Her body felt strange. Her chest grew fuller. Her feet felt heavy.
A test confirmed it.
She was pregnant.
She danced quietly in her room and held her stomach like gold.
Her husband’s eyes lit up again. His family came with gifts. They washed her feet and blessed her belly.
When the baby boy arrived, the joy was loud.
The house felt alive again.
But joy never stayed long with Bella.
Before the sun rose the next morning, the baby died.
Bella cried until her voice cracked.
Her husband held her and whispered, “Don’t cry too much. At least we know now you can carry a child.”
So they tried again.
Another boy came.
He was soft like carefully pounded yam. He laughed early. He gripped her finger tightly. His eyes followed her everywhere.
Bella smiled again.
Her husband built a small swing under the mango tree.
They named him Oina—Father’s Heart.
He turned one, then two. He began to run around shouting “Mama! Mama!” whenever she cooked.
But one day fever came.
At first it was small—just a little heat.
Then cold hands. Shaking legs. A silent mouth.
By morning he stopped breathing.
Bella screamed until her voice disappeared.
They buried Oina under the orange tree.
But soon Bella’s stomach swelled again.
Another baby boy.
They named him Somadina—May I Not Be Alone.
But he too died before he could say “Mama.”
Then another.
