Letting Go of the Past: Embracing a New Chapter of Love.
For the first time in years, I was learning to forgive myself—and to let go of the ghost of Maxwell. The years I spent waiting, hoping, and tethered to the dream of his return had finally faded. I had found the courage to move forward, thanks to Fredrick.
Adiaba and I patched things up not long after the wedding. I apologized for my outburst and thanked her for standing by me even when I didn't deserve it. When I confided in her about my growing feelings for Fredrick—and my lingering fears because of the past—she reassured me with her usual confidence.
"Fredrick is not Max," she said firmly. "He won't abandon you. You deserve this, Anna. Let yourself be loved."
Fredrick and I went on more dates and shared countless moments that felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Slowly, my perspective on life shifted. I began to imagine the future—marriage, children, family. For the first time in forever, hope felt real.
Still, I didn't rush to inform my parents. I wanted Fredrick to make our relationship official first. I wasn't in the mood for a long courtship; I wanted certainty.
It finally came during one of our romantic trips.
We were in Kenya, basking in the serenity of a private resort, when Fredrick knelt before me, a ring in his hand. My breath caught, and for a moment, I hesitated, overwhelmed by a swirl of emotions. But as he looked up at me, his love written all over his face, I knew my answer.
"Yes," I whispered, my voice trembling.
The news couldn't wait. I held a video call with my friends to show off my sparkling engagement ring, the excitement pouring from me like sunlight. Their joy was infectious, and I couldn't wait to return home to share the moment in person.
A week after returning from Kenya, I visited my parents.
My mother was in the kitchen preparing my father's favorite dish when I arrived. She greeted me with her usual half-distracted smile and waved me toward my father, who was in his room watching football.
"Mom," I teased, leaning against the counter. "Aren't you even curious why your only daughter is this happy?"
She shrugged, feigning indifference. But I knew her too well.
"Fine," I said with a grin. "I'm engaged."
The knife she held clattered onto the counter as she spun around, her eyes wide with disbelief and joy.
"Engaged?" she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug.
She bolted out of the kitchen to tell my father, her voice carrying down the hall. Within minutes, the house was filled with congratulations and questions.
"So, who is he?" my mother demanded. "Where's he from? What does he do? And who are his parents?"
"Mom," I said, laughing, "he's Igbo, from Ikeduru. He's an engineer. But please, save the rest of your questions for him."
We all laughed, my father adding his own heartfelt blessings. My mother was already planning a family meeting to thank the man who, in her words, had "softened her stubborn daughter's heart." I promised to bring Fredrick home soon, and she insisted it had to be within the week.
Later that evening, Fredrick and I had a long phone conversation. He shared how excited his friends were about our engagement and how eager they were to meet me.
"They keep asking when I'll introduce you," he said, laughing softly.
"And what about your parents?" I asked, curious.
"They're thrilled," he assured me. "They can't wait to meet you either."
We agreed on dates to visit each other's families, ending the call with promises of love and anticipation for the future.
That same evening, Sarah reminded me about our planned girls' dinner. "And please, no African time," she quipped, her tone serious.
When I arrived at Sarah's house, I was greeted at the door by her husband, Mr. Dave Ikenna, a well-known realtor in Abuja—and to my surprise, one of Fredrick's close friends.
"Ah, Annabel!" he said warmly, extending his hand. "The famous fiancée I've heard so much about!"
I shook his hand, feeling a slight blush rise to my cheeks. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ikenna. Fredrick speaks highly of you."
He laughed, his voice deep and hearty. "Well, it's mutual. You've made my guy a very happy man, and I can see why. Welcome."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries before he excused himself, explaining he had a business meeting to attend. As he left, I couldn't help but smile. It felt good to be welcomed into Fredrick's world.
The girls' dinner was lively and filled with laughter. We reminisced about university days, teased each other about dreams that never came to fruition, and indulged in Sarah's mouthwatering French-English fusion dishes.
The mood was jubilant until Jummai, with her characteristic seriousness, dropped a question that silenced the room.
"Do you still love Maxwell?"
Her words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. I froze, the laughter dying on my lips.
"I..." I began, but the words caught in my throat.
Jummai's eyes bore into mine, waiting for an answer.
"I'd rather not talk about Max," I said finally, my voice firmer than I expected. "I'm engaged to Fredrick, and that's all that matters now."
Sarah and Adiaba chimed in, gently urging Jummai to let it go. Though she agreed, there was doubt etched on her face.
Later that night, Fredrick picked me up from Sarah's house. We drove back to his place, where I spent the night. But Jummai's question lingered in my mind.
The next morning, as Fredrick dropped me off at the hospital, I found myself replaying her words.
Do I still love Max?
The truth was, I didn't have an answer. I had spent so many years clinging to the memory of him, to the hope of his return, that it felt like I was still carrying the weight of that love.
But Max had abandoned me. He had left me to pick up the pieces of my life alone. Now, here was Fredrick—a man who chose me, who stayed, who loved me with his whole heart.
As I sat in my office, I whispered to myself, "Max is the past. Fredrick is my future."
For the first time, I believed it.