#Chapter 4

Amara's POV

My mother arrived in my bedroom wearing a long white nightgown and looking stunning. She entered my room with Agnes, who gave me a warm greeting, and she had a fresh rose scent. "Amara, good morning. I brought bread and tea for you."

"I appreciate it," I said to Agnes, taking the teacup out of her grasp. I approach my room's chair and take a seat. From there, I sip my tea and eat the bread that goes with it.

"Hurry up," my mother said as she hurried back to meet me after walking to look out the window. "Why did not you make your face since the driver is already here? You should look great when you finally meet your spouse because you know you will see him in the city."

I finished my tea and pouted my pink lips. "Agnes, get me my makeup box from my room," my mother said, understanding that I did not want to win over the potential husband.

"No, Mom. That will not be necessary. I do not have to pretend in front of my husband. As a result, I am totally content with the way things are right now. If I pretend with him, what if I can not keep up the façade I put on for him right away?"

My mother first stared at me, unable to say anything. "Alright, then, move quickly," she finally said.

"I am done. Mom, I hope the man is good. If not, I will be back here because I did not anticipate this whole thing," I uttered.

With a sigh, my mother approached my side. "You nag so much. Just be quiet, and everything will work out. Let us head downstairs," she said.

"Hmm," I said to myself, biting my lower lip as I followed my mother downstairs and Agnes carrying my used teacup and tray to the kitchen.

I went downstairs with my mother to the living room, where we saw my father standing in the middle of the space. He was talking to a man I did not know, and he was still wearing his white robe.

"Good morning, sir," the middle-aged man said as he greeted my father.

"Hello, Mr. Timothy. Good morning. Make sure to drive carefully and get back on schedule." My father was talking to the man dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and black men's shoes.

The driver said, "Okay, Sir. I will," and my father turned to look at 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 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 your children 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.

"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 was not leaving them forever; I was only going to the city to multiply and become a mother.

Glancing down at my weeping face, I removed my white handkerchief. My face was a complete mess, so I blew off my nose. The driver reminded me to buckle up as I watched the car start.

I put on my seatbelt as per his instructions. The black car soon drove away from my parent's house. And when I stole one last glance behind me, I saw my father wave farewell to me alone while my mother sobbed and he hugged her tightly, reassuring her that I would be alright.

Finally, the driver picks up speed, and we move toward the city. Since my parents and I lived in the countryside and I had spent 24 years of my life there, I knew the drive to the town would take several hours.

In an attempt to distract myself and catch a glimpse of the man I was going to marry, I decided to search for my husband online.

I signed up for the social media platform that my nation had. On F******k, we browse, communicate, and post some of our pictures.

I did post mine, but I decided to take a break after getting a lot of likes and reactions and being afraid that someone would pose as me on a parody account.

Right now, I look up my husband's name. Darlington Briggs. I saw a lot of people with the same name as him, but since he was friends with my father, it was easy to find the real Darlington Briggs.

I was aware that some people chose not to use their true names when interacting online, but my parents and I did. Getting in touch with former family friends—especially those we had not seen in a while—was simple. However, if I were going by a false name. The search would probably not be simple.

When I saw my husband's face on the internet, I gasped out, "What!"