I swirled my mug of hot date coffee slowly and slowly lifted the mug to take a sip. My mother has just dumped what she feels is a bombshell on me.

"Afrah, you either bring someone to get married to or marry our choice. Wallah, you've stayed too long in this house. Two years is a long enough time to stay a divorced woman." She heaves as she has exerted herself by shouting. I have no response for her ranting. Instead, I blow my date coffee and take another healthy sip.

My mother and my paternal grandmother 'Hajiya Mama' pushed me into my first marriage. Other women have issues with their mother in laws, my mother plots with hers. Now, it's my father and mother's turn to push me into marriage. I laugh internally.

I knew when he entered the living room, he didn't see me at first, so he went upstairs to find me.

Then he descended the stairs back and found me sitting on the rug in the living room and he walks to me. He doesn't even ask me anything before slapping my headgear off my head angrily.

No single man in this part of the world will marry a divorced woman. More so one who forced her husband to divorce her. They can only find me a man that had been married at least twice and won't mind the fact that I will never love him. In fact he shouldn't think about love. Who can love me, who will ever love me? Broken, spoiled damaged goods like me? Hehe.

Love is dead. Love died when Husband number one  beat our baby out of my weak body two years ago. Love stinks, love I detest.  What is love?  Why should I love anyone, except my Lord. My Lord who sent someone to save me.  Who sent an angel like human to save me from my hell toaster of a marriage. Life was hell with him, pure hell, the actual furnace that hell presents. It's hard to think of those days and forgive my parents.

My mother is shouting again. Ya Allah. Let this old woman stop screaming, she should stop soiling my ears with rubbish noise.

When I was marrying Husband number one, I had illusions, illusions set out as to how I wanted my married life to look like. What I had on my bucket list to do for my husband, I was disgraced heavily after I tried one of them in the presence of Husband number one.

I see my mother's lips moving again and I tune her back in. "Will you marry our choice Afrah?"

I regard her for a short moment before replying her. "Yes, I'll take your choice." They haven't ever chosen for me anything good, so I'll just wait and see what they chose. Their so-called choice.

I'm not stupid, I'm willing to leave all these nagging people that I live with. So, I pick up my Chanel shoulder bag from the counter top and walk out of the large kitchen.

They can do their worst, I'll be here waiting to see it.

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Dear loves,

I know, I know it's short. In fact very short. But it will be like this till chapter three. I swear the chapters will be longer from then on. I solemnly promise.