Chapter 4
1033 Words
Amara Nicholas;
My mom arrived in my bedroom looking radiant in her long white night dress. She smelled fresh like a rose, and she entered my room with Agnes, who greeted me warmly, "Good morning, Amara. I brought your tea and bread."
"Thank you," I told Agnes, accepting the teacup from her hand. I walked up to my chair in my room, sat down, and drank my tea while eating the bread.
My mom looked out the window, then returned to me and said, "Hurry up. The driver is already here, and why haven't you done your makeup? You know you'll see your husband in the city, so you should look your best when you eventually meet him."
I pouted my pink lips as I finished drinking my tea. I didn't intend to please the man I might be married to, and my mom said, "Agnes, get me my makeup box from my room."
"No, Mom. There's no need for that. I don't need to pretend in front of my husband. I'm perfectly okay like this, the way I am. If I pretend with him, what if I can't keep up the act and live the fake life I presented to him at first sight?"
My mother looked at me, speechless at first. She finally said, "Okay. Be quick then."
"I'm ready, Mom. I hope the man is good. If not, I'll be back here, as I did not plan for all this," I said.
My mother sighed and walked up to my side. She said, "You nag a lot. Just hush, and everything will be fine. Let's go downstairs."
"Hmm." I bit my lower lip and followed my mother downstairs while Agnes took my used tray and teacup to the kitchen.
My mother and I walked downstairs into the living room, where we met my father standing in the center, talking to a man I was unfamiliar with.
I watched the middle-aged man greet my father, "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Mr. Timothy. Drive safely and ensure you return on time," my father said to the driver, who was dressed in black pants and a white shirt paired with black shoes.
"Okay, sir. I will," the driver replied, and my father turned to face me.
"Amara..."
"Father, good morning," I greeted him. I felt tears well up in my eyes again. Even when I went to school to study accounting and music in the city, I didn't cry when leaving my parents.
But now, going to my husband's house, I felt like I might not be able to return home to live with my parents as I used to. The farms we visited, the harvested products, and my father's factory—I felt like I wouldn't see any of that again.
I didn't want to leave home, but I had no other option. There comes a time in a person's life when they must shoulder the responsibility to build their own family and a place to call home.
"Your mother and I will miss you. But, as I told you last night, we're not selling you off. You can always return to us if you still don't like the city, but I won't expect you to return home quickly or alone. Maybe bring my grandkids, at least two or three of them."
"Dad..." My face flushed. I couldn't believe my father was talking about me bringing future kids home and becoming a mother too.
I felt emotional about all this, but I knew I had to do it to continue my family lineage and have someone to look up to in the future. To carry on with what my parents would eventually leave behind.
"It's okay. Stop crying. Now come, let me escort you outside," my father urged, and I walked up to him. He petted me closely and reassured me that my husband's people were friendly and would welcome me wholeheartedly.
I finally got into the sleek black car—a black Mercedes-Benz. I waved goodbye to my parents, uncles, and aunts, who had gathered in front of my father's mansion to say goodbye.
My aunt, Mrs. Juliet, was sobbing. After hearing that I was married off, she felt like I was sold off. My parents also had sad looks on their faces, but I knew this wouldn't be the end for me.
I wasn't leaving them forever; I was only going to the city to multiply and become a mother, as my father had said.
I took out my white handkerchief and wiped away my tears. I blew my nose, knowing my face had become a mess. I watched the car start, and the driver reminded me to fasten my seatbelt.
I obeyed and buckled my seatbelt. Soon, the black car drove out of my parents' home. Taking a final look back, I saw my mother crying and my father hugging her closely, assuring her that I would be okay while he waved goodbye.
The driver sped up, and we headed to the city. I knew the drive would take hours since the city was far from the countryside where my parents and I lived for 24 years.
I decided to search for my husband online, at least to distract myself and see the face of the man I was marrying.
I entered the social media network we used in my country, f*******:, to browse, chat, and upload photos.
I had uploaded mine, but after getting plenty of likes and reactions and facing fake parody accounts impersonating me, I decided to take a break.
Now, I searched for my husband's name, Darlington Briggs. I found many people with the same name, but finding the real Darlington Briggs wasn't hard, as he had my father as a mutual friend.
I knew some people didn't use their real names online, which was their choice, but I used mine alongside my parents. It was easy to connect with old family friends, especially those we had lost contact with. If I were using a fake name, I doubted the search would be easy.
And just as I entered Darlington Briggs's profile, I gasped at the familiar face of the man I was married to.
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