Because she had a plan.
A fragile one, but it belonged to her.
She wanted to become a nurse.
She didn’t tell many people that. Dreams felt safer when they were quiet.
But in her mind, she could already see it—clean floors, white uniforms, the steady sound of machines, the chance to help someone the way no one had been able to help her father.
Her father.
Everything changed after the accident.
It was supposed to be a normal day at the quarry. He had done that work for years, knew the risks, knew the rhythm of it.
But sometimes knowing isn’t enough.
The stone slipped.
The ground shifted.
And in one moment, the man who had always carried everything for them…
couldn’t carry himself anymore.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Annette remembered sitting beside his bed, watching him stare at the ceiling, silent in a way that didn’t belong to him.
Bills started arriving before answers did.
Money disappeared faster than hope.
At home, meals grew smaller.
Conversations grew shorter.
And her mother…
her mother became someone harder to reach.
Beatrice didn’t cry in front of them.
She didn’t complain.
She just… changed.
Her voice lost its softness. Her patience thinned. Her decisions became sharp, immediate, and impossible to argue with.
So when Margaret came, it felt less like a surprise and more like something that had been waiting.
Margaret had a way of speaking that made everything sound simple.
Manageable.
Inevitable.
“There is a man,” she said, sitting comfortably as if she already belonged in their home. “A good man. Wealthy. He is looking for a wife.”
Annette had been in the next room, but she could hear every word.
Every pause.
Every shift in tone.
“He will take care of your husband’s treatment,” Margaret continued. “Your children will not go hungry. School fees will be handled.”
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
“And the girl?” her mother asked.
Margaret smiled slightly.
“She will be taken care of.”
Annette stepped into the doorway then, unable to stay hidden any longer.
“I want to finish school,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady.
Both women turned toward her.
Margaret studied her with a kind of quiet calculation.
Her mother didn’t.
“This is not the time for dreams,” Beatrice said.
The words didn’t come out harsh.
They came out tired.
Final.
And just like that—
the decision was made.
Everything moved quickly after that.
Too quickly for doubt to grow roots.
The agreement was settled.
The bride price delivered.
Preparations rushed.
And now…
there she was.
Standing outside the church.
Wearing someone else’s dress.
Living someone else’s decision.
The sound of engines pulled her back to the present.
At first, it was distant.
Then closer.
Then unmistakable.
Cars.
More than one.
Heads turned.
Voices dropped.
Even the children went quiet.
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