Six months had passed since Sarah, the new woman David brought into their lives, became part of their shattered family story. Daniel was barely three years old, and Mercy — once the cheerful, glowing young wife — had become a shadow of the vibrant woman she once was. Poverty had carved its scars into her skin, but pain carved deeper ones into her soul.
That morning, as the rising sun struggled to peek through the gray clouds hanging over the city, Mercy tied her fading wrapper tightly around her waist, balancing a worn basket on her head. With Daniel slung on her back, she made her way toward the local market, not to sell but to plead — to ask a friendly trader if they could allow her to take some food on credit until she found a way to pay.
Her slippers scraped gently against the dusty roadside as she walked, lost in silent prayers for strength and provision. Her heart beat heavily, yet she pressed on, fueled by a mother's unbreakable resolve to feed her child.
But as she turned onto a narrow path near one of the back streets — a shortcut she often took — her world stopped. There, just a few steps away, was David.
He wasn't alone.
Holding hands with Sarah, the young woman his family forced into his life, they stepped out of a freshly painted bungalow — the house David had secretly rented for her. Sarah's stomach was rounded with pregnancy, and she was glowing with pride. The smile on her face made it clear that she was cherished… adored.
Mercy froze in place.
For a moment, the weight of the basket on her head disappeared. The baby on her back was no longer the burden. The real weight was in her chest — a storm of betrayal that made it hard to breathe.
She blinked, as if the image before her was a cruel illusion. But it wasn't.
"David… David… David!" she called, her voice trembling with disbelief.
David turned slowly. His face twisted into an expression of disdain the moment he recognized her.
"What is it you want, you evil woman?" he barked, waving a dismissive hand.
Mercy's lips trembled. "You… You told me you couldn't afford rent… food… You sold our car, our clothes. And now you're living here? With her? And she's pregnant?"
Tears welled in her eyes as she took a step forward, seeking answers, seeking humanity.
But instead of remorse, David surged toward her with fury.
"You think you're the only one suffering?" he shouted. "You brought misfortune to my life! Ever since you gave birth to that cursed boy, nothing has gone right. You ruined everything!"
Mercy's eyes widened. "You mean… our son? You're blaming Daniel?"
David's anger reached its boiling point. In a flash, he shoved Mercy backward. Her basket tumbled to the ground, spilling the little hope she had carried with her.
"Go back to your miserable life!" he spat, advancing on her. "You're no longer my wife. Sarah is the woman I love now. You should be grateful I haven't thrown you out completely!"
Sarah chuckled coldly behind him, resting a hand on her stomach.
"This is what a real wife looks like," she sneered. "Clean. Obedient. And blessed with a child who'll bring honor to her father."
Mercy's legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wiped them roughly.
She looked up at David, her voice low and shaking, but filled with strength.
"I gave you everything. My youth. My loyalty. My heart. I bore your children, stood by you when no one else would… And this is how you repay me?"
David stepped closer as if to strike her again, but a voice rang out from behind.
It was an old woman, a market seller passing by.
"David!" she snapped. "Have you no shame? You're beating the mother of your children in the street? This is who you've become?"
David froze, suddenly aware of the crowd gathering.
Mercy rose to her feet slowly, gathering her dignity from the dust.
"I may be poor now," she said, her voice steady, "but my children will remember who I was. They will know their mother never gave up — even when the world turned against her. And one day, they will rise, not because of you, but despite you."
With trembling arms, she carried Daniel and walked away, head held high.
The crowd whispered, some in pity, others in admiration. But Mercy didn't care.