IF ONLY THEY KNEW WHY SHE ALWAYS BACKS HER BABY ON HER HE@D

 If ONLY They KNEW Why She ALWAYS BACKS Her Baby ON HER HE@D  

                 

 Part 2✅

The day of birth came like thunder in the sky.

Grace screamed through the night, gripping the walls, her body trembling with fear.

“Push!” the midwife shouted. “Push, Grace!”

James paced outside, sweat pouring down his face.

Then, a cry broke through the air.

A loud, strong, healthy baby’s cry.

James rushed inside. “He’s breathing?”

Grace lay there, crying and laughing at once. “Yes! Yes! He’s crying!”

James lifted the baby boy with shaking hands. “He’s so perfect,” he whispered. “He’s ours.”

Grace touched the baby’s cheek gently.

Then she remembered the old man’s voice.

“on your head. Every day. For ten years.”

The next morning, she did it.

She took the red cloth she had kept hidden. She placed her baby on her head.

His tiny legs pointed toward the sky. His soft head rested near her lower back.

She tied the cloth tight. Then stepped outside.

People stared.

Children stopped playing.

A woman dropped her firewood.

“Grace! What are you doing?” someone shouted.

She didn’t answer.

They followed her

“She’s lost her mind,” a man said.

“She’s going to kill that child too,” another whispered.

Grace sat at her usual spot. Selling oranges. Acting like nothing was strange.

But the baby was on your head. And the crowd kept growing.

Later that evening, James came home to find a group of elders waiting.

One of them stood. “You must stop this madness.”

Grace didn’t lift her head.

“She’s making our village look foolish,” the man went on. “Let the child hang like normal babies.”

“I won’t,” Grace said quietly.

The room went silent.

“Grace, please,” James said gently. “Maybe just... during the day, he can be upright.”

“No,” she said, voice sharp now. “This is the only thing I haven’t tried. If you all want me to stop, you better be ready to bury another child.”

Silence.

They left.

Every day, Grace carried her baby on your head.

In the sun. In the rain. In the dust.

She named him Joel.

Children pointed and laughed. “Why is your baby standing on his head?”

Grace said nothing.

Sometimes he cried. Sometimes she did too.

But she never stopped.

One morning, her stepmother stormed into the room.

“This is enough, Grace! You’re making this family a laughing stock!”

Grace didn’t answer.

The older woman grabbed the cloth. “Give me the child!”

Grace held it tighter. “Touch him, and I’ll bite you.”

The woman stepped back, eyes wide. “You’re mad!”

Grace looked straight at her. “Yes. And mad women don’t bury their children.”

One night, James sat beside her.

“Grace, do you still love me?”

She looked at him. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because I don’t understand this pain you carry. It’s like you’re walking through fire, and you won’t let me pull you out.”

She touched his hand. “I love you. But this fire... I have to walk through it alone.”

James didn’t speak again. He just pulled her close.

And the baby slept on her head — peaceful, breathing, alive.

Months turned into years.

Joel turned one.

People said, “He won’t last till two.”

He turned two.

“He won’t walk properly,” they said.

He walked.

“He won’t talk.”

He talked.

He laughed. He ran. He danced on your head on her back like a baby bat with joy in his bones.

One day an old woman stopped Grace.

“Is that the same boy?” she asked.

Grace nodded.

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Forgive me. I was one of those who mocked you.”

Grace gave a small smile. “You were not the only one.”

Another woman knelt. “Grace, please, bless my womb.”

“I’m not a healer,” Grace said softly. “I’m just a mother who refused to give up.”

But not everyone was kind.

At church, someone stood during testimony and said, “We must pray for Grace. She’s under a strong delusion.”

At the health center, a nurse said, “This child may grow up with a twisted brain.”

Grace just smiled.

“If it means he gets to live,” she whispered, “then let him live with a twist.”

Joel was five now.

Still on your head.

But healthy. Strong. Smarter than other children.

He would hug Grace from her back and whisper, “Why do people look at me like I’m strange?”

Grace would say, “Because they don’t know the price I paid to keep you.”

He’d nod. “I love you, Mama.”

She’d whisper back, “And I love you more than the sky loves the stars.”

But deep in Grace’s heart, fear still lived.

She knew the journey wasn’t over.

She still had five more years.

Five more years of dust, and cloth, and heavy stares.

Could she make it?

Would he still live?

Would the old man’s words truly be enough?

It was the middle of the night when Joel coughed.

Grace jumped up.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, touching his forehead.

The boy nodded sleepily, but his breathing was strange — sharp, fast.

“James!” Grace called out. “Something’s wrong!”

James came running. “What is it?”

“His chest... it sounds heavy,” she said, panic rising.

James bent down and touched the boy’s chest.

“Let’s go to the hospital. Now.”

The nurse looked confused.

“You’ve been carrying this child how?” she asked, staring at the red cloth.

Grace didn’t answer. She just held Joel tighter.

After tests and waiting, the doctor came out.

“His lungs are fine. Just a cold,” he said. “But... he’s on your head?”

“Yes,” Grace said simply.

The doctor blinked. “I’m not even going to ask why.”

They walked home in silence. The moon followed them like a silent witness.

“Grace,” James said softly, “he’s getting older. Stronger. Maybe you can stop.”

Grace stopped walking.

“You think the curse is gone?” she asked.

James didn’t answer.

“He’s still here because of the cloth,” she said. “Because I listened to the old man.”

James sighed. “I’m just scared... maybe you’re putting your faith in a lie.”

Grace’s voice trembled. “A lie wouldn’t have kept seven babies alive. Only this one lived.”

James didn’t argue again. He just walked beside her, quiet.

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