On wedding days, they place a baby boy on the bride's lap so her firstborn will be a boy.

At the age of eighteen, she gave birth to a boy—a child cradling a child, and he became the child of a child.

For years, he was her only child. As her son grew, she grew up with him.

Then she had a daughter. She would say that it was with the little girl she gave birth to at the age of twenty-seven that she finally began to feel what motherhood truly meant.

"It was evening. My husband was feeding the chickens. I took a test and saw two lines, and I couldn't believe it. I called my husband, crying. He thought someone had died. I showed him the test and said I was pregnant. At first, he didn't believe me, then his eyes filled with tears and he smiled. I cried and thanked God over and over again," she told me then.

"The pregnancy went well. With my first child, I didn't really feel like a mother. I was still a child myself. But with the second, I felt it more deeply. When I learned it was a girl, I was overjoyed. I've thanked God so much for giving me a daughter. Even at birth, the doctor yelled at me, saying I had thanked enough, but I just can't imagine life without a daughter. I only truly began to feel maternal toward my son after my daughter was born. I was just a kid when I had him. During my second pregnancy, my love for my son also grew."

That confession sounded strange at first. But over time, I understood her. Those who never get to live their childhood often grow up incomplete.

Her childhood passed in displacement, in inadequate housing. She had lost her own mother when she was still little. She had learned about care and love only through TV dramas. And later, she would realize that none of that was real.

The cause of everything that happened to her was war. Still, she never believed it would happen again, until 2020.

When the second war began and news of villages and towns being reclaimed came in, she was at first happy. But then the rising death toll, the interviews with grieving parents, changed her mind.

She had never truly feared losing a child until those forty days of war, when the fear began to consume her.

What would happen if she lost her son? Her family felt whole now. She could finally call herself a mother.

Her dreams and hopes were built around her family. Her son was even attending school. But then the war began, then paused, and she was certain this wouldn't be the last. There would be more wars.

That's when the thought came to her: to have another son.

When she told me the reason, it chilled my blood.

She wanted to give birth to a second son in case the first was taken by war—she would still have someone to hold.

"Your child is your future. If they're gone, so are you. That's how I feel. I don't want to live with that emptiness forever. It's one thing to never have a child, and another to lose one. Their absence—the places they used to walk, where they used to sleep—everything becomes a memory that haunts you. It's too heavy. It leaves a permanent scar on your heart. Every joy, every sorrow, you think of them, and you can't get used to them not being there. If someone is lost, you can never replace them, but you might find some comfort. If you've lost a child, that pain never truly fades. But if you have another, maybe, just maybe, the ache will lessen. I've seen people who lose one child and find some solace in the others. Life goes on."

One day, her wish came true. But two months later, she received heartbreaking news.

"I was going to have a third child. We were so happy, my husband too. We went to doctors to make sure everything was okay, even borrowed money. We went to several doctors, just hoping the baby would make it. I just wanted to bring the baby into the world. The treatment started, but then I lost the baby. I had dreamed about another baby so much, but it didn't happen."

After that, she never thought about having more children again. Though the grief lasted long, with time, she found herself again.

Now, her days are filled with school responsibilities for her two kids.

But whenever there's tension at the border, the fear returns.

She still lives with the dread of losing a child—a loss she's never known, and never wants to face.