Patricia. Is this how you want your life to end?
It had been weeks since billionaire Gregory deliberately took on the life of a bricklayer. It was his way of uncovering the true nature of the family he had been told he must marry into.
Just a few days earlier, his parents had summoned him.
“You already have a wife somewhere,” his father had said.
Greg had been both shocked and confused. “I don’t understand, Dad. What are you saying?” he asked.
His father sighed deeply before replying, “Twenty years ago, a man saved my life from armed robbers. In the process, he was shot in the chest.”
Greg’s expression tightened as he listened.
“On his deathbed,” his father continued, “he made just one request: that my son would one day marry his only daughter.”
Greg stared at him in disbelief. “And it’s been twenty years, Greg. I want to fulfill that promise.”
“Dad, why would you make such a promise?” Greg protested. “Do you even know who this daughter is or what she looks like? What if she’s not normal? How am I supposed to live with someone like that?”
“Greg,” his mother called gently, stepping in. “You are my only son, and I cherish you. But we owe that man your father’s life. He was the most devoted driver your father ever had. He cared for him like his own blood.”
She paused, her voice softening. “And I knew his daughter when she was young. He adopted her because he and his wife couldn’t have children of their own.”
Greg remained silent.
“Please, son,” she added. “Go and see her for yourself.”
“How do I even find her?” he finally asked.
His father handed him a piece of paper. “This is the address of his home in Umueke community.”
For days, Greg wrestled with his thoughts. How could he possibly end up with someone from such a background? Someone who wasn’t exposed to the world the way he was.
Still, he needed answers. Determined to make his own inquiries, he decided to go in disguise. He dressed simply, took his bike, and headed down to Umueke village. At the very least, he needed to find out one thing—whether she was a decent human being.
By the time Greg arrived in the town, his bike engine had grown dangerously hot. He needed water. He pulled over to the roadside, wiping sweat from his forehead as he stood there, thinking about what to do next.
Just then, two young women approached, each carrying a gallon of water. Greg smiled to himself before calling out, “Please, my engine has dried up. I need some water.”
One of the women hissed sharply and continued walking.
“I should give you water?” she snapped. “Do you know how far we walk to fetch it?”
But the other woman, Patricia, quietly lowered her gallon. Greg took it carefully and poured some into his engine tank.
“Thank you so much,” he said, genuinely grateful. “Let me help you. I can take you back to fetch more water.”
“No,” Patricia replied with a soft smile. “I’ll manage.”
“Please, I insist,” Greg said firmly.
Patricia hesitated, glancing at the gallon. The tap was indeed quite far. Finally, she agreed and sat behind him. Greg rode her to the tap, waited while she refilled her gallon, and then brought her back close to her house.
“Thank you,” Patricia said again as she carried the gallon on her head and walked in.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze. Her mother and two sisters were already waiting for her like a storm ready to break.
“Patricia, where are you coming from?” her mother demanded.
“I went to the tap,” Patricia answered calmly.
“You see, Mommy? She’s still lying,” Chioma said with a scoff.
“Who is the man Nkolika saw you with?” Elizabeth added sharply.
“No, Mommy. That’s not what it is. I just helped him.”
“So it’s true?” Elizabeth cut in. “It has gotten to the extent of you sleeping around in this village?”
“No, Mommy.”
“Shut up!” Mercy shouted.
Elizabeth’s face hardened with anger. “You see why I said a prostitute’s child will never amount to anything good. You will not eat in this house for three days. Maybe hunger will drive out that useless behavior from you.”
“Nonsense. Go and chop the firewood at the backyard.”
They stormed off, leaving Patricia standing there, tears streaming down her face.
This was how they had always treated her ever since her father died. She had been adopted long before Elizabeth gave birth to her first daughter, Chioma. A year later, Mercy was born. But after their father’s death, everything changed. Patricia became nothing more than a servant in the house. She did all the chores, ran every errand, and endured every insult, while Chioma and Mercy spent their days dressing up, waiting eagerly for the wealthy man their father had once promised would come and marry one of his daughters.
“Mommy, who will he choose when he comes?” Mercy once asked.
“I don’t know, my dear,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully. “But that’s why you girls must always look rich. You know how wealthy men are. They like women who look like them.”
She paused, then added with a sly smile, “Even if he chooses your sister, Chioma, you must make sure to connect your sister to his wealthy friends as well.”
The girls would laugh and giggle, already imagining a life of luxury.
Day after day, they waited patiently for the rich man to arrive. If only they knew he would not come in the way they expected.
One afternoon, a knock sounded at their gate. Standing outside was a young man, his clothes tattered, his face worn with hunger and exhaustion.
Elizabeth sprang up immediately, her daughters trailing behind her.
“Good afternoon, Ma,” Greg greeted politely. “I’m so sorry. I was robbed on my way here. They beat me and took everything I had. Please, I’m hungry and thirsty.”
Chioma and Mercy hissed in disgust. Elizabeth looked him up and down, then scoffed dramatically.
“Look around you,” she said sharply. “Does this place look like a restaurant? Of all the houses in this neighborhood, you chose mine? Does this look like a charity organization?”
“Please, Ma,” Greg pleaded.
“Mommy, why are you still entertaining this madman?” Chioma snapped. “Let him get out.”
“No,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “If he wants to eat, then he should work for it.”
“Follow me,” she ordered.
She led him to a large piece of farmland behind the house.
“The rainy season is approaching,” she said. “I need this land cleared. Do that and I’ll feed you.”
Greg looked around at the vast land. “This is a lot of work. How much will you pay me?”
Chioma and Mercy burst into laughter.
“The hungry fool now wants to bargain,” Mercy mocked.
Elizabeth folded her arms. “How much should I pay you?”
“This is a lot of work,” Greg repeated. “I’ll take 150,000 naira.”
Elizabeth hissed. “I’ll pay you 50.”
“No. 120,” Greg insisted.
“My last offer is 100,000 naira,” she said firmly.
Greg sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
For the next several hours, Greg worked tirelessly on the farm. As he tilled the soil, his mind wandered. Was this the kind of woman his father wanted him to be connected to? A woman who couldn’t show basic compassion to a hungry stranger?
Still, he held his judgment.
“First impressions aren’t everything,” he told himself. “I’ll wait and see.”
Later that night, he sat outside waiting for the food they had promised him. Mercy walked over and dropped a small plate of miserable-looking food in front of him—something even a rat might reject.
Greg stared at it for a moment, then slowly stood up to leave.
Just as he turned, a soft voice stopped him.
“I’m sorry, but I brought this.”
He turned to see a young lady stepping out from the shadows. She handed him a small but neatly arranged portion of food, along with a shirt.
“It’s one of my father’s clothes,” she added gently.
Before Greg could respond, she had already disappeared.
He frowned slightly. “I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
But he said nothing and left.
The next morning, he returned to complete the work. That was when he saw her again.
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