When Sandra was four years old, she heard her parents in an intense argument. Her dad was shouting. She could never fully remember what the fight was over, but she never forgot the words he used.
“You are absolutely worthless!”
“Look at yourself! You are totally useless! Completely useless!”
“You are absolutely worthless! You have no value! Nothing!”
His voice radiated through the kitchen. Even though she was tucked away in the bedroom, she could hear every single word.
In that moment, tears started to roll down her cheeks. She was scared.
After what seemed like an eternity, the house fell quiet. As she sat wondering what to do, her mother opened the bedroom door.
She slid down to the floor where Sandra was, wrapped her arms around and held her close. She didn’t say a word. She just held her, and together, they cried.
This was the painful pattern of her childhood for the next ten years. Then, when Sandra turned fourteen, her father became a Christian.
It took a tragedy at his workplace to finally break the cycle. One afternoon, a close friend of his lost his temper during a heated argument with a coworker, shoving him over a flight of stairs. The fall left the coworker permanently disabled, and his friend was handed a long prison sentence. For Sandra’s father, witnessing that moment was like looking into a mirror; it was the first time he saw, with brutal clarity, anger’s power. Haunted by what he had seen, he walked into St. James Church of Uganda near their home. There, in the quiet of seeking counsel, he was led to the faith and baptized. It felt like an answer to prayer for Sandra and her mother, but the reality was far more complicated.
Inasmuch as this was a relief—he never shouted at her mother again—it almost created a worse situation. Consumed by a crippling sense of guilt, he pulled away entirely, emotionally detaching himself from both his wife and Sandra.
As a child, Sandra found herself caught between two polarized extremes: from a cold-hearted hatred of her father to a somewhat forced, performative love for him simply because he had changed.
It is not easy to mourn the damage done to you when the person who broke you is suddenly wearing the robes of a saint.
It felt like living with a stranger whose past she was forbidden to speak of, yet whose present she was required to celebrate. Her mother didn’t make the transition any easier; she chose absolute silence, burying the trauma as if the yelling had never happened.
Quietness is a master deceiver in moments like these. It gives you the false assurance that a matter is settled, when beneath the surface lies a volatile, complex emotional dynamic.
It wasn’t long after this shift that her father joined a missionary group traveling to hard-to-reach areas. They spent months at a time digging community wells, building village churches, and running medical camps. Yet, it wasn’t the call to ministry that pushed him to go; it was the guilt pushing him away. That emotional and physical distance is ultimately what would undo the marriage.
Sandra was sixteen years old when it fell apart.
The thought that permanently stuck with her was that love simply didn’t have the capability to last. Every time she tried to ask her mother why things unfolded the way they did, all she would say was that Sandra was too young to understand.
It didn’t help that even among her aunts and uncles, marriage longevity seemed like a myth. There was a casual, cynical way people spoke about relationships, implying that if two people came together and had children, the purpose of the marriage was fulfilled—forever was just a secondary issue.
From that point on, the thrill of life became her escape.
Every time she did something reckless that spiked her adrenaline, the sudden rush made her feel alive. It was the perfect defense mechanism: in these high-adrenaline moments, she was the one choosing the danger, finally feeling in control of what was happening. It was the exact opposite of the helpless four-year-old girl, frozen in a bedroom, listening to her father scream—uncontrollably.
It was the exact reason none of her relationships ever made it past the six-month mark—and she had always been completely okay with it. She had been called crazy more than a few times, but she viewed her wild streak as the perfect exit strategy for relationships. After all, she had never truly believed that love possessed the capability to last anyway.
And then, somewhere along the way, Simon walked into her life. The guy who couldn’t seem to say no. She had been certain the crocodile feeding would be his cue to leave, but the guy had persisted. By the time they went to Jinja, she started feeling something for him that she had never experienced with anyone else—a profound sense of safety.
She noticed it most during their wildest adventures, when the adrenaline was high and things got unpredictable. She had never once heard him demean anyone with his words, not even when he was caught in his most vulnerable, emotionally unstable states of fear and anxiety. To a girl whose childhood was defined by screaming, Simon’s gentle consistency was a safe haven.
That evening, as she sat with Simon in the hall listening to speeches from couples who had been together for twenty-eight years, forty years, and the longest of them all, fifty-five years, she marveled at the reality of love’s longevity.
It was possible.
As the applause for the older couples faded, Sandra sat back, quietly letting the warmth of that realization settle over her. She glanced over at Simon time and again. She was glad to be there. To be with him.
Simon hadn’t mentioned it to her yet, but he was on the evening’s program. He was slated to give the next speech under the title ‘Best Cousin.’
“Ladies and gentlemen, right now, allow me to invite the Best Cousin to say a few words,” the MC announced.
“OH MY GOODNESS!” Sandra gasped as she watched him stand up. “You are giving a speech?”
Simon nodded, a little nervous. He squeezed her hand and whispered for her to say a quick prayer for him.
As he walked up to the stage and took the microphone, his Uncle Edwin shouted from the audience. (Because every family has that uncle…)
“When is yours?!”
The room burst into laughter. Simon also caught the humor of the moment, and it was a good way to help him relax as well before speaking.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Edwin,” he started smoothly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to be holding the title of Best Cousin. You see Wade here? I actually changed his diaper…”
This line triggered another bout of laughter, seeing as the two of them were literally the same age.
“Okay, okay, but seriously, Wade has always been like a brother to me. I’ve never told him this, but I have truly learned a lot from watching how he leads his life. I remember the first time he told me about Lucy. He came to me and said, ‘Bro, I met this girl. She is a writer, and she is the absolute definition of love in poetry.’“
A soft laugh went through the room.
“We laughed together at the time because I could clearly see he was trying to sound deep and philosophical like a writer, and yet it wasn’t making any sense. But that day, I saw a man trying to improve himself because of someone else. And I think that is what love is truly about. Meeting someone who inspires you to be better—or should I say, meeting someone who makes it effortless for you to want to be better.”
At this point, his eyes locked with Sandra’s. In the silence of that pause, a whole conversation passed between them. She smiled at him, and he smiled right back.
“To Wade and Lucy, may you have a beautiful journey ahead. Wade, continue inspiring us, bro. God bless you all.”
The bride and groom stood up to applaud, and naturally, the rest of the audience followed suit. Everyone rose to their feet. It was the shortest speech of the evening, but easily one of the most memorable.
As he walked back to his seat, Sandra hugged him tightly.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
At the end of the night, as they walked out to the parking lot, Simon stopped for a moment. It was one of those clear, elegant nights where the stars shone brightly across the sky. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket—again.
“Okay, Prince Charming, I know you love your Newman’s snacks, but there is absolutely no more space in my stomach!” she joked, her smile radiant.
But his hand didn’t pull out a snack pack. It was a ring box.
He looked directly into her eyes, held her hand firmly, and asked, “Sandra, will you marry me?”
Sandra’s story reflects a reality that many carry in silence. Abuse isn’t always physical; words that demean, terrifying outbursts of anger, and emotional volatility leave deep, invisible scars that shape how we view love, safety, and ourselves for years to come. If you or someone you love is experiencing emotional, verbal, or physical abuse, please know that your feelings are valid, you are not worthless, and there is support available. Reach out to local counseling services, trusted community leaders, or healthcare professionals who can provide a safe space to talk and heal.
Sandra found Love’s Safe Haven… 💍✨ Catch you next Wednesday for the grand finale! 🥂❤️🤵🏾♂️💃🏾🎉
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