The broken teacup - by Rahima Suleiman

The broken teacup Long ago, in a small town, there lived an old woman named Mama Sade. She had a tiny wooden house with a crooked roof, a little garden where flowers still bloomed, and one treasure she kept above all things: a teacup. It wasn’t just any teacup. It had belonged to her daughter, Amina, who had passed away years ago. Whenever Mama Sade held it, she felt her daughter’s laughter in the air, like sunlight breaking through clouds. But one morning, while cleaning, Mama Sade’s shaky hands slipped. The teacup fell.It shattered into pieces. She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her wrinkled face.“Why?” she whispered, clutching the shards.To her, it was as if her daughter had died all over again. That evening, her neighbor’s son, a boy named Tunde, came by. He saw the broken pieces on the table.“Mama, can I try to fix it?” he asked gently. Mama Sade shook her head. “It’s gone. Just like she is. Nothing broken ever becomes whole again.” But Tunde smiled sadly. “That’s not true. Sometimes, broken things come back stronger.” The next day, he returned with glue and gold paint. Piece by piece, he mended the cup, tracing the cracks with golden lines. When he was done, the teacup looked different—still fragile, but more beautiful than before. Mama Sade gasped. She ran her fingers over the golden scars. “It’s… alive again.” Tunde whispered, “The cracks don’t hide the pain, Mama. They show it. But they also show that it was strong enough to survive.” That night, Mama Sade dreamed of her daughter. In the dream, Amina smiled and said:“Ma, forgive yourself. You held on to my memory so tightly that you forgot to keep living. Love the life you still have. Love yourself. That is how you love me.” When she woke, Mama Sade wept. But this time, her tears were soft, cleansing. She forgave herself—for the years of silence, for the anger, for the loneliness. She began to live again. She opened her door to neighbors, told stories to children, laughed under the mango tree, and shared tea from the mended cup. And every person who drank from it learned something:That broken hearts can shine.That forgiveness is a form of love.That you can cry, and still smile again. The teacup was no longer just a cup.It was a reminder—That healing doesn’t mean erasing scars.It means turning them into something beautiful.

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