His friend Kunal laughed. So you’re inviting her to disgrace her? Chaik smiled proudly. She needs to see what she lost.
But Kunal looked unsure. Are you sure that’s wise? What if? There’s no what if, Chaik snapped. She’ll sit in that hall and see my new bride walking down the aisle in diamonds.
Let her choke on regret. On the day of the wedding rehearsal, Chaik stood in the hall alone before anyone else arrived. He looked around the decorated space.
Roses, chandeliers, golden chairs. But his heart wasn’t peaceful. He took out his phone and stared at Ngozi’s name on the guest list again.
He thought about how she used to smile when she arranged his ties. How she made him pepper soup whenever he was sick. How she cried that night he threw her out.
He shook his head quickly. No, he whispered. She was the problem.
She couldn’t give me a child. I made the right choice. Still, he couldn’t breathe properly.
He walked out and lit a cigarette. Far away, Ngozi was bathing one of the triplets when her phone buzzed. Amaka picked it up and froze.
Ngozi, what is it? Ngozi asked, drying the baby’s hair. It’s a wedding invitation. From who? Amaka turned the phone.
Chaik. Ngozi stared at the screen, heart pounding. She reached for the phone, read the invite, then slowly placed it on the table.
Amaka was fuming. What kind of insult is this? Is he mad? But Ngozi just stood quietly, holding her baby close. Then she smiled.
A calm, steady smile. It’s okay, she said softly. Let him have his wedding.
Amaka frowned. You’re not going, right? Ngozi looked at her babies, all three sleeping peacefully. She didn’t answer.
But the way she walked to her room, with quiet confidence, said everything. Ngozi stood by the window, one hand gently rocking the baby in her arms while the other held the wedding invitation. The gold envelope was thick and shiny, like something meant for a king.
The letters were bold and loud. Chaik and Adeora, the royal union. She had read the card five times already.
Each time, it said the same thing. The date, the venue, the dress code, and then, her name printed clearly on the guest list. Ngozi’s first row seat.
She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t shaking.
But something inside her was rising slowly, like fire-warming cold stones. Amaka walked in, carrying a bowl of hot pap. I still don’t understand why he sent this.
Is he crazy? Or just wicked? Ngozi said nothing. Amaka placed the bowl down. Is he trying to insult you, after everything he did? Still no answer.
Amaka snapped. Ngozi, talk to me now. Why are you so calm? You should have torn that invitation into pieces and thrown it in the dustbin.
Ngozi finally spoke. He wants me to feel small. Amaka folded her arms.
Then let’s ignore him. We will not give him that chance. Ngozi turned slowly.
He wants me to come, and cry in a corner while his bride walks in with gold on her skin and a smile on her lips. And we will not go, Amaka said again. Ngozi looked at her three sons sleeping quietly on the rug, their matching yellow honesses wrinkled from playtime.
But what if we show him the truth? Amaka’s brow rose. What truth? Ngozi’s voice was firm. That I was never the problem.
That the woman he thought was broken, is whole. Amaka was silent for a long time. Then she sat down.
Wait, are you planning to go to the wedding? Ngozi nodded. With the boys? Another nod. Amaka opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Then she laughed. Iwu, that man will faint. Ngozi, are you serious? Ngozi smiled for the first time that day.
Very serious. The plan began that evening. Ngozi went to the wardrobe and picked out a long yellow gown she had kept for a special day.
It had been sewn months ago by Amaka, but she had never worn it. Amaka brought out her makeup kit. If we’re doing this, we’ll do it well.
I don’t want to look loud, Ngozi said. I want to look peaceful, but powerful. Say less, Amaka grinned.
You’ll look like God’s proof. They ordered new outfits for the boys, matching yellow shorts and white shirts with bow ties. Amaka borrowed a friend’s contact and booked a black Rolls-Royce Phantom.
The car would arrive that morning and wait down the road until Ngozi gave the signal. They practiced how the boys would hold her hands and walk beside her. The twins were a little playful, but the youngest always followed her steps.
I’m not going there to fight, Ngozi reminded Amaka as they folded clothes. I know, Amaka said, but trust me, your presence alone will scatter that wedding. On the night before the wedding, Ngozi couldn’t sleep.
She sat by the window again, watching the stars. Emeka came and stood behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders.
You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, he said softly. I want to, she replied, not to prove anything to him, but to remind myself that I survived. I’m still standing.
He kissed her cheek. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. Ngozi turned to him.
Thank you. You’ve given me what no man could ever give me, peace. Emeka smiled, and you gaveme back joy.
The morning of the wedding arrived. The whole city buzzed with noise. Social media was full of pictures.
