My name is Gift Phoebe. My husband and I had been married for five years, yet we still didn’t have a child. Finally, after a medical examination, the hospital confirmed that I was pregnant. Before that moment, I had been terrified that I might have to adopt or grow old without ever having a child, because it felt like there was no hope left for me.
My in-laws used to be kind to me, especially my mother-in-law. But as time passed and there was still no baby, their attitude toward me completely changed. They even advised my husband, Hezekiah, to marry another woman because, according to them, it was clearly my fault.
There were many nights when I stayed awake, praying earnestly for God to remember me. And now, He finally had.
When I was eight weeks pregnant, I asked my husband if we could take a walk one evening. My belly had begun to show slightly.
The street was busy—dirty, with piles of trash, and many people with mental problems wandering around.
As we were walking, a pale young man wearing rags approached me. His hair was messy, his body dirty. He pointed at my stomach and shouted:
“I am responsible for that pregnancy! I am the real father of that child!”
I had never felt such humiliation in my entire life. What was he thinking? That something had happened between us? I had never seen him before in my life! Was he trying to ruin my marriage?
“Who are you, you madman? Do you even know me? Have we ever met before? If you want to show your madness, don’t drag me into it!” I shouted, my voice trembling with anger.
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