Chapter 4

**Amara Nicholas**

My mom arrived in my bedroom looking radiant in her long white nightdress. She smelled fresh like a rose and 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 over to my chair, sat down, and began to drink my tea while eating the bread.

My mom walked over to look out the window. After a moment, she returned to me and said, "Hurry up. The driver is already here. Why didn't you do your makeup? You know you'll be meeting your husband in the city, so you should look nice when you finally see him."

I pouted my pink lips as I finished drinking my tea. Deep down, I had no intention of pleasing a man to whom I might be married. My mom said, "Agnes, get 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. I'm perfectly okay just as I am. If I pretend with him, what if I can't keep up the charade I presented at first sight?" 

My mother looked at me, momentarily speechless. Finally, she said, "Okay. Be fast then."

"I’m done. 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 over 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 into the living room, where we found my father standing in the center. He was still in his white robe, speaking to a man I didn't recognize.

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," my father said to the man, who was dressed in black trousers, a white shirt, and black shoes.

"Okay, sir. I will," the driver replied, before my father turned to face me.

"Amara..."

"Father, good morning," I greeted him. Tears welled up in my eyes again. Even when I attended school and studied accounting and music in the city, I hadn't cried when leaving my parents.

But now, as I prepared to go to my husband's house, I felt the weight of it all. I might not be able to return home to live with my parents like I used to. The farms we visited, the harvested products, and my father's factory all flashed in my mind. I feared I wouldn't see any of it again.

I didn't want to leave home, but I had no other option. At some point in a person's life, they must shoulder the responsibility of building their own family and establishing a place to call home.

"Your mother and I will miss you. But like I told you last night, we are not selling you off. You can always return home to us if you don't like the city, but I won't expect you to come back quickly or alone. Maybe with my grandkids—at least two or three of them."

"Dad..." My face flushed red. I couldn’t believe my father was talking about bringing my future children home and that I was going there to become a mother too.

I felt pretty emotional about all this, but I knew I had to carry on the family legacy and ensure there would be someone to look up to in the coming years. Someone to continue what my parents would eventually leave behind someday, and me too.

"It's okay. Stop crying. Come, let me escort you outside," my father urged me, and I walked up to his side. He wrapped his arm around me and reassured me that my husband's family would be friendly and welcoming.

I finally got into the sleek black car—a Mercedes-Benz. I waved goodbye to my parents, uncles, and aunties, who had come to my father’s mansion to bid me farewell.

My aunt, Mrs. Juliet, was sobbing after hearing that I was being married off as if I had been sold. My parents wore sad expressions too, 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 my teary face. I blew my nose, knowing I looked a mess. I watched the car start, and the driver reminded me to fasten my seatbelt.

I obeyed him and buckled up. Soon, the black car drove out of my parents' home. Stealing one last look backward, I saw my mother crying while my father hugged her closely, assuring her that I would be okay as he waved goodbye.

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

I decided to search for my husband online, hoping to distract myself and see the face of the man to whom I was getting married.

I entered the social media platform we use in my country, to browse, chat, and upload photos.

I had uploaded my own photos, but after receiving plenty of likes and fears of 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, and 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, well, that was their choice, but I used mine alongside my parents'. It was easy to connect with old family friends, especially those from whom we had lost contact. But if I was using a fake name, so I doubted the search would be simple.

Just as I entered the Darlington Briggs profile, I gasped when I saw the familiar face of the man I was going to marry.