn’t want to talk to me. I asked her where she had been all my life. She said my father had hurt her so deeply that she couldn’t forgive him.

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I thought by reaching out to her and talking to her, we could build a relationship. Well, that hasn’t happened. 

I am 25 years but I’ve never met her in person. No hugs. No motherly affection. And now, with my grandma and father gone, the silence is louder than ever.

I Was Fine Until I Was Alone In My Room


The first time I saw her picture, I wept. I thought I was looking at my reflection in a mirror. So why is she not trying to be present in my life? I am her first child, after all. I called her out when she refused to come and mourn my father with me. I told her how I felt. Since then, I haven’t heard from her.

We have each other’s numbers, but we don’t talk. We just view each other’s WhatsApp statuses. It’s killing me softly. What did I ever do to deserve this? Is it my fault I was born? She said my father hurt her. I am not the one who did it, so why is she taking it out on me? The person who even offended her is dead, yet I am the one paying for his sins. Are there mothers out there who sleep peacefully at night knowing they have children they don’t talk to?

—Rachel

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