The Wife he threw away

The village of Oke-Ola was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone—and their grandmother's secrets, too. So when a sleek black car rolled through the dusty main road on a Tuesday afternoon, every head turned. Maya was twenty-two, her hands covered in flour from her mother's small bakery, when she first saw him. She was standing outside, wiping sweat from her brow, when the car stopped right in front of her. The window rolled down, and a man with sharp cheekbones and an expensive watch leaned out. He looked completely out of place—like a king who had accidentally wandered into a peasant's hut. "Excuse me," he said, his voice smooth as honey. "I'm lost. Can you tell me how to get to the main highway?" Maya blinked. Men like him didn't talk to girls like her. She was simple, ordinary, with calloused hands and a faded dress. But his eyes—dark and intense—were fixed on her like she was the only person in the world. "Y-yes," she stammered, pointing down the road. "Just follow this road for about five kilometers, then turn left." He didn't look at the road. He looked at her. "You have flour on your nose," he said, smiling. It was a disarming smile—warm, almost boyish. "Are you a baker?" "My mother owns the bakery," she replied, feeling heat creep up her cheeks. He stepped out of the car. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a crisp white shirt that probably cost more than her entire family's monthly income. He extended his hand. "I'm Derek," he said. "Derek Thompson. And you are?" "Maya," she whispered, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, confident. "Maya," he repeated, tasting her name like it was something precious. "That's a beautiful name. It means 'illusion' in some languages, you know. But you... you seem very real to me." She laughed nervously. No man had ever spoken to her like that. The village boys were clumsy, shy, or crude. Derek was polished, sophisticated, and he was looking at her like she was a treasure he'd just discovered. "Where are you from, Mr. Thompson?" she asked, trying to sound calm. "Just Derek," he corrected, stepping closer. "And I'm from the city. Lagos. I'm a businessman. But honestly, right now, I don't care about business. I care about finding a good place to eat. Do you have any recommendations?" "The bakery," she said quickly. "My mother makes the best meat pies in the entire state." "Then lead the way," he said, gesturing for her to walk ahead. "I'll follow you." --- Two Hours Later Derek sat in the tiny bakery, eating three meat pies and drinking two bottles of Fanta. He charmed her mother, complimented her father's old photographs on the wall, and made little Maya feel like she was floating on air. "You are such a nice young man," her mother said, beaming. "So polite. So respectful. Are you married?" Maya's heart stopped. "Not yet," Derek said, glancing at Maya with a knowing smile. "I'm still searching for the right woman." Her mother's eyes widened. "A handsome, successful man like you? You must have many women chasing you." Derek laughed, waving his hand. "Women in the city are too complicated. Too materialistic. I want someone simple. Someone pure. Someone who knows the value of loyalty and family." He looked directly at Maya as he said it. That night, Maya couldn't sleep. She replayed every word, every glance, every smile. He thinks I'm pure. He thinks I'm simple. He wants a woman like me. Her sisters teased her the next morning. "Maya has a boyfriend! A rich, handsome city boy!" "I don't have a boyfriend," she protested, but her cheeks were crimson. Derek came back the next day. And the day after that. He brought gifts—chocolates for her mother, a new shawl for her grandmother, a simple silver necklace for Maya. "Wear it," he said, fastening it around her neck. "This is my promise. I will take care of you forever, Maya. You don't have to work in this dusty bakery anymore. I will give you the world." She believed him. --- One Week Later Derek knelt in front of her family home, holding a small velvet box. "Maya," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I know this is fast. I know we've only known each other for a week. But I have never felt this way about anyone. You are kind, pure, and beautiful. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?" Her mother was already crying tears of joy. Her sisters were screaming. The entire village gathered to watch. Maya looked at the man kneeling before her—handsome, rich, charming. He was offering her a way out of this tiny village. A way to escape the dust and the poverty. "Yes," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Yes, Derek. I'll marry you." He slipped the ring onto her finger—a simple diamond, but the most beautiful thing she had ever owned. Everyone clapped. Everyone cheered. She has found a good man. She will be happy. --- Three Weeks Later They were married in a small ceremony. Her family wept with joy. Derek's family didn't attend—they considered her beneath them. But Derek held her hand and smiled, and Maya convinced herself that love would come fully in time. They left for Lagos that night. --- On the Drive to Lagos Maya leaned her head on Derek's shoulder, watching the village disappear in the rearview mirror. "I still can't believe you chose me," she said softly. "There are so many beautiful women in the city. Why me?" Derek chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Because you're real, Maya. You don't want my money. You don't want my status. You just want me." She smiled, burying her face in his chest. He loves me. He really loves me. But miles away, in the back of his mind, Derek thought of the board meeting scheduled for Monday. The shareholders had demanded he marry to prove his stability. They needed a wife for the position, he reminded himself. And I found one. But Maya didn't know that. ---