Grace Thought

26/07/2025

Before You Raise a Child in Today’s World… You Need to Hear This African Story

Episode 5
A week later, on a Thursday evening, Grace was late returning from work due to a roadblock on the mainland. Normally, this would have left her panicked, but she had begun to trust the new rhythms in her home. Daniel had taken responsibility for helping Zoe with her assignments. Lisa had started learning how to cook small meals under Grace’s supervision. The house didn’t run perfectly—but it ran.
That evening, as twilight spread its calm across the sky, a knock came at the gate.
Daniel looked out the window. It was Sly—his former “hustler” contact.
“Guy, open na,” Sly called. “Make we talk.”
Daniel stepped out cautiously and shut the gate behind him.
Sly leaned in with a grin. “I get new link. Real one. This one no be small play. Just carry small bag to drop-off point. You go collect your ₦200k sharp.”
Daniel didn’t blink. “I’m not interested.”
Sly laughed. “Ah, so you don turn choir boy now? You dey wash plate for your mama, dey write ‘trying’ on whiteboard? You forget say we start this hustle together?”
Daniel’s fists clenched, but he didn’t react.
“If you ever come near this house again,” Daniel said calmly, “I will report you. Not just to school authorities. But to the police. Leave now.”
Sly spat on the ground. “You go regret this, Daniel. All this your holy boy acting no go last.”
Daniel watched him walk away, heart pounding, hands trembling.
But he didn’t open the gate immediately. He just stood there for a few more seconds, breathing deeply.
Inside, Lisa had been watching from the window. When Daniel returned, she didn’t say a word. She just handed him a glass of water.
Later that night, Grace arrived and was told what had happened.
She called Daniel into her room.
“I heard you stood your ground.”
Daniel nodded. “I had to.”
Grace placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re becoming a man. Not because you’re strong, but because you’re learning when to walk away.”
Daniel looked down, then back at her. “I did it for you. For Zoe. For Lisa. I don’t want to be the reason this house falls again.”
Grace pulled him into a hug. “You’re not the reason, son. You’re the redemption.”
That night, Grace added a final rule to the whiteboard:
Rule #7: Our home is not just a building. It’s a shield. And everyone must protect it.
Zoe saw it the next morning and whispered, “Even me?”
Grace knelt and kissed her forehead. “Especially you.”
Two months later, everything in the house felt… different. Not perfect. Not magical. But deeply, intentionally better.
Zoe had stopped copying everything Lisa did. Now, she had her own routine—morning hugs, bedtime verses, and drawing Jesus with an afro in her notebook. Lisa had grown quieter, more thoughtful. She still liked dressing up, but now it was more about expression, not performance. And Daniel? He’d become a pillar. Even Grace leaned on him sometimes, emotionally. He no longer ran from correction. He welcomed it.
The whiteboard stayed up. They didn’t call it “The Rules” anymore. They called it The Covenant.
One Friday evening, Grace gathered them all in the living room.
“I have a surprise,” she said.
Zoe squealed. “Is it pizza?”
“Better,” Grace grinned. She brought out a small box from her bag and handed each child a copy of something.
It was a book. Not a long one. Just a handmade booklet titled:
“Before You Raise a Child in Today’s World…”
Written by: Mum.
Inside were lessons, scriptures, journal entries, confessions of failure, and prayers.
Lisa flipped through the pages and whispered, “You wrote this?”
Daniel nodded slowly. “It’s everything we’ve been through…”
“Yes,” Grace said, voice cracking. “I never want you to forget what we fought for in this house. Because one day, you’ll raise your own children. And I want you to give them more than just WiFi and clothes. I want you to give them a legacy.”
Tears welled in Lisa’s eyes. She whispered, “I thought I hated you at some point.”
Grace smiled. “That means I was doing it right.”
Daniel chuckled. Zoe didn’t understand the moment fully, but she reached out and hugged her mum tightly. “You’re my best friend,” she said.
That night, they didn’t hold devotion as usual.
They sat under the stars outside, sharing stories about who they wanted to become. Grace listened to them laugh, dream, and tease each other, and her heart swelled.
She had lost control once.
But she found purpose.
She had almost lost her children.
But she discovered them.
And now… they would never be the same.
The world hadn’t changed.
But inside that small home in Surulere, one family had learned how to fight back—with love, truth, and intentional parenting.

Please follow Grace Thought for more stories

Please like, comment and share 🙏🙏🙏

26/07/2025

Before You Raise a Child in Today’s World… You Need to Hear This African Story

Episode 4
On a Wednesday afternoon, Daniel was walking home from school when he heard the familiar whistle behind him. He turned and saw Sly, the same boy who had recruited him into the online “hustlers” group.
“Guy, you just disappear like ghost. You never dey drop again,” Sly said, slapping Daniel’s shoulder.
Daniel hesitated. “I don stop. I’m focusing on other things.”
Sly laughed. “Other things? You dey do church boy now?”
The conversation was short, but the pressure lingered. Sly made it sound like Daniel had become soft. Like he was missing out. That night, Daniel couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling wondering if he was throwing away his chance to “cash out” and help his family faster. All those messages in the Telegram group still buzzed in his memory—boys buying phones, sneakers, renting one-bedroom flats.
But then he remembered the bowl of pancakes, his mother’s journal, Zoe’s innocent smile, and the way Lisa laughed now during devotion.
He had something money couldn’t buy anymore.
Meanwhile, Lisa faced her own test. At school, a girl named Belinda teased her during break time. “So I heard your mum broke your tab and banned you from TikTok,” she sneered.
Lisa stayed quiet.
“I guess you’re not cool anymore. No wonder you don’t even know the new dance.”
But instead of reacting with anger, Lisa surprised herself. “It’s not every dance that’s worth doing,” she replied.
The girls laughed and walked away, but something shifted in Lisa. For once, she didn’t feel small for not following the crowd. She felt… safe.
When Grace picked them up from school that day, Lisa got into the car and said something she hadn’t said in a long time: “Thanks for coming.”
Grace smiled. “Always.”
Zoe piped up from the backseat. “Can we sing that song from last night again?”
They all laughed.
But Grace knew better than to relax too soon. The enemy doesn’t knock once. He keeps returning.
That night, she added a new rule to the board:
Rule #6: If you’re struggling, don’t hide. Speak. I will listen. Always.
She left the marker uncapped on purpose.
And for the first time, Daniel picked it up.
He wrote one word beneath it: “Trying.”
It was a quiet Saturday morning. The kind of peaceful morning Grace hadn’t experienced in years. Birds chirped. A soft breeze moved the curtains. Zoe was helping her mother water the flowers in front of the compound while Lisa swept the veranda, earbuds in—not for music, but for a Bible story podcast Grace had introduced. Inside, Daniel sat at the table, sketching something in his journal. He wasn’t an artist, but he found peace in drawing. He drew his family that morning. Smiling. Together.
Then came the knock.
Grace wasn’t expecting anyone. She wiped her hands and walked to the gate cautiously. When she opened it, her face dropped. There stood Mrs. Obasi, the assistant principal at Daniel’s school. Her face was serious, almost apologetic.
“Good morning, Grace. Sorry to come unannounced,” she said, stepping inside as Grace opened the gate wider.
Grace offered her a seat. Her heart was already racing.
“It’s about Daniel,” Mrs. Obasi said, lowering her voice. “A few weeks ago, we discovered some of the students were involved in off-campus scams. Daniel’s name was mentioned. We decided to investigate quietly.”
Grace felt her stomach twist. Just when she thought things were improving…
“But,” Mrs. Obasi continued, “I spoke to him personally last week. He admitted he was once involved but said he stopped. He even helped us identify some of the group leaders. Grace… your son helped us break the cycle for others.”
Tears filled Grace’s eyes.
“We’re not punishing him,” Mrs. Obasi said gently. “In fact, we’d like him to speak to some of the junior students during mentorship week. He’s honest, smart, and courageous. We believe he could lead them the right way.”
Grace nodded slowly, overwhelmed. After the woman left, she walked back into the house, where Daniel still sat drawing.
“You helped your school, Daniel?” she asked.
He looked up, surprised. “They came to me. I just… didn’t want to lie anymore.”
Grace knelt beside him and hugged him tightly. “I’m proud of you. So, so proud.”
Later that night, she told the girls what happened. Lisa smiled proudly. Zoe clapped and ran to hug Daniel’s legs.
It wasn’t a perfect home. But it was becoming a healed one.
Grace sat on her bed later that evening, flipping through her Bible. Her eyes landed on Isaiah 54:13:
“All your children shall be taught by the Lord, and great shall be the peace of your children.”
She underlined it and wrote beside it in her journal:
Let this be our legacy.
Lisa had been doing well. Her mornings were more cheerful, her journal entries more honest. She even started helping Zoe with homework and joined Grace for Bible reading without being forced. But even good progress has cracks—and sometimes, the past finds a way to sneak in through a small one.
It started with a sleepover invitation.
Belinda, the same girl who once mocked Lisa at school, was throwing a birthday party at her aunt’s house. She handed Lisa a glittery card after school. “There’ll be pizza, games, and we’re even going live on TikTok. You should totally come. Just don’t bring that boring church energy,” she added with a smirk.
Lisa wanted to say no. But she didn’t.
At home, Lisa handed the card to her mum. “Can I go? It’s just one night.”
Grace read the invite twice. Her spirit twisted. Something didn’t sit right. “Who will be there? Any adults?”
“Her aunt. She’s cool,” Lisa replied quickly.
Grace paused. She didn’t want to seem overbearing. But she also couldn’t ignore her instincts. “Let me speak with Belinda’s aunt before I decide,” she said.
Lisa frowned. “Mum, please don’t embarrass me.”
Grace didn’t budge. That evening, she dialed the number printed on the invitation. The woman who picked up sounded distracted, barely paying attention. She laughed loudly into the phone and said, “No stress, madam. It’s just girls having fun. They’re teenagers, let them enjoy.”
That was all Grace needed to hear.
The next day, Grace sat Lisa down. “Sweetheart, you can’t go.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t have peace about it. The guardian sounds careless. The internet will be involved. And I’m not ready to expose you to that again.”
Lisa exploded. “So I’m your prisoner now?! Everyone else is going!”
Grace didn’t raise her voice. “I’d rather protect you and have you angry at me than let you go and lose you.”
Lisa ran to her room and slammed the door. Grace sat in the living room, eyes closed, whispering a prayer. She knew Lisa didn’t understand yet. But one day she would.
That night, Lisa didn’t come out for dinner. But just before bedtime, Grace found a note slid under her door.
“I don’t get you sometimes. But I know you love me. I just wish it wasn’t so hard.” —Lisa
Grace held the note to her chest.
The next morning, Lisa joined devotion again.
Not because she wasn’t still angry.
But because she knew, deep down, her mother was the only one truly fighting for her soul.
The week after Lisa’s sleepover meltdown passed quietly. There were no more tantrums, no shouting, no slammed doors. But there was also a new kind of silence in the house—fragile, like walking across cracked glass. Grace knew they were at a turning point. She had done all she could inside the home. But it wasn’t enough. The world outside was louder, faster, and more persuasive than ever. If she didn’t strengthen their foundation with more than just words and rules, she would lose them all over again.
So she made a call.
That Saturday morning, Grace took her children to a nearby youth mentorship center run by her former university friend, Aunty Mabel—a counselor, youth coach, and mother of two teenage boys herself. The building wasn’t flashy, but it was alive. The walls were painted with murals of African children holding books and playing drums. Inside, there were teenagers sitting in small circles, talking, laughing, and sharing real-life struggles—with no judgment.
Zoe stayed close to her mum. Lisa looked uncomfortable. Daniel? He stayed silent, eyes darting everywhere. But Aunty Mabel knew what to do. She welcomed each of them with warmth that felt like sunlight.
The session was simple. Each child was paired with a mentor close to their age. They discussed choices, digital pressure, identity, and fear. Lisa ended up with a 15-year-old girl who used to be addicted to social media fame but now ran a small online devotional page. Daniel sat next to a boy who once belonged to a fraud gang but left and is now learning graphic design. The stories were raw, real, and nothing like school sermons.
For the first time, the children saw people who had walked similar paths and made it out.
Grace stood quietly in the hallway, peeking into each room. Her eyes filled with tears—not of pain this time, but of relief. She had found her tribe. The support she’d needed all along. Parenting wasn’t meant to be done in isolation.
Later that day, as they walked back to the car, Lisa was the first to speak.
“Mummy… when can we come back?”
Daniel added, “That guy said he’ll teach me design if I’m serious.”
Even Zoe shouted, “I drew a rainbow!”
Grace smiled and whispered, “We’ll come every week if we have to.”
And she meant it. Because healing is not a one-time thing. It’s a journey. And she was
The mentorship program became part of their weekly routine. Saturdays were no longer lazy mornings filled with cartoons and distractions. Instead, they became a time for reflection, growth, and laughter in community. Daniel was now practicing graphic design on a borrowed laptop. Lisa had started journaling again, but this time it wasn’t about outfits or views—it was about her feelings. Zoe was learning memory verses and proudly reciting them, sometimes in the middle of dinner. Grace felt the tide shifting.
But the enemy rarely knocks with a hammer. Sometimes, he slips through with a ding—a notification.
Lisa’s borrowed tablet buzzed one afternoon while she was doing homework. It was a DM from an old classmate. His name was KC. He used to comment on her makeup videos back when she was deep in her influencer phase. The message read:
“Hey Lisa. Miss seeing your vids. You were fire. You should come back. I can show you how to grow fast.”
Something inside Lisa stirred.
She didn’t reply immediately. But her mind began to wander. What harm could it do? Just one post? Just one video for old times’ sake? She still remembered her poses, the angles. And KC was cute. He had over 5,000 followers. That had to count for something.
Later that night, she slipped into the guest room where no one could hear the creaking floorboards. She opened the tablet and started recording—just one short video. She didn’t wear anything revealing. She just lip-synced a trending audio, pouted once, and uploaded it to her old account.
It was live for six minutes.
Then Grace walked in.
Lisa froze. “Mummy… I was just…”
Grace didn’t shout. She walked in slowly, picked up the tablet, and saw the post. Then she looked her daughter in the eye.
“I’m not angry. I’m sad.”
Lisa’s shoulders dropped.
“I thought I was strong enough now,” she whispered.
“You are strong,” Grace said, kneeling beside her. “But strength doesn’t mean never falling. It means choosing to get back up—and not doing it alone.”
Grace helped her delete the video. They sat in that room for an hour, not speaking much. Just being present. That night, Lisa added her own words under Rule #6 on the whiteboard:
“Temptation knocks like a friend. But friends don’t ask you to lie.”
Grace read it the next morning and smiled.
The war wasn’t over.
But her children were learning to fight back—with truth.

Please follow Grace Thought for more stories.

Please like, comment and share 🙏🙏🙏

25/07/2025

Before You Raise a Child in Today’s World… You Need to Hear This African Story

Episode 3
The next morning, Grace didn’t go to work. She called in sick—not because she had a fever, but because her house was on fire, and she was just now realizing the smoke. She brewed tea with trembling hands, her heart racing with both fear and a rising sense of urgency. Then she took a deep breath, stood in the middle of the living room, and called out:
“Daniel. Lisa. Zoe. Living room. Now.”
The tone in her voice froze them.
Daniel came down first, dragging his feet. Lisa emerged with a frown and crossed arms. Zoe, still in her pajamas, clutched her teddy bear. They all sat down quietly. Grace looked at each of them, her eyes tired but sharp. Then, without a word, she placed Lisa’s tablet and Daniel’s second phone on the table.
The house went still.
Lisa gasped. “Mummy how—”
Grace raised a hand. “I know more than you think. I’ve been watching. And I’ve been silent too long. But not anymore.”
Daniel shifted in his seat. “You went through my stuff?”
Grace didn’t flinch. “Yes. I did. Because I’m your mother. Not your roommate. Not your landlord. Not your assistant. Your mother. And I will not watch this house turn into a stranger’s playground.”
Lisa’s lip trembled. “I didn’t do anything bad.”
Grace turned to her gently. “Sweetheart, you did things your mind isn’t ready for. That’s what’s bad. Not because you’re evil, but because no one stopped you. That ends today.”
She picked up both devices and dropped them into a bowl of water.
Daniel shot to his feet. “Mum! What’s wrong with you?! That’s my phone!”
Grace stood too, her voice calm but unshakable. “That was your chain. And I just broke it.”
There was silence. Zoe looked confused. Lisa burst into tears and ran to her room. Daniel stormed out to the porch. Grace remained standing, her hands trembling slightly, but her spine straight. She had finally done it. Not because she hated her children. But because she loved them too much to be silent anymore.
That night, no one ate much. The house was quiet. Lisa refused to come out of her room. Daniel refused to speak. Zoe just clung to her mother’s wrapper all evening. But Grace didn’t feel defeated. For the first time in years, she felt present.
The battle had started.
And she wasn’t backing down.
The next morning began with silence—thick and heavy. No one said good morning. No one asked what was for breakfast. Daniel refused to come downstairs. Lisa locked her room. Zoe followed her mother around, sensing the tension in the air but not fully understanding it. Grace went about her chores slowly, her body tired but her mind on alert. She had expected backlash. What she hadn’t expected was how quickly her children would turn cold.
She knocked gently on Lisa’s door. “Can we talk?”
“Go away,” came the sharp reply.
Grace sighed and left the tray at the door. She walked over to Daniel’s room and knocked. No response. She opened it slowly and saw him lying on the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, his face blank. “Daniel…”
“I’m not hungry,” he said without looking at her.
Grace sat on the edge of the bed. “I know you’re angry. But I want to talk to you, not at you.”
He finally turned his head, eyes brimming with frustration. “Why now, Mum? Why are you suddenly acting like you care? Where were you when everything started? You’re always working. Always gone. You don’t know anything about us.”
His words stabbed deep.
She didn’t reply immediately. Because he was right. She had been present—but absent. She had assumed quiet meant okay. And effort meant enough. But now she saw it clearly: she had missed the signs. All of them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Daniel looked at her, surprised. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Daniel. You’re right. I’ve been surviving, not parenting. But I want to do better. I just need you to let me try.”
His expression softened—just a little. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t turn away either.
Later that afternoon, Lisa finally opened her door. She stepped into the living room with swollen eyes and crossed arms. “You embarrassed me,” she muttered.
Grace looked up from her chair. “I protected you.”
Lisa shook her head. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up now. Everyone has phones. Everyone posts. If you’re not online, you don’t exist.”
Grace stood and walked toward her daughter. “Lisa, you exist because you breathe. Because you feel. Not because strangers approve of your pictures. That kind of attention? It fades. And when it does, you’ll be left chasing shadows.”
Lisa looked at her for a long time. Then something strange happened—she started crying. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.”
Grace held her tightly. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”
In that moment, something cracked open—not just in Lisa, but in Grace too. For the first time, she wasn’t just reacting. She was reconnecting.
But this was only the beginning.
Healing would take time.
Grace didn’t own a manual for parenting—but that didn’t stop her from writing one with her actions. The day after the emotional breakthrough with Lisa and Daniel, she woke up at 5 a.m., but not to rush to work. This time, she made a full family breakfast. Not just cereal or leftover yam. A real breakfast—pancakes, eggs, and hot cocoa. It was her quiet declaration: I am present now. Zoe wandered in first, eyes wide at the sight. “Mummy… are we having a party?”
Grace laughed softly. “No, sweetheart. We’re having a new beginning.”
Daniel came in next, surprised. He paused, awkwardly scratching his head. “Morning…”
Grace smiled. “Morning, son. Sit. Eat.”
Lisa followed, hair uncombed, but with less of the attitude from before. She looked at the food, then at her mother, and whispered, “Thanks.” It wasn’t much. But it was more than enough.
They ate together—no phones, no distractions, just awkward small talk and hesitant smiles. For the first time in months, the table felt like a family again.
Later that day, Grace called a family meeting. No shouting. No scolding. She had a whiteboard she borrowed from the school and wrote one word at the top: RESET.
Underneath, she listed five new house rules:
No locked doors unless dressing or bathing.

Phones and tablets will be used openly—no secrecy.

One hour of family time every evening—no screens.

We pray and talk every night, even if it’s just five minutes.

We correct with love. No insults. No silence wars.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Lisa crossed her arms but nodded. Zoe clapped like she understood every word.
Grace then brought out two books: a daily devotional and a family journal. “Every night, we’ll read one page and write one sentence each about how we feel. No judgment.”
That evening, they tried it. It was awkward. Daniel mumbled. Lisa wrote too quickly. Zoe drew a smiley face. But they did it. Together.
Grace knew this wouldn’t solve everything overnight. But she also knew that structure builds safety. And connection brings healing. That night, she sat in her room, not in despair—but in quiet hope.
She didn’t need to be a perfect mother.
She just needed to be a present one.
The changes inside the house were slow, but real. The family dinners became consistent. The nightly devotions, though short and sometimes awkward, created new space for laughter, questions, and even apology. Grace noticed something beautiful—Zoe started singing worship songs instead of TikTok jingles. Lisa began using her mirror for hair styling instead of fake vlogging. And Daniel? Well… he smiled more. But the real test wasn’t inside the house. It was outside.

Grace Thought

Please like, comment and share 🙏🙏🙏

Join this channel to get access to perks:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC6g0_jTF0HaPE5w0eiGlhVg/joinPlease show your su...

24/07/2025

Before You Raise a Child in Today’s World… You Need to Hear This African Story

Episode 2

That Saturday morning, Grace woke up with a strange burden. She didn’t know why, but she felt the urge to stay home from her church workers’ meeting. She decided to clean instead. Around 11 a.m., she noticed Daniel dressing up suspiciously fast. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Lesson,” he replied quickly, without meeting her eyes. Something in her spirit stirred.
And for the first time in a long while, she followed her instinct.
Grace stood by the curtain, peeking as Daniel walked out the compound gate, hands deep in his hoodie pocket, head low, phone to his ear. She waited until he disappeared around the corner, then quickly wrapped her scarf, locked the door behind her, and followed—half praying, half hoping she was overthinking it. But in her heart, something felt off. She remembered how Daniel used to run to hug her when he was younger, how he’d once asked her to help him tie his shoelaces. Now, he barely looked her in the eye. It wasn’t just puberty. Something was deeply wrong.
She followed him through the dusty side streets of Surulere. He boarded a keke (tricycle), and Grace quickly flagged another one behind him, instructing the rider to “just follow that boy quietly.” Her heart pounded with every bump on the road. Daniel alighted in front of a busy plaza—shops lined with phone accessories, street vendors, and loud speakers blasting afrobeats. He disappeared into a side entrance behind a betting shop. Grace paid her rider and waited. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Then she saw him again—coming out with a black nylon bag, eyes darting around like he was in a movie.
Grace’s legs weakened, but she followed him into the compound of the plaza. She stayed hidden behind a car. Moments later, a much older boy arrived on a motorbike. Daniel handed the bag to him, and the boy counted something—cash, maybe—before giving Daniel a thick brown envelope. Grace’s eyes widened. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but the look on Daniel’s face said everything: he was proud, excited, as if he’d just completed a mission. It was the smile of someone doing the wrong thing and thinking it was right.
She waited until the bike sped off before stepping out from behind the vehicle. “Daniel.”
The sound of her voice froze him mid-step. He turned slowly, the envelope still in hand. His face drained of color. “M-Mum?”
The silence that followed was heavier than any slap. Grace didn’t shout. She didn’t cry. She simply held out her hand. “Give it to me.” Shaking, Daniel handed her the envelope. She opened it—naira notes, crisp and plenty. She looked him dead in the eye. “Tell me where you got this. Right now.”
Daniel stammered. Lies rushed to his lips but stuck halfway. “They said it’s just delivery… they said it’s not stealing…”
“They?” Grace whispered. Her heart broke again. Not just because of what he’d done, but because he no longer knew right from wrong.
Grace walked him back home in silence. The envelope in her purse felt like fire. That evening, she didn’t cook. She didn’t watch TV. She just sat on the couch staring at the wall. Her son was drifting into a world she didn’t understand. And she was losing him… fast.
And she hadn’t even noticed Lisa.
Lisa was only nine, but she didn’t feel nine. Not in her mind. Not in her heart. While other girls her age still played with dolls or begged to go to the playground, Lisa had long moved past all that. Her world was inside her tablet—a glowing portal to the lives of beauty influencers, vlogs, music video girls, and “big aunty” TikTok trends. She studied them like a student. Their lashes. Their walk. The way they pouted before selfies. She mimicked every move in front of her mirror, shutting her door tight to make sure no one would interrupt. She had even memorized lines like, “I don’t chase boys. I am the table.”
Grace had given her the tablet to help with schoolwork. But Lisa discovered how to change apps, clear histories, and use YouTube in restricted mode without triggering suspicion. No one taught her this. She just… learned. Children do, especially when no one’s watching closely. And for Lisa, this mirror world was her stage. She borrowed her mother’s scarves and turned them into crop tops. Her mum’s lipstick became her war paint. Sometimes she even posed on her bed and snapped pictures, waiting for the day she’d have her own phone to “post like the big girls.”
What Lisa didn’t understand was that she was copying an illusion—grown women chasing likes, attention, and validation. She was too young to understand filters, editing, and exploitation. All she saw was praise and applause. She wanted it too. So when one of the videos taught her how to post comments and message creators, she did. And one day, one of them replied. A message from an adult stranger telling her she looked “mature for her age.” Lisa blushed. She didn’t tell anyone. Why would she? The message made her feel… seen.
Grace had no idea any of this was happening. That evening, after her confrontation with Daniel, she was still in a daze. She barely noticed Lisa slipping past her, tablet tucked under one arm like a diary. Lisa went straight to her room, locked the door, and resumed her “recording.” This time, she wore heels—Grace’s red stilettos—and sang along to a suggestive song, recording herself while twirling.
Zoe, the 5-year-old, stood at the door watching silently. She adored her sister. Wanted to be just like her. The next day, she would try to copy her moves in the compound, smearing lipstick across her face like war paint.
Grace finally knocked on Lisa’s door. “Open up. I need to talk to you.” Lisa panicked and fumbled to stop the recording. She opened the door halfway, annoyed. “Yes?” Grace paused. She wanted to ask what Lisa was doing, but something held her back. She simply said, “We need to have a talk later.”
Lisa shrugged. “I’m busy.”
And Grace, emotionally worn out from Daniel’s situation, simply sighed and walked away.
She didn’t know yet that her little girl’s innocence was already in negotiation.
Zoe was five, but not foolish. In fact, she was sharper than anyone gave her credit for. Children that young often listen more than they speak. They watch. They observe. And Zoe had been watching everyone in that house for months—especially Lisa. She copied how her big sister walked, how she tilted her head when taking pictures, how she laughed with her hand over her mouth. She even whispered words to herself that she didn’t fully understand, phrases she had heard Lisa use during her pretend “vlogs.” Phrases like, “Don’t touch me if you’re broke,” or “I only date billionaires.” Words that sounded powerful in Lisa’s mouth—but empty and misplaced in Zoe’s.
Grace often saw Zoe playing alone and smiled, thinking she was simply imaginative. But Zoe wasn’t pretending to be a princess or a cartoon character. She was pretending to be Lisa. And Lisa was pretending to be someone else. A chain of borrowed personalities—each one drifting further from the truth. One afternoon, Zoe climbed a stool and reached for Grace’s makeup pouch. She opened the lipstick and smeared it across her mouth and cheeks. Then she used eyeliner on her eyebrows—crooked and messy. Finally, she placed her feet into Lisa’s old red shoes and began talking to an invisible phone.
“Hi guys, welcome back to my channel…”
Grace walked in without knocking. She froze. Her baby stood there like a confused doll, painted in layers of mess, innocent eyes wide with pride. For a moment, Grace didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Zoe smiled. “Mummy, am I beautiful?”
The question hit her like a bullet.
Grace bent down slowly. “Why are you doing this, Zoe?”
“Because Lisa does it. And the people on her tab. I want to be famous too.”
That evening, Grace sat alone in the kitchen, head in her hands. One child was running to the streets. Another was sinking into an identity crisis. And her baby… her innocent baby… was following both paths silently, joyfully, blindly.
She felt like a failure. But something in her heart whispered:
You still have time.
She rose, wiped her face, and made a firm decision. Things had to change. Rules. Attention. Love. She would fight for her children before the world claimed them fully.
Because when the enemy cannot attack you directly, he goes for your seed.

Please follow Grace Thought for more stories

Please like, comment and share 🙏🙏🙏