Chapter 3: Secrets and Struggles
Episode 2: Revelations Under the Mango
The moon hung low in the sky as I paced beneath the sprawling branches of the Mango tree. Every rustle of leaves made my heart jump, anticipating Florence’s arrival. When I finally saw her approaching, her silhouette illuminated by moonlight, my breath caught in my throat.
“Olabamiji,” she whispered, rushing into my arms. I held her tight, breathing in her familiar scent of palm oil and hibiscus.
“Florence,” I said, pulling back to look into her eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
She tensed in my arms, fear flickering across her face. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “I’m not who you think I am. My name is Olabamiji Cole. I come from a wealthy family in Lagos.”
Florence’s eyes widened, confusion replacing fear. “What? I don’t understand.”
Slowly, haltingly, I told her everything. About my family’s pressure to marry, my plan to find a wife who would love me for who I am, not my wealth. As I spoke, Florence’s expression cycled through shock, disbelief, and hurt.
When I finished, silence stretched between us. Finally, Florence spoke, her voice trembling. “So everything… was it all a lie?”
“No!” I grasped her hands desperately. “My feelings for you are real, Florence. More real than anything I’ve ever felt.”
She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. “How can I believe that? How can I trust anything you say?”
The pain in her voice cut me to the core. I reached for her, but she stepped back. “Florence, please. I love you. That’s the truest thing I know.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I need time to think, Olabamiji. Or whatever your real name is.”
Before I could respond, she turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness. I stood there, rooted to the spot, feeling as though my heart had been ripped from my chest.
The next few days were agony. Florence avoided me at the market, turning away whenever I approached. Margaret watched with narrowed eyes, clearly aware that something had happened between us.
On the third day, unable to bear the separation any longer, I cornered Florence behind her stall. “Please,” I begged. “Just talk to me.”
She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Why should I? You lied to me, Olabamiji.”
“I know,” I said, my voice breaking. “And I’m sorry. But everything I feel for you is real. I love you, Florence. Rich or poor, that won’t change.”
Something in my voice must have reached her because her expression softened slightly. “I love you too,” she whispered. “But how can we be together? Your family would never accept someone like me.”
I cupped her face in my hands. “They will. Because they’ll see what I see – the most beautiful, kind-hearted woman in the world.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Florence leaned into my touch. Our lips met in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened. All the longing and fear of the past few days poured into that kiss. My hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. Florence’s fingers tangled in my hair, a soft moan escaping her lips.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless, I rested my forehead against hers. “Come with me to Lagos,” I whispered. “Let me show you my world.”
Florence bit her lip, uncertainty clouding her eyes. “But what about my stepmother? The arranged marriage?”
“We’ll face them together,” I promised. “I won’t let anyone tear us apart.”
She searched my eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “I trust you, Olabamiji. Take me to Lagos.”
Joy surged through me. I pulled her close, spinning her around as she laughed. As I set her down, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together. Our love, tested by secrets and lies, had emerged stronger. Now, it was time to fight for our future.
