Based on a true story
Chapter 5
The marketplace buzzed with life, but Lila barely noticed. Her daughter, wrapped snugly on her back, dozed as she carried a basket of vegetables. She had grown used to the stares, whispers, and judgmental glances of neighbors, but her mind was elsewhere—thinking of her dreams, of school, of hope she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.
"Lila!" a familiar voice called.
She turned to see her brother's friend, Derick, approaching. Not the one who had hurt her in the past, but someone new—a distant acquaintance she had met through her brothers' university circle. He was carrying a small package of bread, smiling politely.
"You always seem to be carrying something," he said lightly, his tone casual.
Lila forced a polite smile, keeping her guard up. "Life doesn't give anyone a free hand," she replied, her voice steady though her heart fluttered.
Derick chuckled. "I get that. But maybe it could give you a little less weight to carry."
For the first time in months, Lila's lips twitched into a faint smile. She wanted to push it away, to tell herself to stay cautious, but there was something in the way he looked at her—attentive, kind—that didn't demand anything from her but a simple acknowledgment.
---
In the next few weeks, their paths began crossing more often. Derick would help her with errands, carry her daughter when her arms ached, or simply walk beside her while she ran her chores. Each small gesture felt like sunlight cutting through months of darkness.
One evening, as they walked home together after buying groceries, Lila hesitated. "You don't have to keep helping me," she said softly. "I can manage."
Derick shook his head, smiling. "I don't mind. I like seeing you smile, Lila. And… you shouldn't have to face the world alone."
Her heart thumped painfully. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't ignore the years of hurt and betrayal that had shaped her. "People don't usually mean what they say," she whispered.
"Maybe they should," he said. "Maybe that's what makes the difference."
---
At home, Lila's mother noticed the subtle change. "I see him," she said quietly one night, brushing her daughter's hair. "I see your heart waking up, even just a little."
Lila flushed, turning away. "I can't… I can't let myself think like that. I've been hurt too many times. I'm just… trying to survive."
Her mother's hands paused. "Sometimes surviving is about letting someone in. Carefully. Slowly."
The words lingered. Lila wanted to hope, but fear clung to her.
---
Still, life wasn't easy. She worked long hours at the shop, balancing her small savings with her daughter's needs. Society's whispers were constant, though they seemed slightly softer as weeks passed. People noticed she was rising again, even if they didn't want to admit it.
One afternoon, a woman she had known in school stopped her in the street.
"Lila… I heard about your life," she said hesitantly. "I just… I wanted to say, I'm proud of you."
Lila blinked. "You are?"
"Yes. You're surviving, and somehow, you're still holding your head high. Not everyone could do that."
The compliment hit her harder than she expected. For years, all she'd heard was judgment, disgust, and whispers. A single sentence of approval made her want to cry.
---
Derick began inviting her out—not fancy dates, but small walks, coffee from the corner shop, moments when Lila could feel herself as more than a mother, more than a survivor.
One evening, while sitting on the steps of her building, Derick handed her a small notebook.
"For you," he said. "Write your thoughts. Dreams. Anything. Just… write."
Lila's fingers trembled as she opened it. The pages were blank, waiting. She felt a flicker of hope she hadn't allowed herself in years.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I… I don't know if I can."
"You can," he said softly. "I know you can. You're stronger than anyone else I've ever met."
She felt warmth in her chest—a spark of something she hadn't felt in a long time. Trust. Connection. Maybe even… love.
---
But life had a way of testing her.
One afternoon, as she returned from work, she noticed a group of neighbors gathered around, whispering and pointing. Her stomach twisted.
"She's still walking around with that baby," one woman said.
"Do you think she's trying to pretend her life is normal?" another added.
"Look at her. Always hopeful. She'll fail eventually."
Lila gritted her teeth, gripping her daughter tightly. I won't fail. I can't.
Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let them talk. Their words are meaningless. Your actions speak louder."
---
Later that night, Lila sat with Derick at the small table in her home, her daughter sleeping nearby. They talked about everything—books, dreams, small childhood memories, and future plans. For a while, the world seemed lighter.
"I forgot what it felt like to just… talk," Lila admitted. "Without fear, without judgement."
"That's how it should be," Derick said. "Life doesn't have to be only survival. Sometimes, it can be happiness too. Even small pieces of it."
Her heart ached. Could she allow herself to hope for happiness? Could she open her heart again after the betrayals, the years of pain, the whispers?
---
Days turned into weeks, and the bond between them deepened. Derick never pushed her, never asked for anything. He only offered kindness, attention, and moments of laughter.
One evening, as they walked home through a quiet street, he stopped and looked at her seriously.
"Lila… I don't want to scare you," he said, voice low. "But I care about you. I really do. Not for your past, not for anyone else. Just… you."
Her breath caught. She wanted to retreat, to tell herself to stay strong, to guard her heart. But the truth was undeniable: her chest ached at the thought of someone seeing her, really seeing her, and still wanting to stay.
"I… I don't know what to say," she whispered.
"Then don't say anything yet," he replied, taking her hand gently. "Just… feel it. See if it's real."
The world seemed to pause. For a moment, Lila let herself feel… safe.
---
But even in these small sparks of hope, reality remained. The bills piled up. Her daughter cried through the nights. Society still whispered. And deep in the back of her mind, she couldn't ignore the fear: could anyone truly love a girl with her past, a single mother scarred by betrayal?
That night, as Lila watched her daughter sleep, she whispered a promise:
I will try. I will allow myself to hope… carefully. But I will never forget the lessons of the past. I will protect my heart, no matter what.
And somewhere deep down, a small flame of hope grew, fragile but persistent.