MARRIED TO A MASTER MONSTER

The city was still awake when Rita Armstrong hurried up the marble steps of Mount Sinai Hospital. The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and for a brief second, she caught her reflection in her white coat, crisp stethoscope swinging gently at her neck, ponytail slick and neat. A fresh doctor in New York City, finally walking the dream she had fought so hard for. “Dr. Armstrong, congratulations again,” the receptionist said warmly, handing her the appointment letter. Rita smiled, clutching the envelope as though it were her ticket into the rest of her life. She had graduated with distinction, passed her licensing exams on the first attempt, and now her name stood proudly on the merit list of successful applicants. Her posting came through quickly: Radiology. By the end of the first week, whispers trailed her in the halls. Rita wasn’t just smart; she was striking. Male colleagues lingered at her desk, consultants offered coffee with too much eagerness, and orderlies paused just to watch her walk by. It made her self-conscious, but she carried herself with grace, learning quickly that hospital politics were as complex as medicine. There was one man, however, who managed to cross the professional line into something more personal: Dr. Patrick, a senior registrar. He was kind, witty, and attentive, the kind of man who always had an extra chair pulled up beside him in conferences, reserved for her. They became close, though Patrick never crossed boundaries. He was engaged to a nurse and even handed Rita a wedding invitation with a playful grin. “You better come,” he teased. “If you don’t, the whole day will feel incomplete.” Rita promised she would, though her heart was heavier than she let on. She was already in a relationship, but the shadow of genotype incompatibility loomed like a ticking clock. Science said their love could never produce a healthy child. That quiet fear made her wonder if she should start looking elsewhere before she got too deep. --- The wedding day arrived with the summer sun blazing over Manhattan. Rita slipped into a soft beige gown that hugged her curves modestly, paired with transparent heels that clicked confidently against the church steps. Her makeup was nude, natural just enough to enhance her warm brown skin. Her hair was tied into a sleek ponytail, showing off her high cheekbones and quiet strength. Inside the church hall, laughter and chatter bounced against the stained-glass windows. Rita mingled with colleagues, congratulating Patrick and his glowing bride. It was a celebration of love, of certainty. Two things she wasn’t sure she could claim for herself. That was when she felt a presence at her side. “I sighted you from a distance,” a deep voice said smoothly. “And I must say, you’re hard to ignore.” Rita turned to see a tall, dark-skinned man, confident almost to the point of cinematic perfection. His tailored navy-blue suit fit like it had been sewn onto his frame, and his smile revealed teeth so perfectly aligned, it almost looked unreal. He leaned in slightly, tone respectful. “Please, forgive me for being forward. Are you married?” Rita blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m not.” Something flickered in his eyes, interest, approval, maybe even relief. “My name is Prince. Prince Dede,” he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, assured, the kind of handshake that spoke of a man used to getting what he wanted. Rita introduced herself, and before the night was over, they had exchanged numbers. She learned that he wasn’t based in New York but in Texas, where he worked. He didn’t say much about what exactly he did. He was only in the city to attend Patrick’s wedding. There was an air about him that suggested wealth, the cut of his suit, the subtle cologne lingering after he walked away, the confidence in his stride. Yet Rita remained cautious. She had met charming men before. It was Christmas Eve. Rita went to church, her pressing prayer for the coming year was marital settlement. Little did she know, an answer was about to call. --- Two days later, Prince called. She almost thought he wouldn’t. “Rita,” his baritone voice filled the line like a wave of warmth. “I wanted to wait, to be intentional, not impulsive. I’m not here to play games. I’m interested in you.” Her heart thumped faster. He sounded deliberate, not flirtatious. Older, more certain. She soon learned he was twelve years her senior. “I don’t want to waste time,” he continued. “I want to marry you. I’d like to meet your family, and I want you to meet mine.” Rita blinked, phone pressed tight to her ear. Marriage? So soon? Then Prince asked, “Can I have your account number?” Rita hesitated for a heartbeat, then relented. She called it out over the phone. Moments later, her banking app buzzed, a notification. $1,000 credited. Prince chuckled softly. “That’s just for your weekend. A token. You deserve more.” Rita swallowed hard. She had been worried about genotype issues with her current relationship, and now here was a man not only financially stable but medically compatible. She confirmed their blood types over a conversation, and the relief washing through her chest felt almost like divine intervention. When Prince called her father, a pastor in their small church back home, Rita listened from across the room. He spoke with conviction, telling her family of his intentions, quoting Scripture, and even mentioning the denomination by name. Her father’s tone softened with each passing second, until at last he said, “We will pray along with you, son.” Her family liked him instantly. --- A month later, Prince invited her to Texas. She told her parents she was visiting her uncle. When she stepped off the plane, Prince was already waiting by arrivals, leaning against a sleek black SUV. He looked more casual this time, in dark jeans, a designer T-shirt, but no less commanding. “Welcome to Texas, Rita,” he said, opening the car door for her. He had told his friends and family she was coming, and from the way his face lit up, she knew he had been counting down the days. That evening, he cooked for her himself: rice, stew and chicken seasoned just right. A wealthy man who still cooked? Rita was touched. Later, they went shopping. Prince bought her clothes, perfume, and shoes she hadn’t even asked for. He was generous, almost excessive. That night, in the privacy of his bedroom, things escalated. The kisses were urgent, his hands sure. When Rita realized he wasn’t using protection, she pulled back slightly, breathless. “Prince, why are you…?” “Because you’re going to be my wife,” he whispered against her skin. Something about the way he said it disarmed her. She let herself drown in the intensity, in the promise of belonging. --- The following day, Prince introduced her to his friends. They toured the city, driving past glittering high-rises and quiet neighborhoods. His friends welcomed her easily, as though she were already one of them. By the weekend, he told her it was time to meet his family. The drive took nearly two hours, winding past stretches of open land. Rita smoothed down her pink gown and adjusted her gold heels, palms clammy with nerves. “My elder sister has the final say,” Prince warned as they approached the gate of a large suburban home. “If she doesn’t approve, the marriage won’t happen. I pray she likes you.” Rita forced a smile, whispering a silent prayer. The family welcomed her warmly. His father asked pointed questions about her upbringing, her family, and her faith. His mother disappeared into her room and returned with a colorful wrapper, draping it across Rita’s lap as though sealing a blessing. “Please don’t disappoint me,” she said softly. Prince leaned in later, whispering, “Of all the women I’ve brought home, you’re the first they’ve given a gift. That means you’re accepted.” Rita smiled, chest swelling like she had just won something irreplaceable. That evening, at Prince’s house, she wandered into his study and noticed a framed photo on a shelf, a baby boy, no older than two. Her stomach tightened. “Prince, whose child is this?” she asked carefully. His eyes flicked to the frame before darting away. “Don’t worry about that.” He changed the subject so fast it left her head spinning. Rita wanted to press further, but instead she shoved the unease down, burying it beneath the rush of new love. Still, as she lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, the child’s innocent eyes wouldn’t leave her mind.