Mr. Darlington's Ex Wife

Chapter 2

**Amara Nicholas**

"Dad, I don't want to go to the city. I don't want to marry a city man," I protested, tears gathering in my eyes.

My father stood up from the blue couch. He is a very tall man with a dark complexion, unlike me and my mother, who are both light-skinned.

My father sighed and said, "Amara, we are not disowning you as our daughter. You will always be our daughter, but you must start your own life and family to give your mother and me grandchildren. We also do not want you to leave us, but we cannot trust all these people here to look after you. So, your mother and I made this decision: for you to go to the city, where you will be genuinely loved, not by greedy people who may be pretending to care for you just to gain favor with us."

"Dad!" Tears streamed freely down my face, and my mother stood up and walked over to me.

"You don't have to cry. I can assure you that the Briggs family are good people, and Mr. Joshua Briggs is my childhood friend. You will be treated well when you arrive at their family home," my father reassured me, leaving me speechless.

I had gone to the city before to further my education and study accounting, but I didn't like city life. I couldn't envision myself living there with the social and competitive lifestyles they led. I love having my peace, and that's all that interests me.

"It's okay. Come, let us go outside and see the fireworks. It will be a new year soon," my mother said as she gently embraced me.

"Mom, I am not interested in seeing the fireworks. I am not happy about all this. How can you and my father decide my life like this?" I asked my mother, and she let out an exasperated sigh as my father left us in his home office.

"I can understand your feelings, Amara, but you should know that your father wants the best for you," my mother told me.

"He want the best for me by forcing me to marry his best friend's son? I cannot go to the city tomorrow, Mom. You should help me talk to my father again to cancel all this and allow me to stay here," I protested, and my mom sighed again.

"It's okay. Stop crying. Come, let us go outside," my mother urged me, gently pulling me to walk with her.

My mom and I were of similar heights. We were tall, but not as tall as my father. We both have blue eyes and long blonde hair.

I sighed and followed my mother outside to see the fireworks, my mind racing with thoughts about what my new husband would look like.

I cannot believe I am a married woman now. But this is not the marriage that I dreamed of.

I had hoped to walk down the aisle in a long white wedding dress, with a veil covering my head, and be escorted by my parents to marry and meet my husband officially.

How can I just be told one night that the following day I am going to a man's house to become his wife? A man I haven't seen all my life who grew up in the city?

Where is that done?

I swallowed my nervousness and dried my face. I saw my aunt and the rest of our family outside our home. They all looked joyful, while I felt otherwise, no matter how much I used the white handkerchief my mother lent me to wipe my face. I was sure my face still looked red and swollen from crying too much.

While others were joyful, I was in turmoil and unhappy about my parents' decision. I had no option but to follow the path they wanted me to take. They were my guardians, after all, and if I did not obey them, I might face many challenges in life. But I wasn't brave enough to disobey them either.

I sighed and watched the fireworks. I tried to cheer myself up, reminding myself that I was only getting married and that it wasn't the end of my life.

After midnight, it became a brand new day: a new year, a new beginning, and me as a newly married woman.

We returned to my father's house—the three of us—while my aunts and uncles left for their nearby homes after wishing us a happy new year.

My mother's younger sister, Juliet, walked up to me. She was over 40 years old and the only sister my mother had. She looked like my mother, with the same face, sharp nose, and blue, sparkling eyes that glimmered with hope.

Her name was Mrs. Juliet Donalds, and she had two daughters younger than me.

"Amara, what's wrong? I noticed that you weren't looking so cheerful," she asked just as I walked into the living room on my way upstairs to my bedroom.

"I am fine, ma. I just feel overwhelmed by New Year's Day," I lied. I couldn't tell her that I was married. Who would believe me? They didn’t witness my wedding, and I thought my mother hadn’t informed her yet, even though they discussed it together most of the time.

"Are you sure you're fine?" my aunt asked again. I nodded and responded, "Yes, Aunt. I'm good. I need to go upstairs now." I said, wanting to walk away from her.

She sighed and told me, "Whatever it is that's troubling you, you should put it into prayer and not let it weigh you down, okay?"

"Okay, Aunt," I nodded just as I saw my mother step out of the kitchen. She smiled at us and told her sister, "Amara will be fine. She's going to the city tomorrow to her husband's house."

"What??" My aunt, Mrs. Juliet, looked stunned. She swiftly turned to look at my mom, who looked so beautiful even though it was nighttime. My mom was still glowing brightly, like the sun.

"You don't mean it, Julianne. You mean your daughter is married, and we don't know about it? When? How?" my aunt questioned, but my mother sighed and handed the cup of water she was holding back to Agnes to return it to the kitchen.

"It's a long story, Juliet. But it is for Amara's good. Not to worry; she's our daughter, and she will be fine," my mother assured her, then walked up to meet me.

"Come, Amara. Let’s go to your room and pack some of your things. It will soon be morning, and the car driver will be on time to take you to your husband's house. Good night, sister," my mother told her younger sister as she walked up to me.

I felt like crying and protesting again, but I knew I was an obedient girl, so I allowed my mother to wrap her arm around my shoulder while she escorted me back to my room upstairs.