The day I told him I was pregnant, he remained silent.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Nonso. He’s yours.”

He never spoke to me again. A few days later, I learned that his parents had sent him to study in the United Kingdom.

One morning, my mother found the doctor’s letter in my backpack.

“You want to shame us? Find the father!” she yelled, furious.

“Mom, I have nowhere else to go…”

“Then leave. There’s no place for sinners here.”

I was left alone, with a growing belly and a fear that consumed me from within. I slept in half-built houses, washed other people’s clothes, and sold oranges at the market to survive. When the time came, I gave birth under a mango tree, behind the midwife Doña Estela’s booth.