Chapter 4

AMARA:

My mom returned to my bedroom looking radiant in her long white nightdress. She smelled fresh like a rose and came in 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 to my chair in my room and sat down, where I drank my tea while eating the bread.

My mom walked to look outside the window, and she walked back to meet me and said, "Hurry up. The driver is already here, and why didn't you do your makeup? You know you'll see your husband in the city, so you should look presentable when you eventually meet him."

I pouted my pink lips as I finished drinking my tea. I internally didn't have any intention of pleasing the man to whom I might be married, and my mom said, "Agnes, get me my makeup box from my room."

"No, Mom. There won't be any need for that. I don't have to pretend in front of my husband. So I'm perfectly okay as I am. If I pretend with him, what if I can't continue living the fake life I had presented myself to him at first sight?"

My mother looked at my face, speechless at first. She said, "Okay. Be quick then."

"I'm done. Mom, I hope Darlington is good. If not, I will 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 complain a lot. Just hush, and everything will be fine. Let's 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, and there, we met my father, standing in the center. He was still in his white robe and was speaking to a tall man I was unfamiliar with.

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

"Morning, Mr. Timothy. You should drive safely and ensure you return on time," my father spoke to the man 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 my father. I felt tears well up in my blue eyes again. Even when I went to the university and studied accounting 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—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's a time in a person's life when they must shoulder a responsibility to build their own family and a place to call home.

"Your mother and I will miss you. But, like I told you, 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. Maybe with my grandchildren, at least two or three of them," my father said.

"Dad..." My face flushed red. I cannot believe 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. 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 me, and I walked up to his side.

Dad petted me closely and reassured me about my husband's people being friendly and that they would wholeheartedly welcome me.

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

My aunt, Mrs. Juliet, was sobbing after hearing I was married off. My parents also had a sad look on their faces, but I knew this wouldn't be the end of 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 off my teary face. 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 him and buckled up. Soon, the car drove out of my parents' home. Stealing a final look backward, I saw my mother crying, and my father hugging her closely and assuring her I would be okay while he alone waved goodbye at me.

The driver then sped up the car, and we headed to the city. I knew the drive would take hours, as the city was far from the countryside where my parents and I lived, where I had spent 24 years.

I decided to search for my husband's profile online, at least to find something to distract my mind and see the face of the man I was marrying.

I entered the social media network we use in my country. I did upload my photos, but after getting many likes and the fear of fake accounts, I decided to take a break.

Now, I searched for my husband's name, Darlington Briggs. I saw many people with the same name, and finding the real Darlington Briggs wasn't hard, as he had my father as his mutual friend.

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

And just like the Darlington Briggs profile I entered, I gasped as I saw the familiar face of the man I was married to.