Mama Sina
This thing we call life has a funny way of bringing you back to the places you thought had broken you forever. For years, I spent so much of my life asking God why.
Why me?
Why my marriage?
Why my children?
Why did the people who promised to love me become the very people who taught me what betrayal felt like?
Somewhere between surviving heartbreak, burying dreams, forgiving what felt unforgivable, and rebuilding pieces of myself nobody else could even see were missing, I stopped asking for answers and simply prayed for enough strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Looking back now, I realize God was never ignoring my prayers.
He was preparing me for this side of my story.
After everything I’d survived, I knew I couldn’t keep all that healing to myself.
Too many women were still waking up every morning believing the lies I used to tell myself that abuse was love, that addiction was a life sentence, that surviving meant settling for whatever scraps life left behind.
I refused to let my testimony die, so I opened the doors to a shelter and rehabilitation center dedicated to women escaping domestic violence and families battling addiction.
Every woman who walks through those doors reminds me of a younger version of myself, and every time I get the chance to sit beside one of them and say, “I made it out, and you will too,” I’m reminded that pain loses its power the moment it becomes somebody else’s hope.
Looking around at the life God has entrusted to me now, I can’t help but smile because he’s always had a way of taking the very things the world calls broken and transforming them into something beautiful.
I know that’s true because he did it with me.
The woman who once believed she’d spend the rest of her life defined by betrayal now wakes up every morning surrounded by children, grandchildren, purpose, and a kind of peace she never thought she’d experience again.
If I ever needed proof that God still works miracles, I don’t have to look any further than my own family.
The relationship I have with my children today is stronger than I ever dared to pray for, and watching Kade, Cassian, Ysis, Yayo, and even my bonus son, Cazmir, choose one another every single day has healed wounds I once believed would follow me to the grave.
Then God had the audacity to bless me with grandchildren.
Kasen and Kinsley have wrapped this entire family around their tiny little fingers, and every time one of them reaches up calling me “Grammy,” I’m reminded that my bloodline didn’t end with trauma.
It ended with love. And in the process of restoring my family, God also reminded me that there was still room in my heart to receive it too.
After Emory finalized his divorce, we stopped pretending what was growing between us was temporary.
We gave ourselves permission to see where life could take us, and soon I found myself smiling again without having to force it.
More importantly, my children smiled too.
Their approval meant everything to me, and hearing Yayo call Emory “good people” in that rough voice of his made me laugh harder than I had in years.
Families aren’t always born, sometimes they’re chosen, and I’ve learned there’s a beautiful difference between the people God assigns to your life and the ones he allows you to walk away from.
Yuki falls into the latter. People ask me all the time if we’ll ever find our way back to one another now that everything is over, but my answer has never changed. No.
There are doors God closes because reopening them will only invite nothing more than destruction.
I’ve learned that forgiveness doesn’t always require reconciliation.
I genuinely pray she finds peace, but our story together ended the day I pulled that trigger.
Whatever existed between us died long before Marius did, and I’ve made peace with leaving it exactly where it belongs.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the people who were supposed to love me but only taught me how to survive.
For years, I mourned everything they took from me—the marriage, the memories, the innocence, the time, and the version of myself I thought I’d never get back.
What I didn’t realize was that God was never in the business of simply replacing what I’d lost. He multiplied it.
For every tear I cried in private, he surrounded me with a family that loves me out loud.
For every year I spent questioning my worth, he gave me children who remind me every single day how deeply I’m cherished.
For every dream betrayal stole, he placed a purpose in my hands that now helps somebody else believe tomorrow is still possible.
Looking around at the life He’s entrusted to me now, I can honestly say I didn’t just get back what I lost.
By his grace, I received so much more than I could ever thought to ask for. And if my story has taught me anything, it’s this: The people who break you don’t get to decide how your story ends. God does.