HER MOTHER POURED HER HOT WATER TO MAKE HER UGLIEST AMONG HER SIBLINGS SO THAT NO MAN
.
.
.
Her Mother Poured Hot Water on Her to Make Her the Ugliest Among Her Siblings—So That No Man Would Want Her
That morning in Lagos, the world felt strangely quiet. Even the buses moved slowly, as if they too sensed something was wrong. In a small house on a dusty street, a young woman sat alone. Her name was Faith. At just twenty, she had already carried pains that would break most grown women.
Faith sat on a broken plastic chair, her faded wrapper clinging to her chest. Her face was hidden behind trembling hands, her body shaking—not from cold, but from the kind of pain only betrayal brings. Boiling water had just been poured on her, not by a stranger or a robber, but by her own mother, Mama Clara. Blisters formed rapidly, her skin peeling like old cloth. She could not scream anymore; her voice was tired from a lifetime of shouting in that house.
From the day Faith began to grow into a beautiful young woman, her mother’s hatred grew. Her younger sister Clara, Mama Clara’s favorite, received all the praise, the best food, and the newest clothes. Faith, meanwhile, was insulted for breathing too loud, slapped for asking questions, and mocked for her beauty. Mama Clara and Clara said her beauty brought curses to their house, that men only liked her because she had “a prostitute’s body.”
Neighbors saw the cruelty but did nothing. Mama Clara’s tongue was sharper than a razor, her reputation for trouble keeping everyone at bay. That morning, Faith had only asked for food. Mama Clara boiled water, and Faith thought it was for bathing. She was wrong. The hot water flew, landing on her shoulder, back, and arm. Clara laughed; Mama Clara smiled. The neighbors watched in silence.
Faith’s burns took weeks to heal. She vanished from the compound, hidden inside the house, broken and barely breathing. The doctor who visited shook his head, saying she was lucky to be alive. Faith didn’t feel lucky. Her face had been spared—at least for now. But something worse was coming.
Each day, Clara strutted around like a queen, her hair freshly braided, her clothes clean and ironed. Mama Clara cooked special food for her. Faith, meanwhile, survived on bones and scraps. She remembered trying to win her mother’s love as a child—sweeping, cooking, serving—hoping to hear “well done.” But those words never came. “You were born wrong,” Mama Clara once said, and walked away.
One hot Thursday afternoon, everything changed. A long, black car stopped in front of their gate. Out stepped Mr. Felix, a well-dressed man looking for a wife. He was introduced to the family by a church elder. When he saw Faith, standing quietly in the background with a faded scarf, his eyes softened. He asked to speak with her. For the first time in years, someone treated her like she was human. He didn’t mock her scars; he said he liked her heart.
After Mr. Felix left, Clara broke a plate in anger. Mama Clara and Clara whispered and plotted. Faith, meanwhile, slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, dreaming of a man who saw her scars and chose to stay.
Mr. Felix returned days later with gifts—rice, drinks, a wrapper for Mama Clara, shoes for Clara. But his heart was set on Faith. He wanted to marry her soon, before traveling abroad for business. Faith’s heart soared. Tears welled in her eyes—not from pain, but from finally being wanted.
That night, her mother helped her choose a dress for the introduction. Clara smiled, but it was the smile of a snake. They fed Faith a good meal, telling her tomorrow would be the beginning of her new life. She didn’t know it was a farewell meal. She didn’t know it was the last night her face would ever look the same.
As Faith stepped out to use the toilet, she was attacked. This time, it was acid. She screamed as her skin melted, her vision blurred, her face burned beyond recognition. Neighbors rushed out, but it was too late. Her mother stood by, satisfied. Clara cried fake tears. Faith knew they had planned it together.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and sadness. Faith’s face was wrapped in bandages. Only her lips and one swollen eye remained uncovered. When the bandages came off, Faith barely recognized herself. Her right eye was smaller, her nose melted, her cheek rough, her ear gone. The girl in the mirror was gone forever.
Mr. Felix visited once, but when he saw her, he ended the engagement. “I need a wife I can proudly stand beside,” he said, and left. Faith’s heart shattered. Clara married Mr. Felix instead, while Faith was hidden away during the wedding, forbidden to come out lest she “scare the guests.”
After Clara’s wedding, things got worse. Mama Clara stopped feeding Faith entirely. Faith fetched water for neighbors to earn scraps. Children laughed at her, women whispered, and men looked away. She began to believe she was nothing. But one hot afternoon, as she rested under a mango tree, a dusty car stopped nearby. Out stepped Daniel, a kind stranger who offered her water and spoke with gentle respect. He returned the next day, and the next, bringing food and kindness. Slowly, he loved her—her scars, her silence, her soul. When he asked her to marry him, Faith cried—not out of fear, but because someone finally saw her beauty.
Their wedding was quiet, under a mango tree, with borrowed clothes and no crowd. Mama Clara scoffed, mocking the simple ceremony. But Daniel was no ordinary man—he was a quiet billionaire, the owner of the same company that had sacked Felix. Faith moved to the city, living in peace and love.
Meanwhile, Clara and Felix’s life collapsed. Felix lost his job, Clara sold her gold, and their friends abandoned them. Mama Clara’s market stall fell apart. Eventually, they realized only Faith could help them. When Faith returned to the village with Daniel in a black jeep, she looked different—not just in clothes, but in peace. Clara and Mama Clara knelt, begging for forgiveness. Faith forgave them, not because they deserved it, but because she was free.
But jealousy burned in Mama Clara’s house. Clara plotted to steal Daniel from Faith, using seduction and, later, dark charms from a native doctor. Every attempt failed, blocked by Faith’s love and God’s protection. Even when Clara tried to poison Faith’s food and destroy her pregnancy, Faith escaped, running barefoot into the night, seeking refuge in a church in Abuja. There, she poured out her pain in prayer, and found peace.
Faith started life over, selling sachet water, washing clothes, and braiding hair. She saved enough to rent a small room, worked hard, and raised her son Daniel with love and discipline. She prayed for her husband, believing the evil that took him would expire.
Years passed. Daniel Jr. grew strong, went to university, and returned home a proud, successful man. Faith’s home was filled with joy and gratitude. Eventually, Daniel Sr. recovered from the charm, remembered Faith, and sought her out. The truth came out—Faith was not Mama Clara’s daughter, but her co-wife’s. All the hatred had been rooted in jealousy.
Clara and Mama Clara lost everything, roaming the streets in shame and madness. Faith, Daniel, and their children built a new life founded on forgiveness and grace. Faith’s greatest wealth was not her mansion or her husband’s success, but the love and respect of the children she raised.
One day, Daniel Jr. presented Faith with a plaque: “To the lioness who fought without swords. You gave us your strength, your prayers, and your pain. Because of you, we are kings. Thank you, Mama.”
Faith wept tears of joy. The neighbors watched, knowing the woman who once cried in the dust had become the mother of kings. And somewhere, in the shadows, Clara and Mama Clara wandered, forgotten by the world, but remembered by God as a warning that evil never truly wins.
play video:
