As Mirabel stepped out of the cab at the grand wedding venue, a wave of mixed emotions washed over her. The compound was teeming with luxury, exotic cars gleamed under the sunlight, and the towering gates opened to reveal a lushly decorated space. Gold and white drapes fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the air was alive with the rhythm of drums and laughter. It was the kind of wedding that made it clear her family took pride in appearances.
Mirabel adjusted her burgundy lace dress as she walked toward the entrance. It fit her perfectly, flattering, elegant, and undeniably expensive but it only added to the discomfort she felt. She glanced down at her modest heels and clutch bag, wondering if they were as out of place here as she felt. Her hair was styled into a sleek bun, but it lacked the extravagant flair of the towering gele and elaborate hairstyles that adorned the women bustling around her.
The guests were a sea of color and opulence, each one dressed in rich aso-ebi fabrics ,gold emerald, and royal blue glittering with sequins and adorned with intricate embroidery. Men in pristine agbada robes paired with gold chains and luxury watches greeted each other with booming voices, while women swayed gracefully, their jewelry catching the light with every move.
As Mirabel made her way inside, she noticed the side glances and quiet whispers. A group of older women sitting nearby gave her a once-over before returning to their conversation, their expressions unreadable but unmistakably judgmental. Family members she had known all her life barely acknowledged her, offering brief, obligatory smiles before turning back to their own cliques.
Mirabel's stomach twisted. She had known she might feel out of place, but the coldness of her reception struck a deeper chord. Despite being part of this family, she felt like an outsider in their world of wealth and expectations,a world where her independence and career meant little compared to marriage and appearances.
Her mother, Mrs. Ruth, was in stark contrast. She was the epitome of grace and confidence, gliding through the crowd in her gold aso-ebi that shimmered with every step. Her gele sat high and proud, perfectly complementing her flawless makeup and statement jewelry. Mrs. Ruth thrived in this atmosphere, stopping to exchange pleasantries, laugh loudly, and accept compliments about her impeccable style.
When Mrs. Ruth spotted Mirabel, she approached with a wide smile, taking her by the hand. "Mimi, come with me," she said in a tone that left no room for argument.
Mrs. Ruth led her to a table near the stage, where a man sat alone. He was tall, with a polished look that spoke of wealth and success. His navy-blue agbada, embroidered with silver thread, was perfectly tailored, and his gold wristwatch caught the chandelier's light. His neatly trimmed beard and confident smile completed the image of a man who was used to being admired.
"Mirabel, this is Femi," Mrs. Ruth said casually, as though she hadn't orchestrated the entire meeting. "He's a friend of the family. Very accomplished. I thought you two might get along."
Mirabel froze, the realization hitting her like a punch to the gut. This was why her mother had been so insistent on her attendance—this wedding wasn't just a family gathering; it was another attempt to push her toward marriage.
Femi extended his hand politely, and Mirabel forced a smile as she shook it. "Nice to meet you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
As the evening dragged on, Mirabel felt the weight of her mother's meddling growing heavier. Every time she tried to slip away, Mrs. Ruth found her and brought her back to Femi's side. The man was polite, even charming, but Mirabel could barely focus on his words. Her embarrassment and anger burned just beneath the surface, worsened by the whispers she could hear from nearby tables.
By the end of the night, Mirabel was emotionally drained. Her mother's determination to pair her off, the cold indifference of her relatives, and the suffocating expectations of her family left her feeling hollow. She excused herself and locked herself in the guest room, collapsing onto the bed without even changing out of her dress.
At dawn, Mirabel woke before the house stirred. She packed her small bag and slipped out quietly, calling a cab to the airport. She didn't bother leaving a note or saying goodbye.
The flight back to Bayelsa was silent and heavy. Mirabel stared out of the window, her thoughts swirling. The family she once longed to be part of felt more alien to her now than ever. The humiliation she had endured at the wedding only confirmed what she had been avoiding: she would never fit into the mold her mother wanted for her.
As the plane landed, Mirabel felt a strange mix of exhaustion and clarity. She had always hoped for her mother's approval, but now, she wondered if it was worth the cost.
"Maybe it was time to let go", she thought, the ache in her chest deepening. "Let go of Mummy's expectations. Let go of the dream that she'll ever see me for who I am."
Back in her small apartment, she dropped her bag and sank onto the couch. She stared at the walls, her mind made up. She would pour everything into her job, into building a life she could be proud of. If her family couldn't see her worth, she would stop looking for validation in them.
But little did she know that this is where the huge puzzle of her life began.