Chapter 12: The Miracle in a Smile

The air was crisp that morning, the sky unusually clear, as if even nature had decided to smile down on Mercy for once. The past few months had been exhausting, but also deeply transformative. From waking before dawn to fetch water and hawk it through the noisy, crowded market streets of their small town, to watching her children's eyes light up each time she came home with money for food and school—Mercy felt something she hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

It was a fragile thing. Like a candle dancing in the wind, threatening to go out with the slightest storm. But for now, it was alive.

Her water-selling business had taken off in a way she didn't expect. Regular buyers started looking out for her every morning. "Aunty Water," they called her. Some would tease, "Na your smile dey make your water sweet o!" and she would laugh despite her tired limbs. She sold fast because people trusted her and she treated them with respect. In a world that often looked down on the poor, Mercy offered something rare—kindness wrapped in dignity.

With the money she'd made, she had paid Faith and Anita's school fees, and even Daniel's as well. That alone felt like a miracle. Every night when they sat together to eat and share their little joys, Mercy would look at her children and whisper silent prayers. They were growing. Anita was taller now, Faith more focused in her studies, and little Daniel—he laughed more. That alone brought her the greatest joy.

Even with all the challenges, she had managed to save ₦25,000. It wasn't much, but to her, it was a seed. A seed for a better life.

One evening, after supper, she gathered her children in their tiny living room. Daniel was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with a pencil stub. Faith was helping Anita with homework.

"I want to talk to you all," Mercy began.

Her voice held a note of excitement that made Faith look up instantly. "Mama, what is it?"

Mercy smiled. "I've saved ₦25,000. I want to stop hawking water in the market."

Anita blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. It's not easy walking under the sun all day. My back hurts all the time, and I worry if I fall sick, there'll be no one to continue."

"So, what do you want to do now, Mama?" Daniel asked.

"I want to open a small provision store. I'll also sell fruits. Something permanent at the market. Where people can come to me instead."

Faith's eyes lit up. "That's a good idea!"

"Wow," Anita said, clapping. "No more walking around with water bowls!"

They all laughed.

"Is ₦25,000 enough?" Faith asked.

"No," Mercy replied. "That's why I plan to go to a microfinance company to borrow ₦50,000. With that, I can stock the shop and start."

Daniel was curious. "Will they just give you the money like that?"

"No," Mercy said patiently. "They'll give me on the condition that I repay ₦1,500 every day."

"Every day?" Anita gasped.

"Yes," Mercy nodded. "But I've done the maths. If business goes well, I can do it."

And so, the following Monday, Mercy put on her best wrapper, wrapped her headscarf tight, and headed to the microfinance office in town. Her heart beat fast with every step. What if they rejected her? What if they asked for collateral?

But the process went smoothly. After answering a few questions and signing some papers, she walked out with ₦50,000 in a brown envelope. She clutched it to her chest as though it were life itself.

Two days later, Mercy's small provision store opened.

It was nothing fancy. A wooden kiosk near the market gate, with bags of pure water stacked neatly beside it, small tins of milk, packets of biscuits, sachets of salt, tomatoes, onions, and a few ripe pawpaws and oranges spread on a mat in front.

But to Mercy, it was gold.

From her spot in the shade of the kiosk, she could see other traders passing, waving, stopping to buy. Some congratulated her. Others were surprised.

"You mean na you get this place now?" one woman asked, biting into an orange she just bought.

"Yes o," Mercy replied, smiling.

"I dey happy for you. Na so we go dey grow small small."

Sales were modest the first few days, but consistent. And every evening, Mercy returned home with a tired body but a full heart. She counted her daily profit carefully, removed ₦1,500 for repayment, and saved the rest.

Daniel became her little helper, sometimes sitting with her after school, peeling oranges or arranging items. His laughter drew in customers, and sometimes, his smile convinced them to buy more than they came for.

"Mama," he said one evening as they closed up. "When I grow up, I'll open a big supermarket for you."

Mercy's eyes welled up with tears.

"You've already given me more than enough, my son," she whispered.

Weeks passed, and the store slowly became a regular stop for many in the community. Mercy learned to manage her stock, attract customers, and adjust prices. She even began helping a few other struggling women with advice.

One morning, she handed a bottle of water to a tired-looking woman who had just come from the hospital.

"No pay. Just rest," Mercy said gently.

The woman looked shocked. "Why?"

Mercy smiled. "Sometimes a little kindness goes a long way."

Later that day, the woman returned with three friends—and they all bought from Mercy's shop.

That evening, Daniel looked up at his mother. "Mama, why are you always smiling these days?"

Mercy paused.

Because I've survived heartbreak, betrayal, hunger, rejection. Because I once thought joy would never find me again. Because every single smile now is a miracle.

But all she said was, "Because of you, my son."

And in that moment, a miracle truly happened.

Daniel smiled back.