The room was so calm, warm. Lina sat between two other women of color. A red light glows, signaling that the camera was recording. A glass of water restee on the table. Note cards sat on her lap, but she didn't look at them. She took a breath. When she raised her eyes to the camera, they were steady and full of truth.
"I had planned to talk today about being a surrogate. About the emotions, the boundaries, the beauty of helping another family...
But something changed in me today. Sitting here with these women, and knowing who might be watching, I feel the need to say what I've never said out loud. Not like this. Not to anyone.
Today, I want to speak for the girl who was cast away under the heading; The One Who Was Cast Away.
I was sixteen. Just a child pretending to be grown. One mistake; one moment changed everything.
I became pregnant. I was scared. Too young to understand what was happening to my body. Too lost to know what would happen next.
But worse than the pregnancy... was the silence. The Judgement. The rejection.
The people who should've helped me, who should've said, 'You messed up, but we still love you', instead, they turned their backs.
I was thrown out.
No roof over my head. No food. No safety. Just a growing belly and a broken heart.
I had no medical care. I learned about pregnancy from watching women at bus stops, and reading worn women magazines. I gave birth alone. I became a mother before I even understood what it meant to be a woman.
I made more mistakes. Because pain can make the wrong things feel like survival. But it all started with that first deep wound, not the pregnancy, but the rejection.
Leaving a child to face something so big alone... is dangerous.
I survived because mercy found me. Strangers showed me kindness. Gave me a room. Gave me a chance.
But what if I never found that mercy?
So I say this now to every parent, every guardian and specifically to every mother, listening:
Teach your daughters. Correct them when they're wrong. But don't cast them out. Don't send them into a cruel world alone. Discipline with wisdom, not shame. Guide them with firmness, but never without love.
Because the ones you cast away... the world will eat them alive.
And not all of them make it back.
I made it back. Not perfect. Not untouched. But I returned.
I speak now for the sixteen-year-old girl I was.
For every girl hiding in shame, afraid to be seen, afraid to speak…
You are not your mistake. You are not their judgment.
You are more.
My name is Lina.
And I am not ashamed of my past.
I carry it like armour now, not as a burden.
This is my beginning, not my end.
Thank you."
Silence follows. Deep. Sacred. No one moves. Lina folded her untouched notes and exhales freer than she had felt in years.
***
That night, the episode aired quietly. Lina sat alone in her apartment, knees to her chest, watching herself speak. Her voice had shaken at the start but as she kept speaking, something powerful took over. It was raw. Honest. And freeing.
By midnight, her phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Five messages. Then twenty. Then more. Her inbox filled with messages from strangers across the world. Clips of her voice were being shared, reposted, echoed.
By morning, "The One Who Was Cast Away" had gone viral.
Thousands of comments poured in. Not just likes and emojis but real, heartfelt words:
> "She just said what I've been too scared to say."
"I was pregnant at sixteen. Alone. This speech... it healed something in me."
"If my mom had seen this before she threw me out, maybe we'd still talk."
"This woman is needed."
Lina read every message slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. This was why she spoke; not for attention, but for the girl who had no one. For all the girls like her.
When she walked into the office the next morning, everything felt different. People paused, then clapped; not loudly, but warmly, sincerely. Her boss, Rochelle, stood by the glass doors, clapping with pride in her eyes. Some of the women wiped their eyes. Even the security guard gave her a nod of respect.
Rochelle hugged her. "You did something bigger than yourself," she whispered. "You turned pain into purpose. That's legacy."
That evening, as Lina changed into her slippers, her phone buzzed again.
It was a message from Miles.
> "Just watched your podcast. I didn't expect to cry tonight. But I did. You're... extraordinary, Lina. Thank you for speaking the truth. The world needed it. I needed it."
Her heart fluttered. She typed back:
> "Thank you, Miles. That means more than I can say."
A pause. Then his reply:
> "You were never cast away in vain. You were sent ahead, to be a light for others."
Lina put down her phone, leaned back, and closed her eyes. This time, her tears came from something different.
Not pain.
But peace. Healing. Purpose. Finally.