Post by Being Ready And Stable (BRAS) (@brashub)

NNEKA'S DIARY XXX

The morning of D-day.

Grace woke me at 5 a.m. by jumping on my bed.

"IT'S YOUR WEDDING DAY!"

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. "Grace, I haven't slept. I hate you."

"You love me. Get up. The makeup artist is coming at 6."

I sat up slowly. And then it hit me.

Today is the day.

Not the registry. Not the signing of papers. This was the real thing — the white dress, the church, the vows, the crowd.

I looked at Grace, and for the first time, I saw tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just happy. You deserve this, Sis. After everything... you deserve this."

I pulled her into a hug. "Stop making me cry before my makeup, you fool."

She laughed and wiped her eyes. "Fine. And you — no crying at the altar. You've been warned."

I smiled and wiped my eyes.

The next few hours were a blur.

Makeup. Hair. The dress — oh, the dress. It was simple but elegant. A-line. Lace sleeves. Not too much, not too little. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself.

"Sister Nneka," Grace whispered, "you look like a queen."

"I feel like one."

Mrs. Chucks arrived just as I was putting on my shoes. She walked in, came closer to me, placed her hand on her chest.

"Ah," she said softly. "This is the hand of God."

I smiled. "Thank you, Mummy."

She came closer and adjusted my veil. "Nneka, I've watched you grow from a wounded woman to a warrior. Today, you are not just marrying a man. You are stepping into your destiny. Walk down that aisle with your head high. You belong there."

"Yes, Ma."

"Now," she said, "let's pray."

We held hands — Grace, Mrs. Chucks, and me — and she prayed. The kind of prayer that shakes heaven.

We left for church. The church was beautiful. The white walls from my dream. Flowers everywhere. People filled the pews — family, friends, colleagues.

My mother was in the front row. My elder sister sat beside her with the "please tell me you've forgiven me" look in her eyes. They came into Lagos late last night but couldn't get to my house because of the Lagos hold-up. They ended up at my uncle's place — his house was closer to the park. I was in communication with my mum throughout the journey, and with my uncle until they arrived. I called my sister only once, after I missed her call. Not because I haven't forgiven her, but because I chose to forgive and forget — not what she did, but herself. I forgave her and forgot I had an elder sister.

I don't know why she hated me so much. She was one of the reasons I had issues with my ex, and the reason I had a rift with our only brother in the USA — who was my closest sibling. Mercy, my elder sister, has a way of coming between me and anyone I'm close to. My mum realized the type of child she had, but late. Ah — my father of blessed memory and Grace, my support system, were the ones who saw right through her early enough.

That's how I managed to survive in a family where Mercy wanted to be the only force of attraction.

To be continued …

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