Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Kelechi
Nigeria,
Early April
The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger.
I stood, gripping the marble edges of the sink until my knuckles looked stretched and pale against my dark complexion as I stared at this hollow-eyed version of myself.
My face was puffy and red, my eyes swollen from another night of crying myself to sleep.
The expensive concealer I had ordered on Jumia could no longer hide the damage.
I reached for a washcloth, running it under cold water before pressing it against my eyes. The shock of the temperature made me gasp, but it did nothing for the ache that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.
Two weeks. I’d been back in Nigeria for two weeks, and I still felt as though I were living someone else’s life.
I had taken an emergency leave from school, filled out all the paperwork, and begged my professors to let me submit assignments online. Some agreed, two didn’t. But I promised myself I’d catch up later, that missing a few classes would be worth it.
I guess.
Booking the ticket last-minute had been a crazy experience, but the good thing was that my student visa allowed me to leave as long as I had my documents to re-enter. So, I stuffed them into my bag along with my laptop and told myself I’d be fine.
The house was exactly as I had left it, filled with my family members, the scent of my mother’s jasmine candles, and the sound of morning prayers drifting from the sitting room.
Everything was the same, but I felt like I’d returned as a completely different person.
Like I’d left a piece of myself somewhere across the ocean and couldn’t figure out how to function without it.
I splashed more cold water on my face, watching the droplets fall back into the white basin. Even the water here felt different. Everything felt different.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I slowly brought myself to check it, thinking that maybe, by some miracle, Marley had texted.
But no.
It wasn’t her, just another message from the wedding committee group my mother had added me to. They were rambling about the final dress fitting, catering, and other things. It was another reminder that in less than three weeks, I would be Mrs. Chukwuma Okafor.
The thought made my stomach lurch.
I had turned my phone to silent since I came back, unable to bear the constant notifications about wedding plans while my heart was still bleeding.
But the messages kept coming. Aunties asking about the guest list. Cousins excited about the celebration.
My university friends sending in their congratulations and asking for details about my time in Canada.
If only they knew what details I was trying to forget.
Marley’s comforting scent. How she’d leave little notes in my textbooks when she thought I needed encouragement. The sound of her laugh echoing through her apartment. The way she’d hold me at night, stroking my hair and whispering sweet things into my ear.
The way she’d looked at me that last time in her car.
I pressed the washcloth against my eyes again, harder this time, as if I could press the memories away, too. But they were burned into me now, part of my DNA. I would carry her with me forever, even as I walked down the aisle to marry someone else.
Another sob escaped before I could stop it, echoing off the bathroom tiles. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, the way I always did when I was trying not to fall apart completely.
But it wasn’t working anymore.
Nothing was working anymore.
The bathroom door creaked, and I heard my mother’s voice through the wood.
“KC? Are you alright in there, my dear?”
I straightened up immediately, muscle memory taking over.
Wipe the tears.
Fix the face.
Become the daughter they expected me to be.
“I’m fine, ma,” I called back, surprised by how normal my voice sounded. “Just getting ready.”
“Breakfast is on the dining table, and Chukwuma’s sister called. She wants to discuss the Aso-Ebi details with you.”
Chukwuma’s sister. The woman who would become my sister-in-law in a few days.
“I’ll be right down.”
I heard her footsteps retreat down the hallway, and I turned back to the mirror. The girl looking back at me had learned to lie very well since she came back to Nigeria. I think she had always known how to lie.
She could smile on command, nod at all the right moments, and act super excited about flower arrangements and catering menus.
But late at night, when the house was quiet, and the wedding plans couldn’t distract her anymore, she still reached for her phone. Still typed messages she would never send. Still whispered a name into the darkness that no one here would ever understand.
I dried my face one final time and straightened my shoulders. Time to go downstairs and pretend to be happy about marrying a man I barely knew, while the woman I loved was probably waking up three thousand miles away, getting ready to start another day without me.
I made my way downstairs to the dining room, where the whole family had gathered.
Dad sat at the head of the table, Mum beside him, already deep in conversation with Aunty Ngozi.
Chuka, my six-year-old brother, was focused entirely on his plate of rice and stew, while Esther, just two years younger than me, kept glancing toward the stairs as if she’d been waiting for me.
Some of my aunties and cousins filled the sitting room, their voices mixing with the Nollywood movie playing on the television, creating that familiar warm chaos of an Igbo household.
“Aunty, good morning, ma,” I greeted my aunts as I passed through, receiving the usual chorus of “Good morning, KC” and “Ah, KC, our Canadian big girl!”
“You finally joined us!” Esther said, standing up from her seat. She was as petite as me but slimmer and light-skinned like our mother, while Chuka and I had inherited our father’s darker complexion.
“Yes, I did,” I chuckled as we embraced briefly.
“Just this once o. You have practically been enjoying your meals upstairs without wanting to eat with the family,” she pressed on with that playful smile and pout that always got her what she wanted.
“Esther, you still like wahala. Change o,” I teased back as we approached the table.
“Daddy, good morning, sir,” I said, pulling out my chair while Esther returned to hers beside me.
“Good morning, nne. How was your night?”
“Fine, Daddy.”
“We thought you wouldn’t be joining us today,” he said with his usual gentle smile.
Before I could respond, Mum looked up from her discussion with Aunty Ngozi.
“KC, nne, ehen. We were just talking about the wedding preparations. Your Aunty Ngozi was saying that for the traditional ceremony, we should—”
“Mummy, let her eat first na,” Esther interrupted, serving me rice from the cooler. “She just came down.”
I caught the look in Esther’s eyes and felt grateful for the momentary reprieve, but my mother was already back in full swing.
“The caterers want to know the final numbers by tomorrow, and your future mother-in-law called this morning about the wine-carrying ceremony. She wants to meet next week to discuss—”
I nodded, forcing myself to take bites of food that suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Around me, my aunties chimed in with advice about marriage, about being a good wife, about how lucky I was to marry into such a good family.
“Sister KC, good morning o,” Chuka mumbled through a mouthful of fried plantain.
“Good morning, foodie,” I managed with a faint smile, grateful for his innocent interruption.
But the conversation quickly returned to wedding plans. Colour schemes, guest lists, what I should wear, how I should behave. Each word felt like a weight settling on my chest, making it harder to breathe.
I noticed my hands trembling slightly as I reached for my water glass.
Only Esther seemed to notice. Her eyes kept darting to me with growing concern as our family’s discussion grew louder around us.
“And KC,” Aunty Ngozi said, turning to me directly, “you must make sure you learn how to cook his favourite meals properly. Men like to eat what their mothers used to make for them. That’s how to keep peace in a home and—”
“Actually,” Esther suddenly stood up, “KC and I need to go upstairs. She wanted to show me something important about… about her wedding dress.”
“But we’re still discussing—” Mum began.
“It’s really urgent, Mummy. We’ll be back down soon,” Esther insisted, already pulling me up from my chair.
I shot her a grateful look as she practically dragged me away from the table, past the curious stares of our relatives, and up the stairs to the safety of my room.
“Sometimes I forget how overbearing our family can be,” she said as she flopped onto the edge of my bed.
“You can say that again,” I mumbled, settling on one side of the bed.
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the gentle whir of the ceiling fan and the soft patter of rain against my window. The weather had turned chilly, and I pulled a wrapper tightly around myself.
“How are you, sis? Talk to me, how are you?” Esther’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts.
“I… I’m okay,” I replied, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.
Esther shifted on the bed, turning to face me fully.
“KC, you’re my sister, and I know you. You’re not okay. You haven’t been okay since you came back from Canada. And downstairs just now…” She paused, studying my face. “You looked like you were choked up.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar sting of tears threatening.
“It’s just… overwhelming. All the wedding talk, the pressure…”
“There’s more to it than that.” Her voice carried that gentle persistence I knew so well. “Talk to me, please. What happened over there?”
I stared at the floor. I wanted to tell her everything about Marley—about the love I’d found and lost, about the piece of my soul I’d left behind in Vancouver. But the words felt too dangerous.
“Esther,” I whispered, opening my eyes to meet hers, “what if… what if you found out you had feelings for someone your family would never accept, but you have to marry someone else that your family wants for you? What would you do?”
Esther’s brows furrowed slightly as she processed my words carefully.
“KC…” she began slowly, “if I found real love—real love that makes you feel alive, that makes you understand why none of the other relationships worked, I would fight for it with everything I have.”
“Even if it meant disappointing everyone? Even if it meant going against everything we were raised to believe?”
Esther leaned forward, her voice growing more passionate.
“Especially then. Because happiness isn’t selfish. I don’t see living your truth as rebellion. You think I don’t see how you’ve spent almost your whole life pretending? Dying slowly inside while you try to be what our parents want.
My breath hitched.
“Is that how you want to go on forever, sis? Without happiness?”
As she spoke, Marley’s face flooded my mind. Her laugh echoing through her apartment. Her fingers intertwined with mine as we walked through the halls of our faculty building. The way she had confessed her love to me that day, the way her voice trembled with vulnerability.
“But what if the person is…” I swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.
“Different from what they expect, abi?” Esther completed gently.
“Sis, love is love. And if this person makes you happy, if they treat you well, if they see you for who you truly are, that’s what matters.
Not what society says, not what extended family whispers, not even what Mummy and Daddy think initially.
Because I have seen real love? It has a way of winning people over. ”
Tears began sliding down my cheeks as Esther’s words sank in.
“You deserve to wake up every morning excited about your life,” Esther continued, her voice thick with emotion. “You deserve to love someone who loves you back completely, without conditions or compromises. You deserve to be yourself, fully and unapologetically.”
“But what if there’s a wedding…” I choked out.
“The wedding can be cancelled. The hall can be forfeited. And let me tell you something—the shame will fade. But a lifetime of regret?” She scoffed. “That never goes away.”
I sniffled and let a small smile break through my tears.
“Sometimes I forget you’re the younger one. You’re always so full of wisdom. I wonder how you debate in college against your law course mates.”
She let out a chuckle, then paused, watching the tears stream down my face more freely now.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.
“KC… is this… about you?”
I tried to speak, tried to form words, but my throat had closed completely. All I could do was remember Marley’s hands cupping my face, her lips against mine.
Esther sat up immediately, gathering me into her arms as my silent tears became quiet sobs. She held me against her chest, stroking my hair the way she used to when we were children.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay, sis.”
After several minutes, when my breathing had steadied slightly, she pulled back to look at me.
“Did you meet someone over there?” she asked softly.
The question shattered the last of my defences, and I nodded against her shoulder, fresh tears spilling over.
If only she knew that the someone I had met over there, the same someone who had my heart in her hands, was the very person I had been gossiping about to her over the phone that day, when I was huddled in the toilet cubicles of Roxie’s.
“It’s okay. Don’t hold your tears in, or else you might get those nasty migraine attacks,”,” she said as she held me.
And I closed my eyes, comforting myself with the memories of a certain green-eyed woman thousands of miles away.