Chapter 3:A growing family
After Mary's birth, the house seemed fuller—not just in number, but in spirit. Her arrival added a softness to the rhythm of the family. She was a quiet baby, always watching, always listening, as if she was already trying to understand the world she had entered.
But the story didn't stop with her.
The family continued to grow—just as love always makes room. After Mary came Rautha, with big eyes and a gentle heart. Then Vincent, the first and only son, strong and curious. Next was Grace, whose laughter filled any space. And finally, Gladys, the last-born, tender and full of light.
Now they were eight.
Eight children under one roof. Eight plates at dinner. Eight pairs of feet chasing each other in the compound. The home became a small world of its own—a place where there was always something cooking on the fire, someone crying, someone singing, and someone being scolded for not doing their chores.
Mary, still so young herself, quickly learned how to help. She fetched water with her older sisters. She rocked her younger siblings to sleep. She swept the floors and learned how to cook simple meals before most children her age even knew how to light a fire.
There was little time for play, but plenty of moments for love.
Their mother made sure each child felt seen. She would hum lullabies while braiding their hair, or sit beside the fire and tell them stories about her own childhood. Their father, though often away for work, returned with small gifts—fruit, cloth, or sweets—tokens of his affection.
Mary grew up surrounded by noise and need, but also by warmth and belonging. It wasn't a perfect life. But for a moment in time, it was whole.
And then, slowly, everything began to change.