In the small town of Yumiki, surrounded by red soil and whispering palm trees, lived a carpenter named Ena Namecha — a man once respected, admired, and called “the builder of dreams.” He made beds, doors, and cabinets that carried the scent of fine wood and honest work. Everyone in Yumiki knew his hands were skilled.
But those same hands would one day reject the smallest, most fragile things ever to reach for him — his newborn daughters.
A Marriage Built on Hope
When Ena married Adogo, people called him lucky. She was calm, humble, and hardworking — a woman who could turn a house into a home. “She will bring peace,” the elders said.
But peace didn’t come the way they expected.
In the first three years of marriage, Adogo suffered two miscarriages. The first after the third month — quiet grief. The second was worse; she nearly died from blood loss. After that, whispers began to spread. Ena’s mother, Mama Aima, was the loudest.
“Some women bring bad luck into a man’s home,” she would mutter loudly, making sure her son could hear.
Ena used to defend his wife. “It’s not her fault,” he would say. But grief is a slow poison — and over time, her pain became his shame. He stopped holding her at night. He stopped smiling.
Adogo felt the distance, but she never complained. Instead, she prayed every evening under the dim oil lamp — praying not only for a child but for her husband’s love to return.
The Miracle That Turned into a Curse
In their fourth year, her prayers were answered. She conceived again. But this time, she told no one until her belly was round and firm at five months. The local nurse, Mama Enki, warned her: no herbal mixtures, no stress.
By the seventh month, her stomach looked unusually large. “Maybe twins,” Mama Enki said with a smile.
When labor came at dawn, her screams echoed through the compound. Hours passed. Sweat, pain, and hope filled the room. And then — the sound every mother dreams of.
The first baby cried loudly. A girl.
The second, smaller but breathing — another girl.
The third took longer, but by afternoon, she too arrived — weak but alive.
Triplets. All girls.
The women in the compound shouted praises. But when Mama Enki stepped outside to tell Ena, his face froze.
“All three… girls?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. Three healthy daughters. Your wife did well,” the nurse replied.
Ena said nothing. He turned around and walked away.
Inside, Adogo waited for him to enter, her eyes filled with love and exhaustion. She wanted him to see their miracle — their survival. Instead, his mother appeared in the doorway.
“Three girls,” Mama Aima said coldly. “After all these years, not even one son.”
Rejection
By the next morning, Ena refused to touch the babies. When visitors came, he stayed outside.
“They’re bad luck,” he told a neighbor quietly. “I can’t raise three girls. They’ll drain me dry.”
His mother fed that bitterness like fire. Within weeks, Ena stopped providing food and refused to sleep in the same room as his wife.
One evening, after a fight, he told Adogo to leave.
“Take your bad luck with you,” he spat.
Adogo left the house with her three daughters wrapped in one blanket. She went to her cousin’s village miles away, where she started life from nothing — washing clothes for neighbors, selling firewood, and doing every odd job possible to feed her children.
Years passed.
Three Seeds of Hope
The triplets — Esi, Naya, and Tola — grew up strong. Though poor, they were raised with kindness and discipline. Their mother taught them never to curse their father.
“Bitterness makes your heart sick,” she said. “Let God be your witness, not your weapon.”
Esi loved to read. Naya was good with numbers. Tola — the youngest — was drawn to healing. She followed the village nurse everywhere, asking questions about herbs, fevers, and wounds.
By the time they were 18, all three had earned scholarships. They left for the city — the first from their village to do so together.
Adogo stayed behind, her heart torn with pride and loneliness.
The Fall of Ena
Meanwhile, life wasn’t kind to Ena. His reputation as a carpenter faded. He drank more, worked less, and quarreled with everyone. His mother died bitter and old, and with her went his last excuse.
By his late fifties, Ena was a frail man with a bad cough and swollen legs. One night, he collapsed while working on a roofing beam and was rushed to the nearest hospital.
He lay on the stretcher, weak and barely conscious, as a young doctor hurried into the room. Her name tag read Dr. T. Adebayo.
The Reunion He Never Saw Coming
Dr. Tola had returned to Yumiki to serve her community. That night, when she examined the frail old man, she didn’t recognize him immediately. She just saw a patient in need.
She checked his pulse, gave him water, and gently adjusted his pillow. As she reached for his hand, she noticed a small scar on his wrist — a jagged line that looked strangely familiar.
Her heart skipped. She remembered her mother’s words:
“Your father had a scar on his right wrist. He got it from a wood saw when he was your age.”
Her hands trembled. Could it be him?
She looked closer at his face — aged, worn, but the resemblance was undeniable.
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t stop treating him.
Hours later, as he regained consciousness, he whispered weakly,
“Thank you, doctor. You’ve saved my life.”
She smiled through her tears.
“I’m only returning what was once taken from me.”
He didn’t understand — not yet.
The Truth Revealed
The next morning, when he was stronger, she came back with two visitors. Esi and Naya stood beside her, their faces quiet but firm.
Ena stared at them, confused.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Tola took a deep breath.
“We’re your daughters.”
The room fell silent. Ena’s lips trembled. His eyes darted between them — disbelief, shame, and sorrow crashing all at once. He tried to speak but no words came.
Finally, he whispered,
“I… I didn’t know.”
Esi stepped forward.
“Mama forgave you long ago. She said we should too.”
The old man broke down in tears. He reached out, but his hands shook too much to hold theirs.
Redemption
When he was discharged, the three daughters helped rebuild his small workshop. They visited often, bringing food and medicine. He began to walk again, slower but lighter — a man reborn through grace.
And every time someone asked him about his family, he would smile and say,
Family games
“I once threw away my blessings. God was kind enough to return them.”
Moral of the Story
This tale from Yumiki is not just about fate — it’s about forgiveness, the courage of mothers, and the love of daughters who chose compassion over revenge.
Because sometimes, life has a strange way of circling back —
to heal the wounds we once caused,
to remind us that love, even when rejected, never truly dies.
