Azariah - God Has Helped

Chapter 8

Kiara bolted from the bed, one hand clutched around her stomach, the other covering her mouth. The bathroom tiles felt cold under her bare feet as she dropped to her knees, heaving violently over the toilet bowl. She was five months pregnant—five long, exhausting months—and still the morning sickness tore through her like a storm that refused to pass.

Her body felt empty yet unbearably heavy.
Drained.
Wilted.
Broken in places no one could see.

Nothing stayed down except cheese pizza, and even that threatened to come back up some days. She felt trapped inside her own body—miserable, emotional, irritated by her own existence. She cried for everything. For nothing. For reasons she couldn't explain. She cried when she was happy. She cried when she was sad. She even cried when she killed an insect.

She wasn't just emotional—she was unraveling.

Still, she forced herself to work hard every day, hoping that maybe, just maybe, labor wouldn't crush her completely.

Just last week, she'd been to her obstetrician for her first ultrasound. The screen had lit up with the shadow of a tiny boy—her son. Her heart had nearly burst. She had dreamed of a girl once, but the moment she heard "It's a boy," something inside her bloomed in a way she didn't know was possible.

Despite everything, she was going to be a mother.

But excitement didn't erase survival.
And survival wasn't easy.

Her throat burned as she vomited for the eighth time that morning. Tears stung her eyes as she rinsed her mouth and staggered back to the bed, pressing her hand against her lower back.

Life was not going well.

All she had for her baby were three tiny shirts she'd bought recently—three shirts and a mountain of fear. The thought of him entering the world with nothing clenched her heart painfully.

Davar was still in school, still trying, still working part-time with a neighbor on a construction site. What little he earned barely bought food. Some days, they survived only because his uncle dropped off groceries—and every time he did, Kiara whispered thanks to God under her breath, knowing full well they would have starved without that help.

A tear slid from her eye.

Just last month, she had finally told her mother she was pregnant—through text. Her mother had read it and never replied. Not a word. Not even a single "Okay."

It shattered something soft inside Kiara—something she'd been trying for years to hold together. She had always wanted just one thing from her mother:
Love.
But life had taught her repeatedly that her mother did not have that to give.

Her stomach tightened painfully at the memory.

She wasn't perfect, she knew that. But she deserved affection. Support. A place where she didn't feel like a burden.

As if sensing her sadness, her baby boy shifted in her belly, gentle and reassuring. She placed a trembling hand over her stomach, rubbing slow circles as warmth filled her chest.

She wasn't living for herself anymore.
She was living for him—this tiny, innocent being who wanted nothing but love.

"I'll do better for you," she whispered.
"I swear it. I'll give you everything I never got."

A soft smile crept onto her lips. For the first time that day, she allowed it.
Her son—her little miracle in the middle of her storms—was already trying to make her happy.

Later, she stood over the stove, stirring a pot of cornmeal porridge. Only... it wasn't the creamy, golden porridge she grew up with. This one was thin, dark, and without milk—almost black. The sight alone nearly made her cry again.

Tears dripped into the pot as she stirred.
She smiled weakly at the bitterness of it all.

When she shared a bowl for herself, she whispered,
"Better days will come. They have to. They must."

She forced spoonfuls into her mouth, swallowing slowly, telling herself it wasn't so bad—even though her throat burned with each swallow. She needed to eat. She needed strength. Her son needed it more than she did.

But her mother's harsh words suddenly ripped through her memory like a blade.

She remembered standing before her, asking for a pack of sanitary pads because her period came unexpectedly. Her mother had looked her up and down with pure disappointment before scoffing—
about her not choosing a "man with money,"
about how "worthless" Davar was,
about how Kiara "should've known better."

The humiliation still burned.

Why was her family so judgmental?
Why did people so deeply flawed themselves find it so easy to tear others apart?

Her mind drifted far, to her grandmother's voice—cold, cutting—telling her she would never amount to anything, never pass her exams, never be like Catherine. But Kiara had proved her wrong. She had always fought harder than people assumed she could.

Still, the world never seemed to expect much from her.
Not at home.
Not at church.

Once, she had been a junior missionary—active, devoted, powerful. She led the praise and worship team with a fire in her chest. She loved God. Truly loved Him. But betrayal cuts deeper than anything else. Betrayal by someone who should protect you hurts more than bullets piercing through the flesh. 

And in that moment, Kiara felt something break inside her—clean, sharp, irreversible. A quiet fracture that changed the way she looked at everything she once believed. The church that raised her became the place that betrayed her. And the God she prayed to suddenly felt impossibly far away.

She left the building, but the wound followed her everywhere.

For months, she couldn't pray without crying.
Couldn't worship without feeling empty.
Couldn't hear the word "leader" without her chest tightening.

She began questioning everything—her faith, her worth, her purpose.
The same church that taught her God sees all... acted like He didn't see her.

She started drifting—first slowly, then all at once.
Church was no longer her sanctuary.
It was her reminder.
Her trigger.
Her scar.

And even though part of her still believed, still wanted God, still longed for the peace she once felt—something inside her was too wounded to return.

The betrayal cut too deep.
The silence hurt too much.
The hypocrisy stained everything she once held sacred.

So she left—not because she stopped believing in God, but because the people who claimed to speak for Him had failed her so deeply, she couldn't recognize His voice anymore.

And from that day forward, her faith became something private, quiet, fragile. Something she dared not expose to the very place that broke it.

Soon after the flesh fought her constantly. She craved affection, comfort, warmth—things she eventually sought in Davar.

And when she got pregnant, she knew the church mothers had secretly rejoiced. Another young girl "fallen," another testimony for them to whisper about behind closed doors. But Kiara hadn't stopped praying. She still believed. She just had nowhere safe to go anymore.

She wanted peace for once in her life.
She wanted to be loved.
To be held.
To be understood.

A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly shot through her chest, dragging her back to reality. She clutched her blouse, gasping, fighting for breath as fear surged through her.

What was happening to her?

She stumbled toward the bed, heart racing, breath short, nausea swirling inside her. She wished desperately for Davar to come home. Being pregnant with chest pain felt like torture.

Her baby kicked gently, almost as if trying to comfort her. She laughed weakly and rubbed her belly, whispering for him to calm down, even as her own panic rose.

She didn't remember when her eyes finally closed, but exhaustion wrapped her in its arms, and sleep claimed her completely.

Hey loves am not well, so I haven't updated yesterday. Feel so ill. I will try my best to gve you more chapters though. Trust me more things are left to come....😘😘