Chapter 4

Amara's POV

My mom arrived in my bedroom looking radiant in her long white nightdress. 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 walked up to my chair in my room and had a seat, where I sat down and drank my tea while eating the bread with it.

My mom walked to look outside the window, then walked back to meet me and said, "Hurry up. The driver is already here. Why didn't you put on makeup? You know that 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. Internally, I had no intention of pleasing the man to whom I might be married. 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 am perfectly okay like this, the way I am. If I pretend with him, what if I can't continue to live the fake life I presented to him at first sight?"

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

"I'm finished. Mom, I hope the man 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 beside me. She said, "You nag 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, where we met my father standing in the center of the living room. He was still in his white robe and was speaking to a man I wasn't familiar with.

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

"Good morning, Mr. Timothy. Drive safely and make sure you return on time," my father said to the man in a black pant and a white shirt paired with black men's shoes.

"Okay, Sir. I will," the driver replied, and my father turned to face me.

"Amara..."

"Father, good morning," I greeted my father. Tears welled 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 might not be able to return home to live with my parents like I used to. The farms we visited, the harvested produce, 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 a compulsory 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 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 quickly or alone. Maybe with my grandkids, at least two or three of them."

"Dad..." My face flushed red. I couldn't believe that my father was talking to me about bringing my future kids home and that I would go there to become a mother too.

I was quite 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 what my parents would eventually leave behind someday.

"It's okay. Stop crying. Now come, let me escort you outside," my father urged me, and I walked up to his side. He patted me closely and reassured me about my husband's people being friendly and how they 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, having heard that I was also married off as if I were sold 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 start a family and become a mother, as my father had said.

I took out my white handkerchief and wiped 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 my seatbelt. Soon, the black car drove out of my parents' home. Stealing a final look backward, I saw my mother crying and my father hugging her closely, assuring her that I would be okay, while he alone waved goodbye at me.

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

I decided to search for my husband online, at least to find something to distract my mind and see the face of the man to whom I was getting married.

I entered the social media network we used in my country, F******k, to browse, chat, and upload photos online.

I uploaded mine, but after getting plenty of likes and reactions and fearing fake parody accounts impersonating me, I decided to take a break.

Now, I searched for my husband's name, Darlington Briggs. I saw many people with the same name, but finding the genuine 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 with whom we had lost contact. But I was using a fake name. I doubted the search would be easy.

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