By Melani Bonilla

The Other Side: Honorable Mention

As I sit by the window, I remember the dreams of forming a family I once had. The daily disagreements with my ex-husband, trauma, and roles instilled in me as a little girl is why I stayed even when my daughter pleaded with me not to. It’s a topic that has lingered in the air between us, unspoken yet palpable, like a delicate web woven between generations, culture, and tradition.

That’s why at the tender age of 22 when I found myself pregnant, I was met with the devil. 

The devil shouted to me, “You’re a silly girl, only 22. You thought that man was infertile? All men lie! Now bear the fruit of your sins.”

For nine months, I bore the fruit and then bled when my time came. The devil lingered above me for what I had done, constantly whispering in my ear and reminding me of my sin. My whole pregnancy the devil was by my side – speaking of the sacrifices, the family I left behind, and the progress I wouldn’t make. Leaving behind my siblings on my little farm in Ecuador to make a better life for myself, to get a better education, and to make more money all flew out of the window.

But then my daughter was born. An angel floated above her head with her newborn cries, a beautiful one with a harp and white dress of innocence. 

“Mommy, I love you,” the angel used to say to me. “You are my world,”

Despite the pain and disappointment of the devil, I held fast to the belief that love and commitment are sacred bonds to be honored and cherished. And so I guarded and sheltered the angel – afraid of what might happen with time, constantly cautioning her against the dangers of love’s fleeting embrace and urging her to save herself for marriage.

The angel was the only light in my life, overpowering the shadow of my own sin.

As the angel grew, I nurtured and took care of it as best I could. But when my daughter reached 17, something happened to the angel.

My daughter spoke to me of a boy, one that she had found herself falling in love with. The first boy I had heard her speaking seriously of. Although she was happy, I reminded her of the consequences of sin constantly. “Mija, remember – men only want one thing. You’re sacred, your body is sacred…be careful.” I echoed the same warnings I had ignored from my mother.

She wouldn’t understand – she was only 17. I didn’t want the same future for her that I had, so even if it meant arguments and her hating me I prohibited her from seeing the boy.

Those days were filled with “I hate you’s,” “I’ll never be like you,” “You’re taking my life away.” And although I cried in the kitchen over the plate of hominy and eggs I made for breakfast, I knew I would do anything for the angel to stay hovering above her head.

She spoke less and less of the boy, and I was proud. She had heard my warnings, she had left the boy – the angel was safe, and my devil had disappeared.

My sin was forgiven, for I had helped her not to make the same mistakes I had.

But then one day when she had come back from studying late in the library, the devil appeared. It floated above her head, replacing the one that had stood on mine all those years before.

As she entered the house that evening, her face was illuminated with a radiance I hadn’t seen before. I could feel the weight of her words before she even spoke them, the air thick with anticipation. With a heavy heart, I motioned for her to sit beside me, bracing myself for what was to come.

“Mami, I know you don’t approve, but I’m pregnant.”