28/08/2025
“He Sent Me Out for Getting Pregnant in Secondary School — But 18 Years Later, I Was the Doctor Who Delivered His Grandchild.”
I was just 16.
Bright. Naïve.
In SS2.
All it took was one mistake.
One night.
One boy who promised he loved me.
I got pregnant.
When I told my father, he slapped me so hard I saw darkness.
He threw my books in the gutter.
Dragged me to the village square and screamed,
“She has brought shame to this family!”
That night, he threw me out of the house.
---
I went to my aunt’s house in tears.
She gave me a mat and two rules:
“Don’t cry too loud. Don’t eat too much.”
I gave birth alone.
In pain.
In silence.
No one held my hand.
The boy who got me pregnant denied it.
His family said I was “wayward.”
My classmates avoided me.
I was the girl who ruined her life.
But what they didn’t know…
Was that I didn’t die.
I rose.
---
I worked during the day.
Sold akara at night.
Enrolled in a health training center with the money I saved.
Passed my exams.
Got a scholarship.
Became a nurse.
Then a midwife.
Then a medical doctor.
I raised my child with love.
He never lacked affection — even when we lacked food.
---
18 years later, I was on duty in the labor ward.
A young woman came in with complications.
She was scared.
Her father paced outside the theatre.
I stepped out to reassure him.
He turned around… and froze.
It was my father.
Older.
Grayer.
But unmistakable.
We stared at each other.
Tears filled his eyes.
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
I looked at him and said,
“Don’t worry, sir. She’ll be fine. I’ll handle it personally.”
---
I delivered his grandchild.
Safely.
Gently.
Lovingly.
Just like I wished someone had done for me.
After the surgery, I handed him the baby and said,
“Meet your grandchild. And by the way… I'm the girl you called shame.”
Never write off a soul just because they stumbled. Some of us were buried so we could grow.