The years passed slowly, each one leaving its own mark on Rejoice’s spirit, but not bending it. Her grandmother’s small village became a place of healing—or as close to healing as a place could be for a child who had endured so much. Her grandmother, Mama Ruth, was a quiet but sturdy woman, the type who said little but whose presence was as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold night.
Mama Ruth had seen enough of life’s cruelties to know that some wounds never fully heal. She moved with intention, teaching Rejoice how to tend to the gardens, how to weave baskets, and how to read the sky for signs of rain. But she also taught her granddaughter something much more valuable: resilience.
