LOGIN"I didn’t know I was marrying two people. He wore the suit, but she pulled the strings. The day I walked down the aisle, eyes locked with the man I loved, I thought I had found peace. I thought I was finally leaving behind the noise of my childhood, the ache of loneliness, and the years I spent praying for a love that would choose me, only me. But no one told me that some men never truly leave their mothers. They marry, yes,but their hearts remain tangled in an invisible umbilical cord, one that stretches past vows, past bedrooms, past boundaries. I moved into our new home, only to find that the walls had ears, hers. We lived in separate flats, but it never truly felt like my space. My marriage was a room she walked into, uninvited but ever present. Her opinions dripped into our arguments, her eyes followed me from behind lace curtains, and her voice echoed in decisions that should have belonged to me and my husband. At first, I kept quiet. I told myself it was cultural. Respect. Family. Then I told myself it was temporary. Then I stopped telling myself anything at all, because nothing I said made a difference. This is not a story of hate. It’s a story of love, tested by bloodlines, boundaries, and a battle I never asked to fight. This is my truth. The marriage I thought was mine. The home that never really felt like home. And the rules I never agreed to, but had to live by, simply because… I was under her roof".
View MoreSunday morning arrived with the sound of Mama’s voice pounding at our door before the sun was fully awake.“Amaka! Get ready for church. Don’t keep us waiting. A good wife knows how to prepare herself and her husband for the house of God.”I swallowed my sigh and rose from the bed. My husband was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked at me, guilt flickering across his face, but said nothing. That was his gift , silence, even when words were needed most.Sometimes I wondered if he was remote controlled by his mother or if he was simply scared of her and why he would be?I dressed carefully, tying my gele neatly, slipping into a wrapper I had ironed the night before. In the mirror, I tried to fix my smile, but it refused to stay. I felt like I was dressing for battle, not worship.The walk to church was short. Mama strutted ahead in her lace, the sun bouncing off her gold earrings. My husband walked beside her, and I trailed slightly behind, my Bible clutched tightly in my hands.
The smell of fried plantain clung to my wrapper as I carried the last tray into the dining room. Mama had insisted on making the dinner herself, but somehow, every task found its way into my hands. From pounding yam till my arms burned to cutting vegetables until my eyes stung, I worked like a servant while she barked orders over my shoulder.We were already married and it was just a month after our wedding. There was no honeymoon and no time for the both of us to have sometime with each other. Emeka had said ,he was returning back to work immediately and mama needed him to take good care of the family’s business, hence there was no time for us to travel out for our honeymoon. I was so sad but there was nothing much I could do. Mama had organized a little gathering for only family members, which she said was a way to celebrate my coming into the family.By the time the relatives started arriving ,her sisters, cousins, even one woman from her church ,my back ached, and my head pou
The engagement party was held in the compound. It wasn’t my idea, and truthfully, not even his. His mother announced it as if it were already written somewhere in the skies above our heads. She did not ask me if I wanted it at my parents’ house or at one of the gardens in town. She simply said..." We will gather here. Let people know who my son has chosen. "And that was that.By afternoon, the compound had transformed into something louder than itself. Bright canopies stretched across the courtyard, like sheets of sky pinned down with iron poles. Women moved in clusters, balancing trays of jollof rice, fried plantain, steaming egusi soup. Children ran about with balloons shaped like hearts, their small feet kicking up dust that settled back like it was used to this chaos.Music floated from speakers dragged into the yard, old highlife beats braided with Afropop, the kind that made elders nod, and younger cousins sway their hips. I wore the gown my mother had sewn, a soft peach lace
The day after the proposal, the city hummed like a phone left charging on the bedside table, constant, low, obliging itself to keep going. News vans and wedding bells felt far away; inside my small apartment, the ring still sat on my finger, a warm gold that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. I turned it slowly and then rested my palm against my chest as if that could anchor the world into the shape I wanted it to be. The first meeting with his mother felt inevitable, like a tide whose arrival the whole shoreline pretends to ignore until the water is already at the gate. He had spoken of her with a softness that made her sound like a ghost of good things, nurturer, prayer warrior, the woman who taught him to tie proper knots and fold shirts into rectangles that looked like promises. I had seen a picture of her once, a stiff photograph from a school album; she wore a smile that did not require permission. I imagined warmth. The house where we met was the kind of compound that






Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.