I was next

The accusations of witchcraft were the last straw for my mom. In her mind, something was wrong, something supernatural, something dark. The whispers always pointed to my father's side, to his bloodline, and the thought of me being under some evil influence drove her to the edge. She couldn't bear to think of it anymore, so she took me to Windhoek—to those experienced witch doctors, the ones who would supposedly cleanse me of whatever evil had gotten into me.

She spent a fortune, money I'm sure we didn't have, on people who promised they could fix me. She fought a battle she didn't even know she was fighting. But I didn't care about the money, the rituals, or the doctors. I enjoyed the attention. I had my mom all to myself, her worry, her focus, her company. It was the only time she was truly present. I soaked it in.

Then, one day, my mom thought it would be best if I moved to Windhoek permanently. It seemed like a good idea. I'd be with her, my father, and my brother. Life in the city sounded like an escape from the chaos of the village, from the people who only saw me as a girl with strange behavior, who thought I was "bewitched."

But the city wasn't the fresh start I'd imagined. It was just another layer of complexity in my life. Meanwhile, my relationship with my boyfriend was slowly falling apart. He was cheating on me, right in front of my eyes. But I couldn't see it at first. I couldn't accept that the love I'd clung to for so long was nothing more than a fantasy, a string of lies.

One day, as I was walking to school, I ran into him. He was alone, and he didn't even try to hide the smugness in his eyes. I confronted him, accused him of cheating with one of my classmates. He didn't say much. Instead, he did what I didn't expect. He beat me. Right there, in the street. I felt the sting of his blows, the bruises forming as my heart shattered in ways I never thought possible. I was numb, stunned. And then I walked to school, my face wet with tears.

I had no words. No comfort. Just the hollow feeling that no one would ever want me. That I was too much—too broken, too lost. The love I once had for him vanished, but the pain lingered. It filled the empty spaces I had tried to ignore. I was still searching for something to fill the hole in my chest, but all I found was rejection.