The wedding preparations began like a storm of excitement—lace samples on tables, calls from decorators, and mothers with too many opinions.
Mrs. Adebayo wanted everything perfect — a church wedding to honor God and tradition.
Ada, on the other hand, sat stiff in her chair, eyes burning with resistance.
"Over my dead body," Ada said, voice sharp as glass. "My daughter will not step foot inside a church."
"Madam Ada," Mrs. Adebayo countered gently but firmly, "it's just a ceremony. She doesn't have to take communion or anything. She'll just stand with my son before God."
"Before your God," Ada hissed. "Not hers. Not mine. You want her to stand in front of a pastor she doesn't believe in? No. Never."
Golden stood between them, eyes wet. "Mama, please—don't do this. It's just one day, please—"
Ada cut her off, voice trembling but stubborn. "This is what I was avoiding when I told you to end it then. Now see? The war between beliefs."
Mrs. Adebayo sighed deeply, rubbing her temple. "Ada, we just want peace. It's only a blessing."
But Ada turned her face away, unmoved. The argument stretched for days — voices rising, emotions twisting — until Xavier finally stepped in, taking his mother's hands.
"Mum," he said softly, "please. Let's not ruin this. Let's just do it the way her mother wants. I'll marry her anywhere, even under the rain."
Mrs. Adebayo looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled. "Fine. Have it your way. Traditional it is."
The day of the traditional wedding arrived, and Apu had never seen such splendor.
By dawn, the whole town was already alive. Women in shimmering aso-oke bustled through the streets, men in richly embroidered agbada adjusted their caps with pride. The sweet aroma of jollof rice, grilled meat, and palm wine filled the air long before the first guest arrived.
Outside Ada's compound, two massive canopies stood side by side—one draped in rich gold and wine fabrics, the other glowing white with strings of fairy lights. The chandeliers above gleamed like captured suns. Fresh roses and hibiscus petals lined the walkway leading to a grand stage wrapped in velvet and beads.
Drummers, dressed in matching Ankara, lined the dusty road, beating rhythms that shook the ground. Their chants rolled through the crowd, mingling with laughter and camera flashes.
"Gbooo! Xavier! Golden! Our couple don come oo!" they sang, the talking drum echoing their names in joyous rhythm.
The convoy of sleek cars arrived with flair.
Xavier stepped out first — tall, confident, wrapped in a crisp white agbada embroidered with gold. His coral beads glowed against his light skin, and his cap sat perfectly tilted. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Then came Golden — radiant, her steps measured and regal. Her wrapper glittered under the sun, gold woven with crimson threads. Her blouse clung perfectly, her coral beads heavy on her neck, and her head tie formed a crown fit for a queen. The crowd gasped.
"Ha! See beauty!" someone shouted.
Another woman clasped her chest. "The daughter of an atheist, marrying a deaconess's son?"
Her friend fanned herself, eyes wide. "Wonders shall never end."
Across the compound, whispers spread like wildfire.
"No prayer was said," one gossiped, half scandalized.
But a man nearby chuckled, lifting his cup of palm wine. "Even without prayers, it was the most beautiful wedding Apu has ever seen."
The ceremony began — dancers filled the floor, spinning and laughing, their steps perfectly in sync with the pounding drums. Money rained down in glittering sprays; naira notes fluttered through the air like confetti. The master of ceremony hyped the crowd, his voice booming through the speakers:
"Who says love no fit conquer belief? Look at them — love stronger than doctrine!"
The crowd roared.
Golden and Xavier sat side by side on their royal seats — carved wood gilded in gold — their fingers occasionally brushing. Each time their eyes met, they smiled. In that moment, nothing else mattered: not faith, not fear, just them.
Mr and Mrs Adebayo sat tall, regal, watching their son with quiet pride. Ada, though stiff at first, couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips when she saw her daughter's joy.
Young girls gathered, whispering dreams of their own, " I want my wedding to be like Golden's," one sighed dreamily.
Their mothers, watching from the shade, chuckled softly. "Then choose wisely like her," one replied.
As dusk fell, fairy lights blinked to life, wrapping the entire compound in soft golden glow. The band switched to a slow highlife tune, and Xavier took Golden's hand, pulling her gently to the dance floor. Their steps moved together — easy, rhythmic, full of quiet laughter.
When the fireworks finally rose that night — painting the sky in streaks of silver and red — the crowd fell silent for a heartbeat.
It wasn't just light. It was history.
Later, under the dim lanterns, Ada stood quietly, watching her daughter laugh in Xavier's arms.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "You better make her happy," she whispered under her breath.
Mrs. Adebayo, standing beside her, added softly, "I intend to make sure he does."
⸻
Few days later….
Golden said farewell to her mother, holding her tight, both crying and smiling.
"Mama," she said softly, "I'll come back often."
Ada brushed her cheek, trying to stay strong. "Just don't forget who you are."
Golden laughed through her tears. "I could never."
She and Xavier drove away from Apu — fingers entwined, hearts full — towards Lagos, towards a future they were ready to build together.
⸻
Lagos welcomed her with new air, fast cars, and endless possibility.
Golden found her rhythm again. The fashion she once dreamed of came alive.
Her hands danced over fabrics and designs; her sketches turned into gowns.
With Xavier's constant encouragement, she enrolled in one of the best fashion schools — and soared.
Soon, her boutique opened. The sign read Golden Touch Couture. Clients poured in — celebrities, brides, women of power — all chasing her magic.
At the same time, Xavier's company thrived.
Every deal closed, every milestone celebrated, every late night shared with laughter and soft kisses.
Their love wrapped around their home like light.
Four years passed — full of surprises, breakfasts in bed, and random I-love-yous scribbled on mirrors.
Neighbors called them the perfect couple.
Even strangers could tell: this was love that seemed unbreakable.
But sometimes, perfection begins to fade quietly —
not with shouting, not with betrayal — but with silence.
And so, though the world saw bliss, the love story began to thin at the edges.
It started subtly, on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Golden lay sprawled across the sofa, her head on Xavier's lap, sunlight streaming through the curtains. The TV murmured in the background—something funny neither of them was really watching. Xavier's fingers traced lazy circles on her arm, his voice soft, almost teasing.
"Baby," he whispered, resting his hand on her chest, "don't you think we should've had a baby by now? It's been four years."
Golden froze, her laugh catching midway. "A baby?" she repeated, trying to keep her tone light.
He chuckled. "Yeah. I mean—four years, Golden. Do you use pills or something?"
Golden's heart skipped. "I've never used any pills," she said quickly, forcing a smile.
Xavier straightened up a little, searching her face. "So why then? Why isn't it happening?"
She blinked, caught off guard. "I don't know, Xavier. Am I a doctor?"
Silence. It stretched long and awkward. Then he chuckled, trying to smooth it over, and she smiled too—too quickly, too tightly.
It was the first crack.
A small one.
Brushed over with laughter and kisses.
But cracks, when ignored, always deepen.
Weeks turned into months.
The question lingered between them like a shadow — silent but heavy, pressing against every smile.
Then came the tests. Clinics. Bloodwork. Scans. Endless waiting rooms filled with anxious faces and soft whispers.
"Everything looks fine," the doctor finally said, offering them a polite smile that felt almost rehearsed. "Sometimes, these things just take time. Try to relax."
Relax. As if it were that simple.
Golden smiled tightly, clutching her handbag as they left the clinic, but inside her chest, something twisted. Each result that read normal only made her feel more broken.
At home, she filled the silence with movement—rearranging furniture, cooking elaborate meals she barely touched, working late into the night at her boutique. Anything to drown out the thought that maybe… something was wrong with her.
At first, they laughed about it—teasing each other when the test showed only one line. They'd hug and say, "Maybe next month."
But soon, laughter became hollow. Kisses felt rehearsed. Touch became duty.
Three more years crawled by.
Golden's hope turned into obsession.
She drank herbal concoctions that burned her throat. Swallowed bitter roots. Tried IVF. Changed her diet. Woke up to morning affirmations. Went to bed with tears.
And Xavier… changed.
He started staying out late. Claimed "meetings." Claimed "traffic." Claimed "work."
At first, Golden believed him. She wanted to. But the way he'd avoid her eyes, the way his phone never left his pocket—it gnawed at her.
When he came home, he'd kiss her forehead, mutter, "You've eaten?" and roll over.
Conversations shrank into nods. Some days, they didn't speak at all.
Then, her world began to crumble piece by piece.
The boutique — her pride, her joy — started slipping through her fingers.
Once, her designs were the talk of Lagos. Brides begged to wear her creations; celebrities waited months for fittings.
Now, she mixed up orders. Delivered dresses in the wrong sizes. Clients called, furious. Her staff tiptoed around her, whispering when they thought she couldn't hear.
Her hands, once steady and graceful, trembled each time she held a pair of scissors.
One morning, she just… stopped.
Locked the door. Dismissed her staffs.
Told herself it was temporary.
But she never went back.
⸻
Then came the storm.
Ada arrived unannounced one gloomy afternoon, her face carved with disdain and anger. The door barely opened before her voice filled the house.
"So this is what you're doing? Sitting here like a queen with no crown?"
Golden stood frozen near the couch, eyes red, her robe loose on her shoulders. "Mummy…"
"Don't 'mummy' me!" Ada snapped, her eyes blazing. "Do you think your husband will wait forever? Seven years, Golden. Seven! You still can't give him a child?"
Golden's lips quivered. "Is it my fault?"
Ada's voice rose, sharp as a whip. "Then whose fault is it? Mine? Open your eyes, girl! That sweet mother-in-law of yours—" she scoffed, "all that kindness is fake! I'm sure she already has a second wife lined up for her precious son. Someone who can give her grandchildren!"
"Mummy, please," Golden sobbed. "Don't say that. Please."
Ada folded her arms, her expression hard. "Cry all you want, it won't change reality. That man won't stay if you don't give him a child. You'll see."
"Mummy—"
"Don't you 'mummy' me again!" Ada snapped. "And don't come running back to Apu when they throw you out. I warned you, didn't I? I told you not to marry into that family. But you never listen."
She turned sharply, her wrapper swaying as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Golden stood still, her breath shallow.
The house felt too quiet. Too big. Too cold.
And in that moment — surrounded by the ghosts of laughter that once filled the walls — Golden broke.
Her knees gave way, her sobs echoing through the emptiness.
Her heart cracked open, spilling years of quiet pain.
———
The door clicked open just as dusk fell.
Xavier stepped in, his tie loose, face weary from another long day. Golden hurried to meet him at the door, forcing a small smile.
"Welcome, baby," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.
He hugged her back—briefly. His hand brushed her cheek, and for a fleeting second, his gaze caught the puffiness around her eyes.
He hesitated.
Then looked away.
"Dinner's ready," she said softly.
He only nodded and walked past her, climbing the stairs without a word.
Minutes later, the clatter of plates filled the dining room. The house felt too big, the silence too thick.
Golden sat opposite him, stealing glances, waiting—hoping—for a question.
Anything.
But none came.
He ate slowly, methodically, eyes fixed on his plate. The only sound was the scrape of cutlery and the faint hum of the air conditioning.
"So… how was work?" she tried, voice small.
Xavier pushed his chair back, not meeting her eyes.
"I'm tired," he muttered. "I'll eat the rest later. I just need to sleep."
The chair legs screeched softly against the tiled floor as he stood.
Golden watched him leave, his footsteps fading up the stairs.
Then, quietly, her spoon slipped from her hand.
Tears welled, spilling before she could stop them.
The house, once full of laughter, echoed only with the sound of her silent crying.