SHE CHOSE THE STREETS OVER A MOTHERS LOVE, NOW MY DAUGHTER IS A PROSTITUTE- A MOTHER’S HEARTBREAKING STORY

I never imagined I’d be the kind of woman who would cry herself to sleep every night over a daughter I can no longer recognize. I gave birth to her with joy, raised her with love, and dreamed of a bright future for her. But somewhere along the line, my little girl slipped away not into death, but into a life worse than anything I could have feared.

Her name is Sandra. My first child. My pride. Growing up, she was the type of girl every mother prayed for brilliant in school, respectful, always eager to help. Her teachers loved her, and I thought, “One day, this girl will change my life for the better.” But life has a cruel way of twisting our hopes.

It started when she turned 16. She began keeping friends I didn’t recognize girls who wore heavy makeup and disappeared for days. I warned her, begged her, even punished her when she came home late, but she only grew more rebellious. She’d tell me, “Mummy, you don’t understand this generation,” and slam the door in my face.

One night, she didn’t come home at all. I searched every police station, called her friends, prayed endlessly. For months, there was no sign of her. Until one afternoon, my neighbor called me to switch on the TV. There she was in a short dress, standing behind a popular club in Lagos, laughing with men twice her age.

My legs gave out. I remember screaming her name through tears, hoping she’d somehow hear me from wherever she was.

When I finally found her, she looked me in the eyes and said coldly, “Mummy, this is my life now. I’m tired of suffering.” That moment shattered me. I realized she didn’t run away because she hated me she ran away because poverty had blinded her. She wanted comfort, luxury, attention. And the streets gave her all that, at a deadly price.

Now, years later, I still see her sometimes online, in videos, with men I can’t bear to watch. I’ve tried to bring her home, but she says there’s nothing for her here. Every night, I pray that God will touch her heart, that my daughter will one day walk through our door again, not as a stranger, but as the girl I once knew.

Because no pain cuts deeper than watching your own child choose the streets over your love.