22/05/2025
MYSTICBENNY
LOVE AND CRUELTY
Part I
The Garden Where Thorns Bloomed
This is the story of Ena, a radiant, kind-hearted woman who grew up believing in the power of love, the sanctity of loyalty, and the beauty of emotional connection. From her youth, she served others, prayed for others, loved deeply—even those who didn’t deserve it.
But somehow, when it came to love, she ended up with Daren—a man as cold as winter's breath. He wasn’t always cruel on the surface. No. In fact, at first, he wore a mask—he mimicked love. Said the right things. Made small gestures. Enough to make her believe she’d found someone to match her soul.
As the years passed, the mask fell. Daren grew distant, emotionally barren. Her laughter became an annoyance to him. Her tears were dismissed. Her love met a void. Yet Ena stayed—because she remembered the boy he pretended to be.
She believed she could revive him. That her warmth could melt his frost.
But the truth was deeper than she realized: men like Daren are not broken—they are hollow.
As Ena withered from within, she began to question:
Why do women with oceans in their hearts end up with men who cannot swim?
Why does goodness often fall into the hands of the unfeeling?
And that’s where the story takes its mystical turn.
One night, Ena meets an old woman—a stranger—who tells her the secret no one dares speak:
“Light is drawn to darkness not to be destroyed, but to reveal what lives in it.”
She is told that her suffering wasn’t punishment—it was a calling. That good women like her are often lured into loveless bonds because the world is trying to s***f out the rarest souls. But if she can awaken, she can choose differently.
The story then becomes Ena’s awakening journey—to break the invisible chain that keeps good women bound to heartless men. To reclaim her power. And to warn others.
Part II:
The Seed That Broke the Silence
After years of silent weeping, years of starvation—not of food, but of affection, of intimacy, of touch—Ena broke.
Her husband Daren, once a man of God in words but not in deeds, had long since stopped touching her. She became invisible in her own home—a servant, a mother, but not a wife. She tried everything—prayers, fasting, begging, waiting—but the sheets remained cold, and her soul even colder.
The ache became unbearable. It wasn’t just lust—it was longing. The kind that haunted her at night and mocked her in church pews. The kind that made her question if God still saw her.
Then came Scott.
A quiet man, lurking in the background of her life. He had smiled at her once, and that smile had stayed. She didn't chase him. She didn’t dare. But something in her—a hunger that had been starved for too long—began to whisper.
At first, she fought it. She cried. She punished herself for even feeling. But then she made the mistake: she told herself it was just this once. Just one night. Just to feel human again. Just to feel alive.
The night was quiet. And for the first time in years, she felt seen.
But when dawn came, the light didn’t bring hope—it brought another prison.
She was pregnant.
Scott, who had seemed gentle, became ice. Colder than Daren. He said all the right things—“I’ll be there,” “It’s yours,”—but none of it came with warmth. None of it came with presence. He became a shadow again, unreachable.
Now Ena stood alone—pregnant, confused, betrayed twice by the same kind of man: a man who fakes emotion just long enough to take what he wants.
She cried like she had never cried before. But this time, her tears didn’t just come from pain. They came from clarity.
That night, she fell to her knees—not to beg for a man, but to ask God a question no one teaches women to ask:
“Why do You allow women like me to love so much, and be loved so little?”
And in the stillness, a voice—not loud, but thunderous in her soul—spoke:
“Because your heart was never made to fit in the hands of the unworthy. It was made to carry the fire of generations. You are the mother of legacies. Not every man is worthy of your garden.”
From here, Ena’s story becomes a turning point.
Ena is broken, but something deeper is stirring. The betrayal may have shattered her illusions, but it’s also beginning to awaken her truth.
---
Part III: Ashes and the Awakening
Ena sat beneath the almond tree in her compound one evening, her hands resting on her growing belly. Her other children played inside, unaware of the storm brewing in their mother’s heart.
She had stopped crying—not because the pain was gone, but because she had reached the bottom. There was nothing left to give to the world. Not to Daren. Not to Scott. Not even to the whispers in her own mind that kept telling her it was her fault.
One evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, her mother came to visit. Not physically—her mother had passed years ago—but in a dream. Ena hadn’t seen her in so long.
She appeared in the dream dressed in pure white, standing in a field of thorns and lilies.
Her mother looked at her with eyes full of truth and said:
“You are not ruined. You are planted. Every pain you’ve faced is a root. This child in your womb is not shame—it is purpose.”
When Ena woke, she couldn’t stop shaking. Not out of fear—but out of realization. All her life, she had loved men who could not love her back, not because she was unworthy, but because they were never built to carry what she held inside.
Daren only wanted obedience.
Scott only wanted the chase.
Neither knew what to do with a woman like her—a woman of deep spirit, sacred beauty, and dangerous honesty.
And that’s when Ena decided:
“No more waiting to be loved. I will raise love myself.”
She began journaling every night. Letters to her unborn children. Prayers. Prophecies. Warnings. She wrote about her mistakes not with shame, but with power.
Then, one day, Daren found out about the pregnancy—and everything exploded.
He was not angry. No. That would require caring.
He was prideful. Wounded in ego. He said things that shattered glass.
But Ena didn’t cower. Not this time.
“You broke me first,” she said, voice calm as the sea before a storm.
“And I bled in silence while you kept your hands clean.”
She didn’t fight him. She didn’t explain. She just packed her journal, held her children close, and left.
It was time to build a new home—one built on truth, not appearances.
Ena starts her healing journey—a place where she meets other women like her, mothers with similar stories. Together, they form a kind of sisterhood.
Part IV:
The Women Who Rose from Ashes
Ena didn’t have a plan. Just a suitcase, her children, and the swelling life inside her. But sometimes, that’s all God needs—an open heart and a broken spirit.
She moved into a small, humble room behind a quiet church in another town. The pastor’s wife, Rachael, had heard about her story through whispers and welcomed her with open arms.
“You’re not the first,” Rachael told her softly, placing a warm hand over Ena’s belly. “But you can be the first to end it in victory.”
Rachael introduced her to a small group of women who met every Friday night at the back of the church. They called themselves The Menders. Not because they had everything figured out, but because they were learning how to sew their souls back together after being torn by loveless homes, betrayals, and years of silence.
Each woman had a story. Some had been abandoned. Others had been abused. A few were still married—surviving, not living.
But in that circle, they wept without shame.
They prayed without performance.
And they told the truth—the kind of truth no church altar ever preaches.
Ena listened, cried, then finally spoke:
“I thought I was the only one. I thought I was cursed for needing love.”
One of the women, a scarred yet glowing beauty named Amaka, said:
“No. We were never cursed. We were just givers, and we gave to the wrong ones for too long.”
It wasn’t quick healing.
It wasn’t magical.
Some nights Ena still woke up wanting Edna to love her. Some mornings she missed Scott’s fake warmth. But now, she had something else—truth. And truth began to set her free.
Part V:
Double Portion
It was a stormy night when Ena went for her first scan.
Mama Rachael held her hand as the cold gel touched her belly, the machine humming quietly in the dim-lit room.
The nurse’s eyes widened.
She looked at Ena. Then at the screen. Then back again.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips.
“It’s not one heartbeat,” she whispered.
“It’s two.”
For a moment, time froze.
Ena stared at the monitor. Two flickering lights. Two lives growing in her.
Twins.
She laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again, the sound echoing like a hymn of war and victory.
“Double for your trouble,” Mama Rachael whispered, tears in her eyes.
The news spread quickly among The Menders. And that Friday night, they gathered around Ena—not just to celebrate, but to pray, anoint, and prophesy.
One woman declared:
“These children are not reminders of pain. They are evidence that God still writes stories out of broken chapters.”
From that day forward, Ena changed.
She began writing her story—not as a victim, but as a voice. A soft, powerful voice that spoke truth in places where lies had long reigned.
Her journals became blog posts.
Her blog posts became devotionals.
Soon, women across the country began reaching out—saying:
“I am Ena.”
“Your story saved me.”
One day, a church invited her to speak at a women’s conference.
She stood on the pulpit in a simple gown, her twins sleeping quietly in a carrier behind her. Her older children sat in the front row, proud, healed, whole.
She told everything.
Not to shame herself—but to set others free.
Then she said:
“I once begged to be touched.
Now I am held by grace.
I once chased affection.
Now love flows through me daily.
Not from a man,
But from the God who never abandoned me—not even in my worst mistake.”
The room was silent.
And then it erupted in weeping, clapping, surrender. Chains fell that night—not physical chains, but the invisible ones around women’s hearts.
---
Not long
Ena gave birth to her twins, a baby girl—Imelda.
She named her that because it meant WARRIOR. She wanted strength for her girl child even from infancy
While she named the boy Azriel -meaning God is my helper. She named him that because of his faithfulness through her journey
And when Ena looked into imelda and Azriel's eyes, she didn’t see shame.
She didn’t see a mistake.
She saw a miracle wrapped in flesh—proof that even out of betrayal, God could bring life.
Ena never went back. Not to Edna. Not to Scott. Not even to the version of herself that thought she needed to be loved to be whole.
She became a mother of many—not just to her children, but to women across the world, aching for the courage to choose themselves.
Her life, once a shattered vase, became a fountain—overflowing with wisdom, dignity, and divine restoration.
PROLOGUE
They never warned her that love could be a knife.
That sometimes the softest hearts are drawn to the coldest hands—searching for warmth in what was never alive to begin with.
She was a good woman. Too good, perhaps. The kind that loved with her whole soul, even when it starved her. The kind who waited. Who hoped. Who forgave.
But the world has a strange way of breaking such women.
They don't fall all at once. They unravel slowly—thread by thread—inside a silence no one sees.
And by the time they realize the cruelty they’ve endured, they’ve already built homes in the hearts of men who never planned to stay.
This is not just her story.
It is the story of many.
Of women who give.
And men who take.
Of longing mistaken for love.
And starvation mistaken for loyalty.
It is the story of how good women lose themselves.
And how—sometimes too late—they begin to find pieces of their truth… in the ruins.
IT'S A STORY OF LOVE & CRUELTY BURIED IN The Garden Where Thorns Bloomed
By MysticBenny
