Chapter 4

Amara Nicholas;

 

My mom arrived in my bedroom looking radiant in her long white night dress. She smelled fresh like a rose, and she came into 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 walk up to my chair in my room and have a seat, where I sit down and drink my tea while eating the bread with it.

 

My mom walked to look out the window, then hurried back to meet me and said, "Hurry up." "The driver is already here, so why didn't you make your face? You know that you'll see your husband in the city, so you should look hot when you eventually meet with him."

 

I pouted my pink lips as I finished drinking my tea. My mom said, "Agnes, get me my makeup box from my room," knowing that I had no intention of pleasing the man I might marry.

 

"No, Mom. There won't be any need for that. I don't need to pretend in front of my husband. Therefore, I am completely comfortable with my current situation. This is how I am. If I pretend with him, what if I can't maintain the fake life I presented to him at first sight?"

 

My mother looked at me, speechless at first. She finally said, "Okay. Be fast then."

 

"I am through. Mom, I hope the man is good. "If not, I will be back here, as I did not plan for all of 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 us go downstairs."

 

"Hmm." I bit my lower lip internally 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 of the room. He was still in his white robe, and he was speaking to a man that I was unfamiliar with.

 

I watched the middle-aged man greet my father, "Good morning, sir."

 

"Good morning, Mr. Timothy. You should drive safely and ensure you return on time." The man in black pants, a white shirt, and black men's shoes was the subject of my father's conversation.

 

"Okay, Sir. I will," The driver responded, and my father turned to face me.

 

"Amara..."

 

"Father, good morning," I said, greeting my father. I felt tears well up in my eyes again. Even when I went to school and studied accounting and music in the city, I didn't cry leaving my parents.

 

But now. I felt like I was going to my husband's house. I may not be able to return home again to live with my parents like I used to. The farms we visited, the harvested products, and my father's factory were all things I looked forward to. I felt like I wouldn't get to see any of that again.

 

I didn't want to leave home, but I had no other option. It comes at a time in a person's life when they must shoulder a compulsory responsibility to build their own family and a place to call home.

 

"Your mother and I will miss you. But, like I told you the previous night, we are not selling you off. You can always return home to us if you still don't like the city, but I won't expect you to return home quickly or alone. Perhaps you could bring at least two or three of my grandchildren with you.

 

"Dad..." My face flushed red. I cannot believe that my father is telling me about bringing my future kids home and that I will go there to become a mother, too.

 

I was pretty 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 following years. I wanted to continue the legacy my parents would one day leave behind, as well as myself.

 

"It's okay. Stop crying. Now come, let me escort you outside," my father urges me, and I walk up to his side. He petted me closely and reassured me that my husband's people were friendly and would wholeheartedly welcome me.

 

I finally got into the sleek black car—a black Mercedes-Benz. I waved goodbye to my parents, uncles, and aunties, who had pulled up in front of my father's mansion to say goodbye to me, too.

 

My aunt, Mrs. Juliet, was sobbing. After she heard that I was also married off like I was sold off, my parents also had a sad look on their faces, but I knew that this wouldn't be the end of me. 

 

As my father had said, I wasn't leaving them forever; I was only going to the city to multiply and become a mother.

 

I took out my white handkerchief and wiped off my teary face. I blew off my nose, realizing my face had become a mess. I watched the car start, and the driver reminded me to fasten my seatbelt.

 

I obeyed him and buckled up my seatbelt. Soon, the black car left my parents' house. And, stealing a final look backward, I saw my mother crying and my father hugging her closely, assuring her that I was going to be okay while he alone waved goodbye at me.

 

The driver finally speeds up, and we head to the city. I knew the drive to the town would take hours, as the city was far from the countryside where my parents and I lived and where I spent 24 years of my life.

 

I made the decision to look for my husband online, if only to divert my thoughts and get a glimpse of the man I was about to marry.

 

I joined the social media network that we had in my country. We browse, chat, and upload some of our photos to the F******k network.

 

I did upload mine, but after receiving plenty of likes and reactions, as well as the fear of fake parody accounts impersonating me, I decided to take a break.

 

Now, I search for my husband's name. Darlington Briggs. I saw many people with the same name as him, and finding the honest Darlington Briggs wasn't hard because he had my father as a mutual friend.

 

I knew some people didn't use their real names online—well, their choice—but I used mine alongside my parents. It was easy to connect with old family friends, especially those with whom we had lost contact. But If I was using a fake name. I doubt the search would be easy. 

 

Similar to the Darlington Briggs profile I entered, I gasped upon seeing the familiar face of my husband.