Mama Adana walked slowly down the aisle. Every step seemed to carry years of weight. Guests whispered, phones lifted discreetly. Confusion spread like a stain. She stopped in front of David. Up close, she looked thinner than he remembered. Weaker. Her eyes, however, were sharp with purpose. You came, David whispered. She nodded. I said, I would. Joy stepped forward.
This is inappropriate, she said firmly. You are disrupting a sacred ceremony. Mama Adana turned to her calmly. I will not stay long. Then she looked back at David. May I? She asked. David leaned down instinctively. The cathedral held its breath. Mama Adana’s lips moved close to his ear. You are the boy from the bus terminal,” she whispered.
“And your mother did not die the way they told you.” David’s body went rigid. The world narrowed to a single point of sound. “What did you say he breathed?” Mama Adana placed something into his hand. An old hospital bracelet. David stared at it. His mother’s name. Esther Chibway. A low gasp escaped his lips. Joyy’s voice cut through the silence.
David, what is going on? He looked up at her slowly. The woman he was about to marry stood before him, beautiful, composed, impatient. Behind her, years of silence, screamed. David straightened. “I can’t continue,” he said quietly. Joy laughed nervously. “You’re joking. I’m not.” Gasps filled the room. Pastor Mansa stepped forward.
“Son, perhaps we should.” David raised a hand. “I need the truth.” He turned to Mama Adana. “Tell me everything.” Mama Adana nodded, her shoulders sagging as if she had been holding this moment for decades. Your mother came to me sick,” she began. Very sick. She had no money. No family left to help her.
David’s throat tightened. She collapsed near the terminal. I took her to the hospital. They asked for money before treatment. We begged. Joy shook her head. This is not appropriate. Mama Adana continued, “They delayed. She waited. By the time help came, it was too late. A heavy silence settled. David’s hands trembled.
They told you it was sudden,” Mama Adana said. But it was not. It was waiting. David felt something break open inside him. The years of unanswered questions, the guilt, the anger he never allowed himself to feel. Joy grabbed his arm. David listened to yourself. This woman is manipulating you.
David pulled his arm away. Stop, he said sharply. Joy recoiled. You knew, David continued. You knew my past, and you still tried to keep her away. Joyy’s eyes flashed. I was protecting you from this. David shook his head slowly. You were protecting the wedding, not me. He turned back to Mama Adana. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? He asked.
She looked down. Because you had to come to the truth yourself. I only waited. Tears blurred David’s vision. He looked around the cathedral. The wealth, the spectacle, the expectations. Then back at the old woman who had asked for nothing but $10. “I can’t marry today,” he said clearly. Joyy’s composure shattered. You’re choosing her over me.
