Married to myself

abric, coaxing beauty from scraps. But even as I worked, a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. Miracle and Miranda, the youngest, were outside, their laughter a fragile melody. I'd promis

city, the chance to provide a better life for his fourteen children. His words were a balm, a promise of hope, but his eyes held a flicker of something else – fear, maybe, or a quiet resignation. I remember the night he left.

love a fierce, protective shield against the harsh realities of our world. I begged her to let me learn sewing, a way to lighten her load, to contribute. It became my world, a small haven of creation amidst the constant struggle. Each stitch was

uttering frantically against my ribs. The sight that greeted me was a horror painted in crimson. Miracle and Miranda, my baby siblings, lay by the pool, their sm

nt, his hands trembling slightly. I stumbled after him, covered in their blood, feeling like a ghost haunting my own life. Mrs. Sam took the other

a constant, accusing reminder of my failure. My mind raced, replaying the last few moments, each stitch I'd s