Married for Status, Betrayed for Love / Chapter 3: Leftovers and Lost Dreams
Married for Status, Betrayed for Love

Married for Status, Betrayed for Love

Author: Steven Castro


Chapter 3: Leftovers and Lost Dreams

After he waka comot, my friend burst enter room like whirlwind, wrapper nearly fall, hand full of fruit. "Na you be correct babe!" she shout, laugh loud, echo for hospital room.

“Okafor family dey shake, but when Ifeanyi carry you come, the guy panic o.”

She wiggle eyebrow, nudge me for ribs. "You see as e run? E mean say you don touch him heart small."

“Na secret crush don finally pay off, or na love after marriage?”

Her voice playful, but concern dey her eye. She dey try cheer me, but dey search my face for answers.

“I happy for you sha. When una marry, I worry for you. But now, to win this your ice prince no go too hard.”

She adjust bedsheet, squeeze my hand. "Try am, you fit surprise yourself. Man no be firewood."

Sunlight just dey enter window.

Light soft, warm, draw pattern for floor. Room smell like dettol and rose. My mind dey wander, memories dey rush me.

Suddenly, I remember say thirty minutes ago, I dey open gifts for room.

Cards with gold letter, plenty perfume, wrapper. I dey smile, no know say wahala dey come.

Last-last, I see Ifeanyi’s gift—a necklace.

Beautiful, gold, small diamond for middle. The kind only big girls dey wear. I almost cry. My friend snap picture, say make I send am to WhatsApp group.

One correct brand.

Everybody know am. People dey gossip say na only billionaire wife dey get that label. I even pose for mirror small, act like movie star.

I wear am sharp-sharp.

I snap, send give my mama. She reply with prayer hand emoji. I feel important, for that small moment.

But just now, I see same brand of bracelet on Halima wrist.

My heart cold. How person go buy same thing for wife and side babe? Even if na mistake, e pain.

The gift wey sweet me na just leftover when he dey buy for another person.

I feel like person wey dem serve leftover stew, call am fresh soup. The thing weak me. My chest dey pepper me, but I just bone. No tears for this one.

I suddenly talk, “I don already agree. In two years, I go divorce am.”

The words shock my friend. She drop orange, eye open like winch. Hospital room quiet.

My friend jump up, shock and vex.

“Ehn? Wetin happen? You dey craze?”

Mouth wide, hand cover face. She vex but worry strong pass anger.

“He get babe for outside?”

She no wan believe. Voice shake, like she dey pray say na joke.

I smile small.

Small smile, like secret only me get. The kind you give when you tire to explain.

No be so.

Ifeanyi no be that kind person.

I dey try defend am, but truth hang for my throat. Ifeanyi get principle—no dey waka anyhow. He loyal, but heart get owner.

If anything, he dey protect Halima well.

That one clear. The way he look am, rush cover her from chandelier, even my own cut no move him. E mean say the thing deep.

He love her with sense, fear say people go trouble her or spoil her name.

He dey do everything coded. Na so e suppose be if you wan protect pesin from family wahala.

Apart from me, only his close guys sabi. The rest think say na normal rich boy marriage.

“No.”

I shake head. Simple answer, but reason deep.

“As for why… I no fit tell you now. But this matter don settle. Wetin I promise, I go do.”

Voice steady. My friend dey look me, like say she dey find hope for my face.

To stay with man wey no love me, or collect the better things wey he fit give my family—everybody sabi the better choice.

Na decision only people born with silver spoon dey understand. Sometimes, love no dey list at all. I dey protect my own, as my mama train me.

My friend just look, no talk again.

She bite lip, wan talk, then stop. She hold my hand, squeeze am, like prayer dey her palm.

At the end, she only say, “But you don like am since.”

Voice soft, almost whisper. My eye turn red, I blink quick.

I sigh.

So?

I meet Ifeanyi at sixteen, we sit together half a year.

Those days, school uniform never dry before bell go ring. Ifeanyi be class captain—people dey fear am, but me, I dey observe. He sabi maths, no talk plenty. Me, I dey hide my own shine, but sometimes we gist after class.

When I fall sick, he carry me go sickbay, stay with me all morning, miss football match. He buy Gala and Lucozade for me, wipe sweat for my forehead with handkerchief wey him mama sew.

That day, my temperature high, I dey shiver. Others run go field, but he sit down, dey feed me Lucozade. Even matron ask if na my brother. I never forget.

When dem gossip say my mama na second wife and I be bastard, na him curse them one by one, teach me to hold my head.

The way Ifeanyi defend me, even prefects dey fear am. He stand for me, tell me, "No let anybody use your mama talk make you hide face. Your story never finish."

We join maths competition, host New Year’s Eve party together. He say, “Make everything go your way,” I answer, “Make we start new journey.”

We plan open JAMB lesson for estate, but life carry us go different ways. The New Year's party, he let me pick all the songs—small thing, but e sweet me.

But at twenty-three, when engagement near, both of us sit for table—

Na arranged meeting, all parents for parlour. Dem leave us for dining, like say if we talk, love go grow.

He look me with stranger eyes, only talk: “We don meet before?”

I freeze. Question weak me. For my mind, I dey wonder if na cruise or test.

He don forget me.

My hand cold. I expect at least, "Long time no see." But nothing. Na so heartbreak dey start.

I just weak.

Pain deep. I nearly stand waka comot. But pride hold me. I lock up.

I never change much. Still calm, long hair, blue dress, no dey smile too much.

My style always simple, nothing loud. Only small lipstick join, to please mama.

Only change—

Maybe small makeup for my face.

I add eyelash that day, just to impress. E no help matter.

But forget is forget. The things I hold like lifeline, na just Tuesday for am.

Na so e dey be. You go carry memory for head, but for another pesin, na just Tuesday.

He just be good pesin, no be say he dey good to me specially.

Reality hard, but na true. I no be his first, second, or even third choice.

So I smile, act like e no pain me, “You forget? Class 7, first year of secondary. I be Amaka.”

I hide pain, give my best actress smile. Add small laugh, like joke.

Ifeanyi look up, face relax small.

Eyes soften, mouth twist like say he remember small.

He sigh. “So na you.”

That sigh carry plenty—surprise, maybe small regret. But gap don already dey.

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