Her Mother And Sister Framed Her Up And Then Sold Her Child, Years After This Happened
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Joy never felt loved in her mother’s house. She was the twin who refused to join in her mother and sister’s way of life. While her mother and Joan, her twin, lied and stole from neighbors, Joy remained honest and kept silent. For this, her mother despised her, and Joan treated her like an outsider. “She thinks she’s better than us,” Joan would say, mocking her. Joy would retreat to her small room and cry quietly, wishing she’d been born elsewhere.
Things became worse when Joy discovered she was pregnant. Fred, the man she trusted, denied her and accused her of lying. “That child is not mine,” he said and left her alone. Joy’s world crumbled. She carried the pregnancy with no support. Her mother reminded her daily of the shame she’d brought. Joan insulted her at every chance. Still, Joy endured, telling herself she would live for her baby.
Nine months later, Joy gave birth to a baby boy. She held him close, smiling through her pain. “You are my joy,” she whispered. But peace didn’t last. One afternoon, the neighborhood was in an uproar—someone’s money had gone missing. Joy’s heart raced, but she stayed silent, knowing nothing about it. Suddenly, her mother shouted, “Search Joy’s bag!” Before she could react, Joan ran into her room, grabbed her bag, and brought it outside. Inside, they found the missing money. Joy’s mouth went dry. “No, someone put it there. I am innocent!” she cried, but her mother hissed, “You have disgraced me enough. After everything we do for you, you still steal. Shameless girl.” Joan folded her arms, nodding in agreement. Neighbors called the police.
When officers arrived, Joy knelt and begged, “Please, I’m innocent. My baby is still small.” The officers asked, “Who will care for the child if we take her?” Her mother stepped forward, eager. “I will take care of the baby. She should face her punishment.” Joan agreed. Joy screamed and clung to her child. “No, you want to separate me from my baby. Please believe me!” But the police dragged her to her feet, handing her baby to her mother. Joy cried until her voice broke, but nobody pitied her. The last thing she saw before being pushed into the van was her baby crying in her mother’s arms. Her nightmare had begun.
Life in prison was nothing like Joy imagined. The cell was small, damp, and crowded. The other women barely spoke to her. At night, she cried silently, aching from childbirth, longing for her son. Every distant baby’s cry broke her heart. She wondered if her baby was hungry, if anyone rocked him to sleep. Days became weeks. Then, one hot afternoon, a guard called, “You have visitors.” Joy’s heart leapt, hoping for freedom. She rushed to the visitor’s area and saw her mother, Joan, and her baby. For a moment, Joy forgot her pain. “My baby!” she cried, reaching out, but the officer stopped her. “No touching. Sit down.” Joy sat, tears rolling as she stared at her son, who looked thinner but still beautiful.
Her mother leaned close, her voice like a knife. “Stop crying. When you come out, don’t bother looking for this baby. We will sell him and use the money to relocate abroad. You are no longer part of this family.” Joy trembled, unable to speak at first, then wailed, “No, please, Mama, don’t do this. He is all I have.” The officer shouted for quiet and stepped closer. Before Joy could beg more, two officers dragged her away. “Time is up,” one said. Joan smirked, holding the child tightly as her mother dusted her wrapper and said, “Cry as much as you like. Nobody will believe you. You will rot here, and by the time you come out, we’ll be far away.”
Back in her cell, Joy collapsed, weeping until her chest ached. She prayed quietly, begging God to protect her child, but fear gripped her. What if her mother truly sold her son? What if she never saw him again? The other women looked at her, but said nothing. They had seen women break before. For Joy, this was more than pain—it was the slow death of her soul.
Days passed, and Joy grew weaker. She hardly ate. Her breasts ached with milk, but there was no baby to feed. Sometimes she pressed her wrapper to her chest and wept until she could no longer breathe. Each time the prison gates opened, she ran to the bars, hoping someone had come for her—a lawyer, a neighbor, anyone. But no one came.
One afternoon, a new prisoner arrived: an older woman with kind eyes. She noticed Joy’s swollen eyes and trembling hands. “My child,” she said softly, sitting beside her, “Why are you crying like this?” Joy explained, “They want to take my baby. My own mother. They will sell him. And I am here, powerless.” The woman wrapped her arms around Joy. “Don’t give up. As long as you’re alive, there’s hope. Your baby needs you.” For the first time in weeks, someone spoke with kindness. Joy buried her face in the woman’s shoulder and sobbed.
That night, her mother’s words replayed in her mind: “We will sell him. You’ll never see him again.” The thought drove her nearly mad. She pounded the floor with her fists, biting her lips to stop herself from screaming. The next morning, she went to the small prison chapel, knelt on the rough floor, and prayed until her tears soaked the ground. “God, if you’re there, hear me. Please save my child. Give me strength to see this through.” In her heart, a faint hope lit up like a candle. It didn’t erase the pain or fear, but it kept her breathing.
Weeks later, the guard called Joy again. “Visitor,” he said. Joy’s heart jumped. She had prayed every night for a miracle. When she reached the visiting area, she saw her mother, Joan, and her little baby. This time the baby looked a bit bigger. “Please,” Joy begged the officer, “Let me hold him today.” The officer hesitated, then nodded, only for a few minutes. Joy’s arms shook as they placed the baby in her hands. The moment his warm body touched her chest, she broke down. “My son,” she whispered, kissing his head. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you. Forgive me.” Tears streamed down her face.
Her mother stood nearby, arms folded, face hard. Joan leaned on the wall, smiling coldly. “You better cry well,” her mother said. “Because this is the last time you’ll see him. We already found someone who will buy him. You should be happy. He’ll have a better life than you can ever give.” Joy’s heart shattered. “Mama, please,” she cried. “He’s all I have. I’ll work, do anything. Just don’t take him from me.” Joan laughed. “Save your tears. We’re leaving this country soon. You’ll never find us.” Joy’s hands trembled as she held her son tighter. She reached for the small necklace from her late father, tied it around the baby’s neck. “If I never see you again,” she whispered, “this will remind you your mother loved you. Don’t forget me.”
The officer’s voice cut through the room. “Time is up.” Joy shook her head, pleading for more time, but the officer gently took the baby from her arms. Joy screamed and fell to her knees as her mother collected the baby and turned to leave. Joan smiled one last time. “Goodbye, holy sister. Enjoy prison.” The last thing Joy saw was her baby’s little hand waving as they disappeared through the gate.
That week, her mother and Joan sold the house, packed their things, and left the country with the money from selling Joy’s child. Joy only heard whispers from other prisoners about what happened. She sat in her cell, tears running down her face, vowing to find her child if she ever left prison.
Life inside grew harder. Joy was assigned to sweep the courtyard, wash toilets, and carry heavy buckets. Her hands became rough and bruised. Her feet cracked from walking barefoot. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Her baby was always on her mind. Is he hungry? Is he safe? Does anyone sing to him when he cries? These thoughts weakened her more than prison labor.
At night, she cried silently, biting her wrapper to muffle her sobs. Sleep brought dreams of her baby, always just out of reach, snatched away by her mother and Joan. She’d wake with a scream, chest pounding.
Finally, the day came. The prison gate creaked open and Joy was told, “Your time is finished. You can go.” For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then she stepped outside, feeling the sun for the first time in months. The world felt strange. She had no home, no money, no family, and worst of all, no baby in her arms. She walked slowly out of the compound, heart heavy, and sat under a tree to weep.
Memories of her last visit with her son came rushing back—the feel of his skin, the necklace she’d tied around his neck. “One day he will know it was from me,” she whispered. Joy stood up and started to walk. She had no plan but couldn’t sit still. She asked neighbors what had happened. One woman told her, “Your mother sold the house and left. Nobody knows where they went.” Did anyone see who took my baby? “A rich couple. They left the same day. Your mother and Joan haven’t been seen since.”
That night, Joy slept outside under the stars. In the quiet, a voice whispered in her heart, “Get up, Joy. The story is not over.” The next morning, she woke with new resolve. She washed at a public tap, tightened her wrapper, and said, “I will search for them. I don’t care how long it takes. I will find my child.” She had nothing but her vow.
Joy arrived in the city, overwhelmed by the noise and crowds. She slept under a bridge with other homeless women. Hunger clawed at her, but the thought of her baby kept her alive. Each morning, she begged for work. Most turned her away, but one fruit seller noticed her and offered her food. “I know a woman who needs someone to care for her son. You look like you need work. Should I take you there?” Joy nodded quickly.
He led her to a peaceful compound. Inside, a kind woman sat under a tree with a little boy playing beside her. “So, you are the one he told me about,” the woman said gently. “Yes, ma,” Joy replied, bowing. The woman studied her, then said, “I need someone patient and careful to care for my son. Something tells me you are different.” Tears filled Joy’s eyes. “I will take care of him like he is mine,” she said softly. The woman smiled. “You can start tomorrow. I’ll give you a small room so you won’t sleep outside again.”
Joy’s heart swelled. She looked at the little boy, and something inside her broke. She knelt down and touched his cheek gently. “Hello,” she whispered, her voice shaking. The boy smiled shyly, and for a brief moment, Joy felt God had given her a reason to keep living. That night, she whispered to the stars, “God, thank you. Maybe this is the beginning of my story changing. Please keep my own son safe until I find him.” And for the first time since leaving prison, Joy slept without crying.
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