In the middle of a dusty village square near Kissi, Joy Wamboka stood alone with both hands resting over her pregnant belly, as if she could shield her unborn child from words sharper than stones.
“Shameless girl!” one woman shouted.
“You have cursed this village,” another cried.
The elder, Mzee Otieno, lifted his staff and pointed toward the long road leading out of the village. “Leave before your child brings disgrace to us all.”
Joy did not argue. She only stood there, trembling, while tears slid down her face and disappeared into the red earth beneath her feet. It felt as if the whole village had gathered to erase her. The women who had once bought vegetables from her stall would not look at her with kindness anymore. The men who used to greet her now smirked and whispered. Even some children had learned to stare at her the way adults did.
Then, just as the noise rose around her again, a low rumble broke through the chaos.
Heads turned.
Three black luxury SUVs rolled slowly into the square, their tires stirring dust into the afternoon air. The doors opened one after another. A tall man stepped out of the middle vehicle, dressed simply but carrying the kind of quiet authority that made people move aside without being told.
He walked straight toward Joy.
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