Chapter 3: No More Pretending

I sit for study, dey stare torn stockings, lost in thought for long.

Room cold pass normal, shadow long for floor. I hold the tattered black cloth, run finger over runs and holes. Tears wan fall again, but I hold am, bite lip till e bleed. Mama voice echo: “No let enemy see your weakness, Amara.” But tonight, weakness strong pass me.

For first time, I realise say Yinka Olayemi no dey pretend—he truly no like me.

E hit me like slap. All the small hope wey I dey guard, all the daydream of him loving me, scatter like cowries for sand. I just be accessory, something he tolerate, not cherish.

When I be eighteen join Olayemi family, dem say if goat dey eat yam with elders, one day e go chop big yam. I believed my own time go come.

I remember my arrival—whispers, auntie and uncle dey look me well, the weight of expectation heavy. Dem dress me up, show me, teach me family secret, how to serve pepper soup correct. Na all preparation for this future.

He cold by nature, society ladies no fit stand his icy way.

Even for Christmas party, he dey stand alone, arm cross, small smile for elders but never for women wey hover. Dem go laugh, toss hair, but eye go hard if he ignore dem.

So Grandma choose me as Yinka Olayemi backup wife if he refuse marry.

Those days, I see am as blessing, not burden. Grandma word na law—her talk na final. She pat my head, call me "our last hope," I wear am like badge.

I no feel say e dey unfair.

To me, na fate. Friends dey envy me: “Amara, you don hammer.” But deep inside, I dey wonder if na love or just arrangement.

He handsome, tall like iroko tree, I admire am.

Presence dey fill room, even when he quiet. Skin dey glow, voice fit silence crowd, eyes dey see everything. Auntie prayer point, market gist.

At twenty-one, Grandma bring marriage talk.

She call me, hand soft but word sharp. She list benefit, honour, security. I nod, swallow fear. For that age, love be like duty more than desire.

Yinka Olayemi no look happy, but no refuse either.

He show for engagement, wear agbada, smile for picture. Do wetin dem require, nothing more. I convince myself say e enough.

I think if I try well, I fit melt him cold heart.

Every morning, I cook him favourite yam, wear dress he like, laugh for his rare joke. But nothing work—heart remain frozen.

Looking back, I too naive.

I see now how foolish I be, thinking I fit change man wey no want change. Womanhood lesson hard, sometimes e late.

After long time, I call old house steward, tell am say I dey come tomorrow.

Voice shake for call, I try sound bold. Steward shock but polite, promise prepare my old room. I hang up, relief and fear mix for belle.

I also spend long time think how to tell Grandma I wan divorce.

I waka for study, rehearse the words, imagine her face—proud, strong, no dey shift. Hand dey shake, but I gather mind. Sometimes, to save soul, you must break tradition.

Night don late before I reach bedroom, eyes red, swell.

Corridor quiet, shadow long. I waka like ghost, feet silent for tile. I pause for mirror, see my puffy eye, wipe cheek last time before I slide under cover.