It echoed relentlessly in my mind—”My fiancé.” Amara proudly referred to Chinedu as her fiancé. I scoffed at the notion that I still clung to Chinedu as if he were mine, despite being married to another man. She was mocking me. I couldn’t help but wonder if my life would have taken a different path if I had married him. Perhaps I would even be expecting my second child by now. The moment I reached home, I rushed into my mother’s open arms and let my tears flow. She held me tightly, providing comfort that washed away any previous anger or judgment. My pain was deep-seated, primarily because Chinedu was getting married to my friend.
“She’s marrying Chinedu,” I managed to whisper between sobs. I looked up to see a puzzled expression on my mother’s face. I sought answers in her eyes, but she gently pulled my head back down to her chest, soothing me as I released more tears, my cries coming out in hiccups.
Once I had finally calmed down, she sat me up and looked at me intently.
“Why does it sadden you that he’s getting married?” she inquired.
That question forced me to examine my feelings. I realized I had no valid reason to be saddened by this news. But still, I needed to explain my frustration—I needed a justification for my annoyance. Did I not want him to get married? Of course, I did, but not to my childhood friend.
“Mummy, it’s Amara he’s marrying,” I reminded her.
My mother chuckled at my transparent attempt to gain her sympathy. “And what’s wrong with that? You’re married, too,” she reminded me.
“She’s having his baby,” I added.
“I’m aware of that. You should be happy for them. Remember, you left him.” She played the guilt card, stabbing me with it like a sharp knife into my chest.
Yes, I had left him. I never gave him a reason for ending our relationship, even though he had pleaded with me to explain. He believed we could fix our problems. In a single day, all the financial investment, time, and emotions he had poured into our relationship for four years had crumbled. How could I have told him that I felt more connected to Mike than I ever had to him? How could I have admitted that Mike was wealthier and understood me better? I wished I had been honest with him back then. Maybe he wouldn’t now be marrying my childhood friend. With teary eyes, I looked at my mother. She wiped away the tears from the corners of my eyes.
“Listen, my child, and you’ll understand where your heart truly lies. Among my children, you are by far the most stubborn,” she chuckled. “None of your brothers gave me as many headaches as you did. Remember, no one forced you to marry Michael. We all knew about your relationship with Chinedu, but you decided whom you’d spend your life with. I trusted your judgment. You knew why you chose Michael over Chinedu. In times of difficulty, you shouldn’t run back home. Don’t let your present predicament make you second-guess the decision you made before God and man. Stay and work on your relationship; remember, it’s a lifelong partnership, and I won’t support divorce.” She admonished me with a stern expression. I looked into her deep brown eyes and wondered how she and my father had made their relationship work. They had fought countless times, yet they stood together until his passing.
“If the roles were reversed and he reacted the way you did, how would you feel?” she asked. I considered her question, realizing the depth of my foolishness. She smiled at me and retreated inside the house. A few minutes later, she returned, with Mike following behind her. I was stunned to see him and immediately stood up. He approached me slowly, stopping a few feet away, his gaze fixed on me, devoid of any emotion.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my head hanging in shame.
He closed the gap between us and pulled me into his arms. This was why I had left Chinedu. Pleading for forgiveness had never been easy for me, but Mike had a big heart and managed to handle my quirks with patience. As his arms enveloped me in a warm embrace, I cried into his chest, and he comforted me with soothing words.
“I deflated your tire,” I began, confessing my actions.
“You ruined my designer clothes,” he added with a chuckle, “but what matters is that you’re alright”
I pulled away slightly, disbelief etched on my face. What mattered most to him was my safety.
“Why?” I questioned him, my tone puzzled.
“Why what?” he asked, his confusion evident.
“Why are you doing this?” I wondered aloud.
“Why am I loving you?” he repeated my question, his expression blank. A gentle smile curved his lips, and he pulled me back into a tender embrace.
“I knew what I was getting into when I married you. Regardless of everything, you’re my source of pride, children or not. We’ll find a way forward. I’ll go for the checkup,” he assured me.
I raised my head and began shaking it. “I don’t care whether you go or not.”
“Coming from the woman who ran off from her husband this morning?” He raised an eyebrow, and I chuckled.
“I want to, and this time, I won’t have second thoughts,” he promised, his lips pressing against my forehead. “When the driver told me you left for the airport, I couldn’t help but chase after you. I realized how my actions have been affecting you. When I saw you on the plane, I could see the sadness in your eyes. I didn’t even notice that you had lost weight.” He pulled me slightly away so he could look into my eyes while still holding me in his arms. “It hit me that I am partly responsible for your suffering. I couldn’t even console my wife properly.” He wiped away the tears that had welled up in the corners of my eyes. “Children are a gift from God. If He decides not to bless us with them, that’s okay. But I promise you, I’ll always stand by your side through this journey.”
Read Part One Here: MY PRIDE 1
