Mothering Sunday

My mother was the president of a listed corporation, she was both rich and powerful. More importantly, she loved me more than anything in the world. Meanwhile, my father was a man who cheated on her. When he found out his mistress was pregnant with a girl, he beat her until she miscarried and ended up in prison. So when the judge publicly asked me to choose between my mother and my father, everyone assumed the custody battle was just a formality. That was until I walked past my mother's trembling, outstretched hand and firmly chose my father instead. Everyone was shocked into speechlessness. In my previous life, I had chosen my mother, the one who spoiled me rotten. She was the type to buy the whole bakery just because I casually mentioned I wanted their cake. When I complained it was too sunny, she immediately arranged for four helicopters to put up a sunshade cloth and shade me. She even deposited a hundred thousand dollars on my school meal card because she was worried I wasn't eating well. Even though she spoiled me like a true princess and paved the way for me through life, I don't want anything to do with her in this life.

Rejected by her rich father, Sarah and her mother Helen moves to a slump where her mother sells her body for bread and drugs. Sold into prostitution by her mother's deadbeat boyfriend at the age of eight, Sarah must guard her true feelings or suffer the consequences. A chance meeting with her father gives Sarah the opportunity she needed for the most brutal revenge. At eighteen Sarah finds the willpower to escape but unfortunately for her, she falls into the trap of a madam that imprisons her, while makings tonnes of money off her. A fire outbreak, a second chance, Sarah finds freedom and meets Kunle. a man determined to show her that true love was possible and existed. A domineering mother-in-law, a secret buried in the sands of time threatens their marriage. Was their love for each other strong enough to withstand the tide or was Sarah willing to throw it all away.

The Mother That Fed the Dark is a study of inherited guilt, ritual, and the long reach of a mother's choices. Amahle, a woman who practices the old rituals in secret, believes that her younger son , Sipho, was born as a spiritual "door" to be sacrificed for the sake of power and protection. During the ritual she performed , she got interrupted by the older son, Thando, who died instead. While the community believes Thando's death was accidental, Amahle knows better: it was the wrong son who died, and the ritual was left unfinished. Drenched in fear and resentment , Amahle raises Sipho as if he is the love of her life, while at the same time working to destroy him. Behind closed doors, she feeds the supernatural force from the failed ritual, which weakens Sipho, making him fearful and dependent. As Sipho grows, so do the misfortunes that follow him, and an unseen entity begins to present itself-first in dreams and whispers, then in the physical world . What we see is that the ritual did not bind to the house but to Sipho's bloodline. When Sipho leaves home, the haunting grows stronger. After Amahle's death, Sipho finds her secret notebooks , which reveal to him the shocking truth: that his brother's death was a mistake and, in fact, Sipho was never meant to die but to be the vehicle for the ritual, which he indeed is. Setting the family home on fire brings only temporary relief , but the curse does not break. In the final revelation, Sipho realizes that he is not the offering but the keeper, the living portal through which harmony, hardship, and magical power flow. Unlike his mother, he comes to the realization that he has a choice.

I was never a mother. Never been in love. Never even kissed a man. But the day two children called me "Mummy," My world turned upside down. Ethan Stark, a cold, powerful, and ruthless billionaire, believed I abandoned our kids and forced me into a loveless marriage with him. All I have are my words... and no proof of my innocence. How can I explain to him I don't know what he was talking about when there is a picture that says otherwise and my striking resemblance with the kids?

My mother had a rare disease. After months of dead ends, I found one person in the country who could treat her. She told me there was a price. She said she needed a husband. I agreed. For my mother, I agreed. For six years I was her ATM. I bought her the bags. I bought her the watches. It got worse. She used my money to keep a kept man. She brought him into our bed. The day my mother had her last surgery, she walked out of the operating room halfway through to go celebrate her lover's birthday. The moment they pronounced my mother dead, I decided there and then, she was paying for that with her life.

The day I signed the divorce papers, I voluntarily gave up custody of my daughter. Because that day, in the courtroom, she clung to her father’s neck, sobbing with all the fury a six-year-old could muster: “You don’t even love me… do you? If you leave Daddy, I’ll stay with him… and you’ll be all alone forever!” In my past life, I had ignored her childish threats. I fought tooth and nail for her custody. I poured every ounce of myself into raising her. And yet… she spent her entire life hating me. Not once did she ever call me “Mom” until the day I died. On her wedding day, she even invited her father’s mistress to the stage to give a speech of thanks. Now, opening my eyes again, seeing that same cruel little face staring back at me, I simply nodded. “I don’t care.” After all… I never wanted a daughter like her anyway.