I Give Birth Alone

3 months later, I gave birth alone.

Not alone alone. My grandmother was there. Sophia was there. But Chidi was not there. The father of my child was in Lagos, drinking champagne, pretending to be a billionaire CEO.

My water broke at 2am. In Enugu. In my grandmother's small house.

"Mama! Mama! The baby is coming!" I shouted.

My grandmother, 80 years old, blind in one eye, ran to my room with a lantern.

"Amara, hold on! Hold on! We are going to the hospital!"

But there was no car. There was no keke at 2am. The road to Enugu Teaching Hospital was dark and empty.

Sophia was sleeping in the next room. She woke up, wearing only a wrapper, no makeup, no heiress clothes.

"Amara! Breathe! Breathe! I am calling a taxi!"

She called 10 taxis. Nobody picked up at 2am. She ran outside, in the rain, in her wrapper, shouting for help.

A man with a keke finally stopped. He looked at me, pregnant, crying, water on the floor.

"Madam, I cannot carry her. She will give birth in my keke!"

Sophia brought out N20,000. "Take her! Take her now! If she dies, I will hold you responsible!"

He took us. The keke was shaking. The rain was falling. I was screaming. My grandmother was praying in Igbo. Sophia was holding my hand, wiping my sweat.

"Amara, don't die. Don't die. Your son needs you. I need you. Hold on."

We reached the hospital at 3am. The nurse looked at us.

"Where is her husband? Where is the father? We need deposit. N100,000 deposit before we admit."

I cried. "I don't have N100,000. I have N30,000. Please, I am dying."

Sophia stepped forward. She removed her gold earrings. She removed her gold necklace. She dropped her ATM card.

"Take everything. Take my card. The PIN is 1234. Take N500,000. Just save her and the baby. Please."

The nurse took the card and ran. They wheeled me into the labour room.

Inside, I was alone. The doctor said, "Push, Amara, push!"

I pushed for 4 hours. 4 hours of pain I cannot describe. Pain that made me forget Chidi. Pain that made me forget University. Pain that made me forget everything except one thing: I must live for this baby.

At 7:15am, my son cried.

A loud cry. A strong cry. A cry that shook the whole hospital.

The nurse brought him to me. Small. Dark. Beautiful. He had Chidi's eyes. He had my nose. He had my mother's smile.

I held him. I cried. I kissed his forehead.

"Hello, my son. My name is Amara Okafor. Your father said you should be aborted. Your father said you would embarrass him. But you are here. You are alive. And I promise you, one day, your father will kneel and beg you to call him father."

Sophia entered the room. She was crying too. She carried the baby like he was her own.

"Amara, what will you name him?"

I looked at my son. I thought of my mother. I thought of my grandmother. I thought of all the women Chidi threw away.

"His name is Chiamaka — God is beautiful. Because even in my pain, God made something beautiful."

Sophia smiled. "Chiamaka Eze. The son of a billionaire thief and a queen."

That day, Sophia paid all my hospital bills. She bought baby clothes. She bought milk. She bought a small bed for my son.

And she said something I will never forget:

"Amara, go back to school. I have paid your fees for Enugu State University. You will study Law. You will finish what Chidi stopped. While you study, I will take care of Chiamaka. When you graduate, we will open a company together. A law firm. And we will go back to Lagos and destroy Chidi Eze."

I held my son. I held my Law admission letter. I held Sophia's hand.

5 years later, I would stand in Lagos, in a black suit, as CEO of Okafor & Adeyemi Law Firm, holding Chiamaka's hand — and Chidi Eze would be standing in court, in handcuffs, begging me to save him from prison.

But that day, in Enugu Teaching Hospital, I was just a 24-year-old mother, holding her newborn son, with N30,000 left in my purse and a dream bigger than Lagos.

And I made a vow: I will never beg a man again. I will never give up my future for a man again. I will make my son proud.