I'd been choosing peace like my life depended on it—because it did.
Not just mine anymore, but the tiny one growing inside me, whose heartbeat i heard that day in the clinic.
Strong. Steady. Unapologetically alive.
Ever since then, I made a silent promise: no more stress, no more spirals.
I wasn't going to let anything or anyone hurt what i loved most now.
My baby.
I let the sunlight in every morning and lit lavender candles at night.
I talked to my baby when the silence got too heavy.
And i breathed.
God, I breathed like it was the only way to fight back.
Because pain has a way of sneaking in, even when you lock all the doors.
But i had something worth protecting now—and for the first time in my life, it wasn't a medal, or a relationship, or someone's approval.
It was this.
This tiny heartbeat inside me, counting on me to be strong when the world wasn't.
"Anak, do you want hot chocolate?"
Yaya Minda's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
She was holding a tray with a mug and some crackers, the same ones she used to bring me when i was seven and crying over a lost ribbon from a pony show.
I nodded weakly.
She placed the tray on the coffee table, then sat beside me, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
Her hand lingered on my head.
"You remind me of your mother," she said gently.
I blinked, surprised. "Why?"
She hesitated.
Looked down at her lap. "Because... she went through something like this too."
I sat up, stunned. "What do you mean?"
Yaya Minda let out a slow, measured breath.
Her voice was calm but soft, like she was tiptoeing over memories that still hurt to touch.
"Your mama... she planned to get pregnant," she started. "But what she didn't plan for was the timing. She didn't know she was already carrying Sebi when she left for China."
My chest tightened.
"She went to China?" My voice was small, almost childlike.
"She did," Yaya said. "After she divorced your father. She didn't tell anyone at all. Not even me. We only found out when she called years later, crying, saying she was scared and didn't know what to do."
I stared at her. "She was alone?"
She nodded. "Yes. All alone in a city she barely knew, with a baby in her belly and a broken heart in her chest."
I felt a strange pang twist inside me—something between guilt and admiration.
I'd always seen Mama as this distant, poised woman who wore tailored coats and carried designer bags and always knew what to say at charity galas.
I didn't know she had cried in a foreign city.
I didn't know she had felt lost.
Like me.
"She left because she loved your dad so much," Yaya added after a pause. "She wanted him to pursue his dream—Oxford. She didn't want to be the reason to hold him back."
Tears stung my eyes.
"She gave him up... just so he could become the best version of himself."
"Yes," Yaya whispered. "And it broke her."
I bit my lip hard to keep the sob from rising.
But it did anyway.
I folded forward, resting my head on my knees, as the tears came hot and fast.
"I didn't know," I choked. "All this time... I thought they didn't care. I thought Sebi was their favorite. I thought i was the accident—the unwanted one."
"Oh, anak..." Yaya's arms were around me before I even realized it. "You were never unwanted."
"But they weren't there," I said, my voice shaking. "Not at my equestrian championship. Not at my college graduation. Not even when i left the country. They always showed up for Sebi. They gave him everything."
"They did that," she said gently, "because they felt they failed the first time. Your mama wanted to give Sebi the love she never got to give him in those early years, but as what you see they're trying to give all the love you need as well, maybe they just think that you're distant, enjoyed being alone"
I looked at her, breathless. "So that's why?"
"Yes.
That's why they're extra protective to him and to you as well, Extra present, Because they were trying to make up for the time lost."
I felt the weight of it settle in my chest like a puzzle i didn't know i was solving suddenly clicked into place.
Maybe it wasn't that i wasn't loved.
Maybe it was just that love sometimes looks like guilt.
Sometimes, it looks like silence.
Like showing up late—but still showing up.
"I'm still hurt," I whispered.
"I know," Yaya said, wiping my tears with the edge of her sleeve. "But now you understand. And understanding is the first step toward forgiveness."
I swallowed hard.
I wasn't ready to forgive.
Not yet.
But i could feel something cracking inside me—something old and bitter—beginning to soften.
She looked down at my belly.
"You'll be strong for your baby. Just like your mama was strong for Sebi."
I placed a trembling hand over my stomach.
The baby i almost lost.
The baby i cried for in the hospital.
The baby who didn't ask to be here—but was still here.
Still fighting.
Just like me.
"I'll do it right," I said. "Even if i don't know how. I'll figure it out."
"I believe you will."
We sat in silence, our hands linked.
Outside, the sun had started to dip into the horizon, casting the sky in amber.
I hadn't even noticed how late it had gotten.
The baby hadn't kicked yet, but i imagined they could feel this moment too, the shift in me, the small courage returning.
And maybe just maybe that was enough to start again.