[STORY] She blocked my pregnancy for 13 months.

She Blocked My Pregnancy for Thirteen Months

Chapter One: The Prayer

“Lord God Almighty, tender Father, it has been four years since I began waiting. If you want to give me a child, give him to me. But if it is not in your plan, take away this longing that burns in me every night. I want to carry life. I want to be a mother. As you did for Hannah, do it for me.”

Rosa prayed with force, with intensity. Sometimes she wept. Sometimes she simply adored, in silence. But always she believed — always on her knees, always in the same room. And with every prayer, she took a wrapper cloth and laid it over her belly, as though she were already carrying a child. It was her sign of faith.

Rosa was thirty years old, a calm, composed young woman. She came from a wealthy family in Libreville — a Muslim family, though Rosa herself wasn’t especially devout. She veiled only occasionally. Her father, Marcel, was a respected man with a large business in the city. Her mother, Monique, was a true merchant, running several shops of her own, doing well for herself. Rosa had one older sister, Maya. The family wasn’t the kind to make noise. They had means, yes, but they were simple, calm, composed people.

Roland also came from a good family — also Muslim. His father had died ten years earlier, and Roland was an only child, the sole son of the house, a boy who had been doted on but well raised. Since his father’s death, he had lived with his mother, Joséphine. And she decided everything. Everything passed through her.

Rosa and Roland met at university. At first it was just polite greetings — good morning, good evening. But then they began talking properly. He teased her, made her laugh. Little by little, love crept in. After university, nothing changed. The two stayed close. Rosa quickly found work at a major bank in the city and became financially stable. Roland, too, built his own accounting firm. After a few years, they decided to marry.

One day, Rosa sat her parents down. She looked them straight in the eyes and said, “Papa, Maman, I’ve met someone. It’s serious. I want to marry him.”

Marcel and Monique listened. They said, calmly, “If you love him, go ahead. We’re with you.”

At Roland’s house, it was different. One day he told his mother, “Maman, I’ve found the woman I want to marry.”

Joséphine looked at him. She frowned. “You’re telling me this just like that? I was going to find you a wife myself.”

Roland looked at her and said calmly, “Maman, it’s 2025. I have my own eyes. I’ve already chosen.”

She gave a small smile. “Fine,” she said. But in her heart, it was no. She said nothing more, but she accepted nothing either.

Chapter Two: Three Spits on the Ground

A few days later, Roland told Rosa, “Come, let’s go to my mother’s. I want to introduce you.” Rosa prepared herself carefully. She told herself, This is my mother-in-law, I can’t just show up like I’m going to the market. She veiled herself, dressed well, wanted to make a good impression — a truly respectful woman.

When they arrived, Joséphine only looked at her. She rose slowly and spat three times on the ground — in front of her, to the left, to the right — without a greeting, without a smile. She looked at Roland and said, “This is the one you want to marry?”

“Yes, Maman,” Roland said.

But there was nothing good in Joséphine’s eyes. No warmth, no welcome. Rosa sensed immediately that something was wrong. On the way out, she looked at Roland and said, “Sweetheart, I have the feeling your mother doesn’t like me.”

“No, no,” Roland said. “She’s just like that. She’s old, she has her odd ways. Don’t pay attention.”

Rosa stayed calm. She said nothing more. She chalked it up to a first meeting, telling herself it would pass with time. What she didn’t yet know was that Joséphine wasn’t a mother-in-law like any other. She was a twisted woman — a practitioner, a true witch.

After the introduction, Rosa hoped things would settle. But Joséphine was already on a mission. She didn’t speak much, but she watched everything. She kept everything locked in her heart.

Chapter Three: A Wedding Under a Shadow

The date for the dowry ceremony was set. Rosa’s family was ready. Her father Marcel had organized everything — the lists, the clothes, the formalities. Nothing was missing. On the day itself, everyone was there. The basins gleamed, the women’s heads were veiled, the dishes were beautifully arranged. It was a lovely ceremony. Even the neighbors had gathered outside just to watch.

But when Roland’s family arrived, there was something strange. It wasn’t the uncles who entered first, not the older brothers, not the aunts. It was Joséphine herself, standing straight, who led the procession like a general marching to war. She was well dressed — yes — but there was always that dirty something about her. That day she wore a red handkerchief tied around her arm. She said she was injured, but the handkerchief was filthy, and yet her dress gleamed. The kind of contradiction only a woman steeped in mysticism could carry off.

She entered the courtyard and immediately spat three times — in front of her, to the left, to the right — without a word, without looking at anyone. People raised their eyes, but no one dared speak. Even Marcel, Rosa’s father, turned to his wife and murmured, “You see that?”

Rosa’s mother only watched Joséphine. She said nothing, but her face spoke for her. She turned to Marcel and said, “That is not a good woman. I don’t feel right about her.”

“I warned you,” Marcel said. “They say that woman practices, and around here, we all know that ‘practicing’ isn’t mathematics.”

But Rosa didn’t want to hear it. She told her parents, “Maman, Papa, stop with your old stories. I love Roland, and he loves me too. That’s all that matters.”

Marcel answered quietly, without raising his voice. “The ears never grow taller than the head.” But the dowry ceremony went ahead. It went well. On the surface, there was food, there was joy — songs, dance steps, photographs, everything perfect.

But in the invisible world, opposition had already taken root. Joséphine smiled, but her gaze stung. She sat as if blessing the marriage, but her heart was elsewhere. A few weeks later, the wedding was celebrated. What no one yet knew was that this marriage would be fought — and that Rosa’s womb would become a target.

Chapter Four: “Have You Started Spitting Yet?”

One morning, Rosa had just gotten herself ready, simple and clean, wanting only to step out — but when she opened the door, Joséphine was already standing there in front of the house, cane in hand, tall and imposing.

“Good morning, daughter-in-law,” she said, and without warning, spat three times — once left, once right, once in front.

“Ah, Maman, welcome!” Rosa said.

Joséphine answered flatly, “I’m not coming in. I only came to check whether you’ve started spitting yet.”

Rosa froze. What kind of sentence was that? Roland came out just then, saw the scene, and said, “Maman, you got up at four in the morning to come here and ask whether my wife has started throwing up spit? Maman, what kind of question is that? Come on, get in, I’ll drop you home.”

Joséphine said, “To get here, did you drive me? No. So I’ll go home the way I came.” She turned her back. No discussion, no debate.

That was when Rosa thought: if she was already here at this hour, what time had she left home? Roland, to save face, said, “Maman, let me at least give you a little money for transport.”

Joséphine answered, “The transport I paid to get here — did you give me that money?”

“No.”

“Then be quiet. I’m going home.” She took two steps, then tapped her cane twice on the ground like a signal, and left.

Rosa looked at Roland. Roland looked at Rosa. Rosa said, “Sweetheart, we’re under attack.” But she kept up appearances. She smiled and thought to herself, I’m in my own marriage. I’m staying.

What Rosa didn’t say was that, quietly, the children were slow in coming. Six months. Eight months. Ten months. Still nothing.

Chapter Five: The Cousin from the Village

One day Roland spoke to her calmly. “Sweetheart, I’d really like us to think about having a child, and I’d prefer you stop working.” He said it gently, without pressure. “I’ll give you what you were earning. I’ll open a small shop for you, so you can stay home. Wait for me there.”

Rosa listened. She smiled. After a few months, Rosa quit her job. She stayed home. But Rosa began to wonder — why weren’t the children coming? Why this pressure every day? And above all, why did Joséphine keep circling around them?

One Sunday, Joséphine showed up again, acting as though nothing had happened, and the moment she saw Rosa she said, “Still haven’t started spitting?”

Rosa stayed calm. Joséphine continued. “If you like, I can show you a few tricks — little things that will help you conceive quickly.”

Rosa wanted nothing to do with those things. To avoid an argument she simply answered, “Okay, Maman, all right, no problem, come and show me sometime.” She had no interest in those strange tricks. She knew God. She knew very well that her marriage was already under attack, and now it was the children being targeted.

So she threw herself into prayer. “Oh my Almighty God, tender Father, it has been four years I’ve waited. If you want to give me a child, give him to me. But if it isn’t in your plan, take this longing that burns in me every night. I want to carry life. I want to be a mother. As you did for Hannah, do it for me.” Rosa prayed with force, with intensity. Sometimes she wept, sometimes she simply adored, but always she believed — always on her knees, always in the same room. And with every prayer, she took the wrapper cloth and laid it over her belly, as though she were already pregnant. It was her sign of faith. Year after year, the same prayer every day.

But God does not sleep. He does not slumber.

Chapter Six: The Miracle

One morning, Rosa woke and felt her head spinning. Roland’s cologne — his favorite, the one she’d always loved — turned her stomach the instant she caught its scent. “What is this?” she said. “Why do I want to vomit like this?” She couldn’t make sense of it. Questions piled up, and that was when she decided to go quietly get herself examined at the hospital.

And there it was. The result: she was pregnant. Rosa, pregnant. After all those years of praying, weeping, believing — God had answered.

When Roland learned the news, he turned into a child. Wild with joy, he ran everywhere, shouting, “My wife is pregnant! My wife is pregnant!” He called everyone — his mother, his in-laws, his friends. No one escaped it. “My wife is pregnant, I’m telling you, my wife is pregnant!”

Rosa was happy, having just learned she was expecting. Three days later, Joséphine, the mother-in-law, arrived at the house. As always, before even saying hello, she spat three times. Only after that did she say, “Congratulations, my children.”

Rosa only watched, because that same day her own parents were also expected to visit. Her father Marcel and her mother Monique arrived with their arms full — gifts, wrappers, food, the natural joy of soon-to-be grandparents. When they arrived, even Roland, the husband, looked a little embarrassed.

Rosa said, “My parents came with their arms loaded. And your mother came with three spits, again.”

Roland admitted frankly, “Your family are good people. Here, my own mother, instead of bringing me something small, she only brought herself.” They laughed a little, tried to lighten the mood. But deep down, Rosa knew her mother-in-law was a witch.

The day went well overall. The two families talked, laughed, ate. Then, as Roland prepared to drive his mother home, Joséphine said, “By the way, I was going to suggest something. Why don’t you get someone to help Rosa? Being pregnant isn’t easy. You need a girl who can help her with the housework.”

Even Marcel and Monique, Rosa’s parents, agreed. “That’s true,” they said. “A pregnancy isn’t always easy. Having help isn’t a bad idea.” So Rosa and Roland discussed it between themselves and agreed to think it over.

Chapter Seven: Sifa

By three months along, Rosa’s belly was already enormous — a surprise, since she was carrying twins. By six months, she looked like a woman at full term. That was when she thought of what her mother-in-law had proposed. She called Joséphine and said, “Maman, send me that girl you mentioned. I’m ready.”

“All right,” Joséphine said. “She’s a sweet girl, from the village. She’s your cousin too. She’ll help you, don’t worry.”

The girl arrived. Her name was Sifa. Rosa welcomed her warmly — she wanted no trouble — and at first things went well. Sifa did the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning. But Rosa was exhausted all the time. The pregnancy weighed on her crushingly. Even her skin had changed — dark patches spreading across her thighs, her belly. She washed herself four times a day and still didn’t feel clean.

And through all of it, Roland began to change. Less attention, fewer small gestures. He’d come home, eat, sit down. Silence. Rosa told herself, maybe it’s because I’m tired all the time too, I don’t have the strength to be the way I used to be. Thankfully, Sifa was there to cook, to look after the house.

But by five months, things began to feel strange. Roland laughed too often on the phone. He isolated himself, spoke in low tones. One day Rosa stumbled onto his phone — messages with girls, little hearts, baby emojis, I miss you.

And that wasn’t all. One night, she was asleep, believing Roland was beside her. He wasn’t. She got up, went to the living room, and found Roland sitting with Sifa, the two of them watching Netflix together, pressed close.

“What is this?” she said.

“It’s nothing,” Roland answered. “We’re just watching a movie.”

She went back to the bedroom and kept it to herself.

Sifa, the girl from the village, the so-called cousin, began to change her attitude. She stopped cooking for Rosa. She stopped following her instructions. She did everything for Roland, nothing for the mistress of the house. And another night, Rosa woke to find Roland not in bed. She went to the living room. There she saw her husband seated, with Sifa sitting on his lap.

“What is this supposed to mean?” she said. But she said nothing more. Out of shame, Rosa carried it all alone. Out of fear that people would say, you’re pregnant and you want to leave your home? Out of fear of gossip, of neighbors, of family, she stayed silent even when she saw things beyond comprehension.

She stayed silent inside her own house. She did everything herself — cooked, did her own laundry, cared for herself alone. And when she tried to cook for Roland, he barely tasted it, said it wasn’t good, got up, went to eat elsewhere. And worse still — Roland was seeing the housemaid. Sifa, the girl from the village, the one Joséphine had proposed, supposedly to help.

The girl wore dresses far too tight around the house. She no longer listened to Rosa’s instructions. She talked back, grumbled, did nothing. But Rosa endured it. She absorbed it. Thankfully, she had her older sister Maya, to whom she told everything. Maya always told her, “Don’t say anything to Papa Marcel or Maman Monique yet. For now, let it be — we’ll handle this between us.”

Chapter Eight: Eleven and a Half Months

The pregnancy went on. Eight months, nine months — still nothing. She had an ultrasound. “Don’t worry, madame, sometimes it goes to ten months.” Ten months passed, eleven months arrived, and still nothing — not even a small movement in her belly. Not a kick, not a press, nothing. But at every ultrasound, the doctors said, “The babies are fine, everything is normal.”

Rosa looked at the doctor and said, “I am a woman. I know my own body. The children in my belly aren’t moving at all. Is that normal?” She began to understand that what she was living through wasn’t natural.

One day, sitting in the living room, she saw her husband and the housemaid sitting together, touching hands, laughing, kissing right in front of her. “This is too much,” she said. “This is too much now.” That was when she called Maya. “Sister, I’m exhausted, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t even wash my own clothes now. The girl here doesn’t help me at all anymore. She doesn’t even respect me.”

Maya, wherever she was, moved immediately. She arrived at Rosa’s house, walked in without even a hello, looked at Rosa, and said, “Get your bag. We’re leaving.”

Rosa hesitated. “Big sister, but I still love him.”

Maya didn’t calculate anything. She went into the bedroom, grabbed a bag and some money, and said, “The clothes will follow. You’re coming with me.” She put her in the car and drove her to their parents’ house.

When Monique and Marcel saw their daughter in that state — enormous belly, sunken eyes, exhausted — they were horrified. Monique exploded. “Eleven and a half months pregnant, Rosa! You told us nothing! You wanted to die out there!”

Marcel said, “We’re going to the hospital.”

At the hospital, doctors examined Rosa. She was in an abnormal state — her blood pressure dangerously high, sweating heavily. They decided not to intervene surgically yet; it was too risky. That was when Rosa decided to tell her parents everything. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She told the whole story, start to finish.

Her mother Monique stood up. “No, no, no, no. Whatever this is, it isn’t normal. We need to consult someone. This isn’t physical — this is spiritual.”

Chapter Nine: The Imam

At first, Monique spoke of finding a marabout, but in the end they went to see a highly spiritual imam, well known in the region — a quiet man, always in his corner, prayer beads in hand.

When they arrived at his home, there was a heavy silence. That alone was enough to calm everyone down. Rosa, her sister Maya, and Monique went in. The imam barely glanced up. He recited quietly, beads moving through his fingers, and without even lifting his eyes said, “Do not allow noise here.”

They fell still immediately — a cold, serious atmosphere. Then he turned to Rosa. “You want to give birth, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You cannot,” he said. “You have been bound.”

That was when Rosa remembered a dream — she had seen herself being closed shut with threads, threads that turned into serpents, one above her belly, one below.

“Yes,” the imam said. “That is exactly it. You are bound, and if nothing is done now, you will die. You will not give birth alive.” And then he spoke the name. “The one who did this — it is your mother-in-law. Yes. It is her.”

The imam called his acolytes, men he prayed with often. He told Monique, “Leave the girl here — she stays with us. You go back, return to her house, look for a tree, whether a mango tree, a guava tree, whatever it is, wherever the spirit leads you. Dig there. You will find things — hair, nail clippings, amulets, charms, whatever you find. Burn them. Did you hear me clearly? Burn everything.”

He turned to Rosa. “Wherever you are, no matter what you hear, do not turn around. Look at me. Fix your eyes on me, whatever happens.”

Chapter Ten: What They Found Under the Tree

Rosa sat on the ground, closed her eyes, followed every instruction to the letter. On the other side of town, Monique and the others reached Rosa’s house. They entered the courtyard and began digging beneath the tree — and there they found everything. Locks of hair, nail clippings, small sachets, amulets. They put it all in a container and set it ablaze, the fire burning fiercely.

Meanwhile, back in the prayer room, Rosa cried out. “My babies moved in my belly!” She felt a sharp pain. She wanted to turn around, but held herself back. Just behind her, she heard cries, strange sounds, as if someone were struggling to break free. But she remembered — don’t turn around — and stayed fixed, eyes locked on the imam.

The imam looked her straight in the eyes, and that was how, for the first time in eleven and a half months, Rosa’s babies finally moved.

A few minutes later, Rosa’s family returned, having just burned the objects found beneath the tree — hair, nails, amulets. The imam looked at them and said calmly, “It isn’t finished. There is one more thing.” Everyone leaned in to listen. “Now we must go find her herself.”

“Who?”

“Your mother-in-law. She has already placed you spiritually beneath her bed. You must be freed from that place. There you will find a doll. First you must untie the doll. Then you burn the threads, and after that, you burn the doll itself.” He added, “But this will not be easy, because Joséphine, your mother-in-law, is already waiting for us.”

A chill ran through everyone. They asked the imam, “Father, come with us.” He agreed, leaving a few acolytes behind to continue praying at the site, and climbed into the vehicles with them, heading toward Joséphine’s house.

Chapter Eleven: The Confrontation

When they arrived, Joséphine was sitting in front of her house, cane in hand. She wasn’t smiling. She looked at them and said, “I was expecting you. Here you are.”

The imam fixed his gaze and said to Rosa, “You will go into the house. You will search for yourself, under her bed.”

Joséphine answered immediately, “If she dares go in, she will die.”

But the imam replied, “This is not you against me. This is you against God.” And at that moment a whirlwind swept through the courtyard — a terrible wind, even the leaves began to churn. Joséphine rose abruptly. The two acolytes who worked with the imam collapsed to the ground, blind, seeing nothing at all.

The imam remained calm. He poured water across the courtyard and began praying loudly, with authority. Meanwhile, Rosa stood frozen, but Maya, her older sister, pushed her gently. “Courage. Go in. You have to do this.”

She went in. The first strange thing — Joséphine was no longer outside. She was lying on the bed, calm, as though nothing had happened. Rosa panicked and stepped back out. Joséphine was outside again. She went back in — Joséphine was in the bedroom. “This isn’t possible,” Rosa said. But she gathered her courage. She grabbed a broom, pretended to sweep beneath the bed, and there she saw it — the doll, a real one, with strings, locks of hair, nails driven into it.

She snatched it and ran outside. The imam wasted no time. He took the doll, untied the threads, burned the strings, burned the doll itself, and said, “It’s finished. Now we go home.”

Chapter Twelve: Twins

But halfway home, Rosa cried out. Real pain, sudden and sharp. She looked between her legs — fluid was flowing. They raced to the hospital. The imam stayed with her. They arrived; Rosa cried out again, exhausted, but despite the pain she couldn’t deliver naturally. The doctors examined her. “We have to do a cesarean. There’s no other choice.”

Everyone prayed. Thank God — Rosa gave birth. Two beautiful twins, alive, healthy. But Roland never came.

She left the hospital a few days later and returned to her parents’ house. One day, months afterward, while she was rocking her children, the door burst open. It was Roland — sweating, trembling, shouting. “I’ve come for my wife!”

No one understood. They told him, “You know she’s already given birth.”

He only said, “I woke up this morning and saw Sifa — she was in my bed.” He understood nothing anymore. All he knew was that he was exhausted, drained.

Rosa’s family sat him down. “You, yourself — you don’t even know what your mother did to us. Sit, we’ll explain.” And they told him everything — the spitting, the housemaid from the village, the humiliations, the rejection, the strange pregnancy that never moved.

Roland sat there, mouth shut, in shock. He didn’t speak at all. Afterward, Monique turned to Rosa. “My daughter, do you truly want to go back to him?”

Rosa lowered her eyes and answered softly, “Maman, you know — I love my husband.”

Her mother looked at her and said, “Fine, if that’s your choice. But be careful with yourself. We need you alive.”

That very day, for the first time, Roland held his children in his arms. They returned home together, and the girl from the village was thrown out.

Chapter Thirteen: Deliverance

The next morning, Roland’s phone rang. “Hello, Roland — I’m truly sorry, my brother, your mother is passing away. You need to come quickly. She wants to see you. She wants to ask your forgiveness.”

Rosa looked at him and said, “You will not go. If she wanted to see you, she would have done it before now. Let her go.”

Roland looked at Rosa with a strange expression. He said only, “All right, my wife. I won’t go.”

A few days later, his mother died.

After her mother-in-law’s death, Rosa was set free. The nightmares stopped. There were no more troubles in her household. Everything became calm. It was her deliverance. From then on, she lived peacefully with her husband. Today, they have four children.

But all of this — it was God, nothing else. God never takes someone away for no reason. When someone leaves your life, it is sometimes because your deliverance is beginning. Rosa never shouted, never insulted anyone. She prayed, and God fought for her. Evil never withstands the light. When God says enough, even the darkness bends its knee.

— END —