EPISODE 1: Ejoice was only eight years old when her life changed forever.

Her mother died giving birth to her younger brother, and her father — an overworked construction worker — couldn’t afford to care for a newborn and a little girl. So he made a painful decision: he took the baby to the city and left Rejoice in the care of his late husband’s older sister.
“It’s just a moment,” he told her, holding her small hand. “You’re going to stay with your mother’s sister. She’ll treat you like her own child.”

But ever since Rejoice moved to that house in Aba, her life has been a nightmare.

Aunt Monica was a bitter woman. Her husband had left her for a younger woman, and she carried that anger with her every day. Her two sons, Justin and Terry, lived comfortably—private school, fresh bread, and clean clothes. But Rejoice sleeps on a mat near the kitchen, wears torn and old clothes, and only eats after everyone else has eaten.

“Do you think you’re a princess?” Monica shouted, splashing soapy water on her. “Are you coming to my house like a woman?”

Rejoice washed the dishes, packed the water, cooked, scrubbed the bathroom… and still got spanked almost every day. But she never complained. At night, she would lie awake in bed, whispering to her late mother.

“Mommy, I miss you. Why did you leave me?”

At school, she was quiet but intelligent. Her teacher, Mrs. Grace, would often tell her, “You have talent, Rejoice. Don’t let anyone underestimate you.”

But Rejoice found it hard to believe. There were scars on her back. There were whip marks on her arms, burns. There were bruises on her cheeks, and bruises from Aunt Monica’s severe wounds.

One Saturday morning, everything changed.

Rejoice was cooking rice and forgot to check the pot because she was sweeping the yard. When she returned, the rice had started to burn.

When Monica entered the kitchen and saw the pot, her eyes lit up with anger.

“You worthless child! Do you know how much rice costs at the market?”

“Auntie, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, I was sweeping—”

Before she could finish, Monica grabbed a kettle full of boiling water and, without hesitation, poured it straight into Rejoice’s face.

The scream that came out of that child was not just pain—but the sound of shattered innocence.

“My face! Mommy! Mommy!” she screamed, clawing at the air, rolling on the floor. Her cousins, Justin and Terry, stood frozen in fear.

“Now you’re going to learn! You stupid kid!” Monica shouted as she dropped the kettle as if nothing had happened.

Neighbors came running after hearing the screams. Someone called a man named Kevin, who rushed Rejoice to the nearest clinic. The nurses were horrified when they saw her.

“Who did this? This wasn’t an accident—it was boiled water! This is brutal!”

Her face was covered in blisters and swelling. Her left eye was completely closed. Her skin was peeling. For days, she couldn’t eat or speak properly. Loud noises startled her, even in her sleep.

The police were called. But Monica—respected in the church and well-connected—claimed it was an accident.

“She was playing in the kitchen. She spilled it on herself. God knows I love that child.”

No one believed her. But without solid evidence, the case went nowhere.

Rejoice stopped talking for weeks. After being released, she still avoided everyone’s gaze. Monica, unable to bear the guilt—or the constant reminder of what she had done—sent Rejoice back to the village to live with her grandmother.

Her body now bore visible scars, but the deepest ones—the ones inside—were harder to see.

That night, sitting in the back of her grandmother’s kitchen and staring at the stars, Rejoice whispered:

“My God… why do bad people win? Why did you let him do this to me?”

Then she added, almost inaudibly, as if promising:

“One day, I will never be poor again. I will never beg for food again. I will never live in anyone’s house again.”

The first time Rejoice saw her reflection after the burns, she barely recognized herself. Her once smooth skin was now twisted and cracked. Her left eye drooped. Her cheek was like hard clay. She gently touched her face and whispered:

“Is this me…?”

There was no answer.

But the little girl standing in front of that mirror would rise—scarred, but not defeated.

EPISODE 2: The Girl Rejected by the World

Rejoice was only nine years old when she learned that life was unfair. The burns had stolen her face, but not her soul. And even though every time she looked in the mirror she felt intense pain, a small spark still remained inside her: hope.

For several months, she lived quietly in her grandmother’s house. The old woman was poor but kind. She made neem leaf concoctions to soothe Rejoice’s skin and sang her old songs every night, even though she didn’t know if her grandson was sleeping or silently crying during the day.

“You’ll be fine, my child,” she would say, stroking his head. “God does not abandon the righteous. He sees you.”

But Rejoice no longer trusted a God who seemed deaf to her pleas.

The people in the village looked at her with pity—or fear. Children shunned her as if she were cursed. At school, some whispered that her face was divine punishment. Others couldn’t bear to look at her. Soon, she stopped leaving.

One day, while walking to the well, she heard a woman whisper:

“Look at her… the burnt child. Who would marry someone like that?”

Rejoice tightened her grip on the bucket rope and kept walking. She didn’t shed a single tear. Not now.

Salvation came in the form of dusty books.

Her grandmother, a former teacher before she was widowed, kept a small box of old texts. “They’re yours, if you promise not to give up,” she said one day, as she

blowing the dust off a novel.

Rejoice devoured them with hunger. She learned to write poetry, to read aloud in front of a mirror, to dream of a world bigger than the one she was born in. At night, she read to her grandmother under the dim light of a candle.

At the age of twelve, she returned to school, her head held high and her face covered with a scarf. When the teacher saw her enter, she couldn’t help but smile warmly.

“Welcome back, Rejoice. Your seat is always here.”

The first few days weren’t easy. Some classmates laughed, others whispered hurtful things. But there was a girl named Zina who sat next to her without saying a word. Over time, they became inseparable.

One afternoon, after class, Zina asked her:

“Does it hurt?”

Rejoice remained silent for a moment, then answered:

“When people look at me like I’m a monster.”

Zina held her hand tightly.

“You’re not a monster. You’re a warrior.”

At the age of sixteen, Rejoice won a scholarship in a regional science competition. It was the first time she had left the village since the accident. In the city, no one knew her story, and while some still stared out of curiosity, there was no hatred, no slaps, no boiling water. Just possibilities.

She returned to the village with a bronze medal and a letter: a non-profit organization wanted to support her education all the way to university.

Her grandmother burst into tears of joy.

But not everyone was happy.

One afternoon, someone knocked on the door of her grandmother’s hut.

It was Aunt Monica.

Dressed elegantly, as usual. Her makeup was flawless, her expression unreadable.

“I came to pick her up,” she said. “I’m her legal guardian. And if she’s going to school in the city, it should be under my roof.”

Rejoice was stunned. Her grandmother pressed her lips together.

“After what you did? You have no shame!”

“There’s no proof. And it’s been years. I… I made a mistake, but I want to make things right,” Monica replied, her voice strained.

Rejoice looked at her with a mixture of fear and anger. But there was something else: control.

She was no longer the girl crying in the kitchen. She was a young woman with scars, yes… but with a purpose too.

“I’ll come with you,” she said slowly, “but not because I trust you. I’ll come because one day… you’ll look me in the eyes and wish you’d never touched me.”

Monica swallowed hard.

Now, years later, Rejoice is twenty-two.

She is a doctor in biotechnology. She works at a children’s hospital where burn victims find comfort in her gentle voice and forced smile. Her scarf no longer hides anything. Her face, even with scars, shines with an unwavering dignity.

And Monica…

Monica is lying in bed, paralyzed by a stroke.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t walk. She just stares silently at the ceiling.

And who feeds her? Who cleanses her body and gives her medicine?

Be happy.

Every spoonful she feeds him, every pill, every glance… is a lesson.

—”Life gives you what you sow, Auntie,” she whispers. “But I… I sowed love, even though all you gave me was pain.”

EPISODE 3: The Forgiveness That No One Understands

The clock in the hallway chimed 6:00 a.m. Rejoice was awake.

Every day began the same way: she boiled water, made oatmeal, and crushed Aunt Monica’s pills in a mortar. Everything had to be ready before the hospital caregiver arrived. But Rejoice wasn’t a nurse yet. She was the niece society told her should take care of her aunt, even though that aunt had ruined her childhood.

He entered the room with the tray. Monica still couldn’t move. Her eyes—the only part of her body that could move—slowly followed him. Rejoice brought the spoon to her mouth and spoke in a calm voice that no one else could imitate.

—”Good morning, Auntie. Today we have oatmeal with bananas. Do you remember how you wouldn’t let me touch the fruit because it was only for Justin?”

Monica, as usual, was silent. But sometimes, Rejoice thought she saw a tear rolling down her cheek.

At the hospital, Rejoice was a different person. She wore a white coat and a smile that even the most severely wounded children could use as a soothing balm. One

a five-year-old boy, his hands were badly burned, once

Rejoice asked him:

—”Doctor, are you burned too?”

Rejoice nodded, kneeling down to his level.

—”Yes. It hurts a lot. But it also makes me stronger.”

The boy looked at her with wide eyes, shocked.

—”Then… will I be strong too?”

—”Stronger than me, little one. Stronger.”

One Sunday afternoon, while sorting through documents from a research project on tissue regeneration, Rejoice found an old box in the corner of the closet. It had belonged to her grandmother, who had passed away two years earlier. Inside were letters, pictures, an old Bible… and a small note written in shaky handwriting:

“My daughter Rejoice, if you ever get sick, do not repay evil with evil. God did not ask you for justice. He asked you for purpose.”

Rejoice closed her eyes. She remembered the nights on the mat, the cold soup, the silent tears… and her promise: “I will never live under anyone’s roof again.”

She had made it. But something inside her was still broken. Not because of the scars. But because, deep down, there was still a part of her that longed for something Monica would never say: “I’m sorry.”

A week later, Rejoice was urgently called to the hospital. Monica had suffered a second stroke. She could no longer move her eyes. She could barely breathe.

The doctors said clearly: “He may not make it through the night.”

Rejoice sat down by her bed. She held her aunt’s soft hand and spoke for the last time.

—”You stole my childhood. You stole my face. But you didn’t steal my soul. Every day I fed you was an act of war against hatred. And I won.”

Tears were streaming down her face now. Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with release.

—”And for that… even though no one understands… I forgive you.”

A long beep broke the silence.

Monica had passed away.

The funeral was quiet. No one cried much. Some out of respect, others out of habit. Rejoice, dressed in white, stood tall the entire time. Some muttered to themselves:

—”Why did he do so much for that woman?”

“I can’t do it.”

“She must be crazy.”

But Rejoice didn’t hear a thing.

She had buried her aunt. But more than that, she had buried her resentment.

Now, at twenty-five, Rejoice runs a care center for victims of child abuse.

She named it Casa Estrella — after the stars she used to watch as a child, crying behind her grandmother’s kitchen.

Every child who enters that door receives not only medical care, but something she herself was denied for years: affection.

—”You are not what they made you into. You are what you chose to be,” she told them.

And when someone asked her about her face, she just smiled.

—”These marks are not my shame. This is my story.”

EPISODE 4: When Scars Speak

The sun slowly rose over the rooftops of Aba. It was an ordinary day for most. But for Rejoice, it was the beginning of something different.

For the first time in years, she returned to the house where it all began.

Yes. Aunt Monica’s house.

The property had been abandoned since Monica’s death. Justin had moved abroad and never looked back, and Terry now lived in Lagos. No one claimed the house. No one wanted to touch it.

But Rejoice did.

Using the old rusty keys, she opened the gate that had once filled her with fear. The creak of metal was like an old ghost waking up.

She walked slowly through the yard. Everything was overgrown and dusty. The smell of dampness, mixed with memories, hit his chest.

The kitchen.

He stood in front of that door for several minutes. That corner where his face had changed forever… was now just an empty space, with a forgotten pot still resting on a burner.

He closed his eyes.

He heard echoes of screams, insults, and pain. But he also remembered the girl who, even though crushed, continued to breathe. And he decided to do something he could not imagine.

Two months later, Aunt Monica’s old house was no longer

as before.

Where there used to be screams, now there is laughter. Where there was fear, now there are games.

Rejoice made it a shelter for abused girls.

She named it Bahay ng Pag-asa.

On the first day of its opening, only three girls came. One, Blessing, had a wound on her back that was still oozing. Another, Amaka, had not spoken for two weeks. The third, Kemi, had empty stares that gave off a chill.

Rejoice welcomed them with a smile.

—”Welcome to your home. Here, no one will shout at you. No one will hurt you. And no one will dim your light.”

The girls remained silent. But that night, Kemi approached her and gently touched her face.

—“Are you like us?”

Rejoice nodded, fighting back tears.

—“Yes. And I still am.”

Over time, the shelter grew. Volunteers arrived. Psychologists. Donors. Rejoice began receiving invitations to conferences, television programs—to share her story.

One afternoon, during a university lecture, a young woman in the audience raised her hand and asked:

—Will you forgive someone who ruined your life?

There was a long silence.

Then, Rejoice answered firmly:

—Forgiveness doesn’t

mean forgetting. It means choosing not to let the past control your future. Yes, my aunt hurt me. But if I hadn’t forgiven her, I would still be her prisoner—even after she died.

The room fell silent. Some applauded. Others cried.

And in a corner, a figure watched with tearful eyes: Zina, the friend who had never left her side.

One day, while walking through the market, an old woman approached her. She was wearing a veil and had difficulty walking.

—Is that you… Rejoice?

He nodded, not recognizing her.

The woman slowly removed her veil.

It was Mónica’s mother.

—I… I know what my daughter did to you. I know everything. And I did nothing. —Her voice trembled—. I always thought it was a family matter. But now I see… my silence was cowardice.

Rejoice said nothing.

The woman knelt before him, right there in the middle of the market.

—Forgive me, my daughter. For not defending you. For neglecting you to grow up in the dark.

The people stared. They whispered.

But Rejoice picked her up gently.

—You don’t have to kneel. The wound is healed. And if it bleeds again… I have clean hands to take care of it.

That night, back at the shelter, Rejoice sat with the girls in the yard, under the stars.

—Do you know what my grandmother used to tell me? —she asked—. That when the world breaks you down, it’s not to destroy you. It’s to show you how much you can build back up.

Blessing, who at first couldn’t sleep without crying, rested her head on his shoulder.

—So… can we get better?

—More than just getting better —Rejoice replied—. You will shine.

EPISODE 5: Light in the Dark

The “House of Hope” has become more than a shelter for young girls who have been hurt—it is a symbol of resilience, healing, and a future.

Rejoice walked through the rooms, watching laughter exchange in the silence that had reigned in that house for years. Blessing helped prepare dinner, Amaka drew for the first time in weeks, and Kemi sang a song she had written herself.

The soft sound of footsteps interrupted her from her thoughts. It was Zina, the loyal friend who had always been by her side.

“Would you like to come with me?” Zina asked. “I want to show you something.”

Rejoice nodded and followed her friend to the town square, where a small group had gathered around a makeshift stage.

An elderly man with a thoughtful expression held the microphone. He was the local mayor, and behind him, a large banner read: “Honoring Rejoice: An Example of Courage and Hope.”

Rejoice’s heart pounded as she heard the mayor speak:

—Today, we honor a woman who, despite facing the most brutal hardships, turned her pain into light for our entire community.

The applause was loud.

Rejoice took the stage, her scars gleaming under the lights, her voice loud and clear:

—It wasn’t easy getting here. There were times I thought I would be swallowed up

I am the darkness. But every day, I choose to fight. I choose to love, even when it hurts. This recognition is not just for me—it is for all the girls who are still searching for a safe place. For all those who need to know that they too can shine.

As she stepped off the stage, a young girl approached her shyly.

—Dr. Rejoice, thank you for showing us that beauty lives in the soul.

Rejoice smiled, remembering her own reflection as a child—how that scarred face had become a story of her strength.

That night, in the shelter, while the girls slept, Rejoice pulled an old box from under her bed. Inside were all the letters and pictures that had been with her since childhood.

She wrote in a notebook:

“Now, I’ve learned that scars don’t define who I am—they define how I get up every day. And even though life has burned me, I choose to heal… and help others heal.”

She lay down, exhausted but at peace.

Because she knew that the real journey was just beginning.

EPISODE 6: The Unforgettable Past

Although life continued at “Bahay ng Pag-asa” with joy and purpose, the ghosts of the past still visited Rejoice in the quiet nights.

One afternoon, while reviewing documents for a new aid campaign, she received an unexpected call. On the other end, a familiar but trembling voice.

—Rejoice… it was Justin.

Her heart pounded.

Justin, her cousin who had disappeared without a trace years ago, wanted to see her.

—Why are you calling me? —she asked, suppressing her emotions.

—I need to talk to you. There are things I haven’t said… and I want to try to make it right.

She agreed to meet him at a local café.

When he arrived, he looked tired—premature wrinkles, eyes filled with guilt.

—I know I have no right—she began—. When my mother hit you, I just hid. I was scared, and I didn’t do anything to protect you.

Rejoice looked at him without hatred.

—I’m not a strong woman either. But I survived. And now, I help other women survive.

Justin nodded.

—I want to help. I want to be part of the “House of Hope.”

Gradually, Justin began to work with Rejoice. He tidied up the house, organized events, and gradually gained the women’s trust.

But not everything is easy.

One night, after an argument between him and his brother Terry, old family wounds are rekindled.

—Why are you supporting him? —Terry shouts—. He was never part of the family!

Justin remains calm.

—Because he is the family I choose now. And because I believe in his strength.

At a meeting of volunteers, Rejoice addresses the group:

—Forgiveness does not mean forgetting or allowing the hurt to happen again. It means choosing to heal and rebuild. Justin is here because he decided to be part of that journey. We all have the power to change.

That night, as he closes the doors of the house, he looks up at the starry sky and whispers:

—Thank you, Mom, for giving me the strength to keep going. No matter how dark the path, the light always finds a way.

EPISODE 7: The Awakening of Hope

The “House of Hope” is full of life. Every corner vibrates with laughter, music, and new stories of resilience. Rejoice has managed to turn that dark place into a beacon for those seeking light.

One morning, while organizing a meeting for volunteers, she receives an unexpected letter. It comes from an international organization recognizing her work and offering financial support to expand the shelter.

Word spreads quickly. For Rejoice, it is a clear sign that her mission is growing, that the scars she carries are no longer a limitation, but a bridge.

However, not everything is perfect. There are still some people in the community who look at her with suspicion, unable to shake off the prejudice and stigma she has carried her entire life.

One night, when she returned to the shelter, she saw graffiti on the wall that read: “Monster. You don’t deserve help.”

Rejoice felt the familiar pain—but this time, she didn’t let it drown her.

The next day, she gathered the girls and the volunteers.

—This wasn’t just an attack on me —eyes

she said—. It’s a reminder that there’s still a lot to do. But every time they try to kill us, the fire we’re stoking grows stronger.

Blessing raised her hand and said:

—Dr. Rejoice, I want to help too. I want every girl to know that they can be strong, no matter what people say.

Rejoice hugged her.

—That’s right, Blessing. Together we are unstoppable.

With the help of an international organization, House of Hope opened a new wing dedicated to emotional rehabilitation and education for victims of abuse across the region.

Rejoice was happy—but she knew her greatest achievement wasn’t the building or the funding. It was seeing each girl rise, heal, and shine with her own light.

One afternoon, while writing in her journal, she came across a sentence that summed it all up:

“Scars tell stories. Ours speak of struggle, resilience, and most of all, hope.”

And that hope, now, is stronger than ever.

EPISODE 8: Rebirth and Legacy

The sun rose softly on Aba as Rejoice walked through the expanded halls of the “House of Hope.” Now, the shelter not only welcomed girls but also offered workshops, psychological support, and a school reintegration program for hundreds of victims of abuse across the region.

Every step she took reminded her of all she had overcome. A face marked by burns was no longer a symbol of pain—it was a symbol of victory.

That morning, a special ceremony brought together the community, volunteers, and local authorities to officially inaugurate the new wing.

The mayor took the microphone and proudly said:

—Rejoice not only healed her own soul—she changed the lives of hundreds of people. This was a tribute to her courage, her resilience, and her unbreakable love.

Rejoice took the stage, and with tears in her eyes, she spoke:

—When I was young, life hit me with cruelty. I lost my face, my childhood, my trust. But here, in this house, I found a family, a mission, a purpose. Every little girl who enters these doors teaches me that pain is not the end—but the beginning of a story of hope.

When she was done, she walked with the little girls playing in the garden—some smiling now, others with dried tears on their cheeks, all full of life.

Epilogue: The Legacy of Rejoice

Over the years, Rejoice’s story has become an inspiration for an entire nation. Books have been published, documentaries have been made, and similar programs have been established in other regions.

She herself has traveled the world to share her experience, demonstrating that human dignity is not in appearance, but in the strength of the spirit.

Rejoice has never forgotten her roots or those who helped her along the way. She has kept alive the memory of her grandmother, of Zina, of Justin, and of every girl who has found in the darkness a reason to keep moving forward.

Her scarred face tells the story of a girl who was burned, yes—but also of a woman who, with each act of love, rebuilt her world.

So, in every corner where a silent voice begins to be heard, in every heart that refuses to give up, the true legacy of Rejoice lives on: the hope born from fire.