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Chapter 3: A House That Wasn't a Home
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.
Esi stood in the middle of her new bedroom — spacious, polished, beautiful. The floor gleamed. The curtains swayed softly in the evening breeze. Expensive. Perfect. Lifeless.
She touched the edge of the king-size bed, still wrapped in gold-threaded sheets.
So this is it, she thought. This is where my freedom ends.
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Downstairs, laughter floated in from the last guests leaving the reception. The celebration still lingered, but Esi felt like a ghost inside her own life. Her suitcase sat untouched at the edge of the room, as if even it wasn't sure it belonged here.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Esi?"
Kwabena's voice. Calm. Gentle.
She turned slowly. "Yes?"
He stepped in, still dressed in his cream agbada, his eyes searching hers. "I just wanted to say… I know this is a lot. I won't rush you. You have your own room. Your space."
That surprised her. She nodded silently.
"I'm not your enemy," he added, quietly. "Goodnight."
He closed the door gently behind him.
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Esi sat at the edge of the bed and stared out the window. The city lights sparkled in the distance, beyond the tall gates of the Agyeman estate.
Somewhere out there, people were chasing dreams. Living on their own terms.
And here she was… a wife by tradition, not by choice.
She didn't hate Kwabena.
But she hated the silence inside her — the version of herself everyone else seemed comfortable with.
She stood up, walked to her suitcase, and opened it. On top of her clothes was her sketchbook — the one she hadn't touched in weeks. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.
She flipped to a blank page.
And for the first time in a long time… she drew.
Not for her husband.
Not for her parents.
For herself.
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