HIS JEALOUS LOVE: Money or Love

I am just a beautiful girl from a poor background. I want a man who will love me for who I am, who will hold me when I cry. My name is Amara. I am 23 years old. I grew up with nothing. My father died when I was small, my mother raised me alone. People say I am beautiful. They say I have chocolate skin that glows even without cream, long black hair that falls to my back, brown eyes that look innocent, and a slim body with curves that God gave me naturally. But beauty is useless when you are poor. Beauty cannot buy food. Beauty cannot pay hospital bills. I live in a small one-room apartment with my mother. The roof leaks when it rains. The floor is cement. We have one small bed, one small stove, and one small table. But we have love. My mother is everything to me. My mother is sick. Very sick. For two years now she has been vomiting, losing weight, unable to eat. We went to the general hospital. The doctor said her kidneys are failing. He said she needs a big operation that will cost almost 3.5 million. Where will I get 3.5 million from? I work as a sales girl in a small boutique. The boutique sells expensive clothes for rich women. My job is to stand from 8am to 8pm, smile, arrange clothes, and say "Welcome ma." My salary is 40,000 naira at the end of the month. After transport and feeding, nothing remains. But I manage. Because I have David. David is my life. My childhood love. We grew up in the same compound. When we were in primary school, he used to share his only pencil with me. In secondary school, he used to trek to my school just to walk me home. Now we are adults, and he still loves me the same way. David is not rich. He is a mechanic apprentice. He earns 30,000 naira. He doesn't have a car. He doesn't have a house. But he has the biggest heart in the world. He will use his last 500 naira to buy me gala and Coke. He will wait for me outside my shop till 8pm so I will not walk alone at night. He will hold my hands and say, "Amara, one day I will make you proud. One day I will buy you a house and take your mother to the best hospital. Just believe in me." And I believed him. Because with David, I felt peace. True love. Not the fake love that rich men give. But that night, everything changed. It was a Tuesday. I was in the boutique arranging new dresses. The other sales girls were gossiping. Then the door opened and everywhere became quiet. A man entered. He was not like any man I have ever seen. He was tall, maybe 6'3. Broad shoulders. He wore a black suit that looked more expensive than my one year salary. His shoes shined like mirror. His wristwatch was gold. His perfume filled the whole shop. His face was handsome like a movie star, but his eyes were cold. So cold. Like a man who never hears the word No. The other girls rushed to him. "Welcome sir! Welcome sir!" But he did not look at them. He looked at me. He stared at me for a long time. I felt my heart beating fast. I looked down. "What's your name?" he asked. His voice was deep and commanding. I whispered, "Amara." "Amara," he repeated, as if tasting my name. "I want that red dress you are holding. In her size." The red dress was 150,000 naira. No one buys it. But he bought it without even asking price. He gave his black card to the cashier. Then he looked at me again and said, "You will look beautiful in it." And he left. I thought that was the end. But it was only the beginning. He came back the next day. He bought a handbag. 200,000 naira. He came back the third day. He bought shoes. 180,000 naira. Every day, he bought something. And every day, he looked at me with those cold eyes. The other girls were jealous. They said, "Amara, this rich man likes you. If he likes you, your life has changed ." I told them, "I have a boyfriend. I love David." On the fourth day, he came when I was alone in the shop. The owner had gone out. He walked straight to me. "Amara," he said. "How much do you earn here?" "40,000 naira, sir," I said. He laughed. A cold laugh. "40,000. And you suffer from morning till night for 40,000. You are too beautiful to suffer like this." He brought out his phone and showed me a picture of a mansion. "This can be yours. I can give you this. I can give you cars, money, everything. I heard about your mother. I can take her to the best hospital in the world and pay everything. Just be my woman." My heart stopped. How did he know about my mother? "I know everything about you, Amara," he said as if reading my mind. "I know where you live. I know your mother is dying. I know your boyfriend David is a poor mechanic who cannot even buy you a good phone. What can he give you? Poverty? Tears?" "My boyfriend loves me!" I shouted, tears in my eyes. "Love?" He stepped closer. "Can love pay 3.5 million for an operation? Can love save a dying woman? Don't be childish." I was shaking with anger. "Leave my shop! I will never be your woman! I love David! I don't want your money!" I slapped his face. Hard. The sound echoed in the shop. My hand was burning. I thought he would beat me. I thought his security outside would come and kill me. But he just touched his cheek slowly and smiled. That dangerous, cold smile. "I like girls who have fire," he said. "You will be mine, Amara. You will come to me by yourself. You will beg me." And he walked out. That night, my mother collapsed. I was cooking soup when I heard her scream from inside. I ran in. She was on the floor, vomiting blood. Blood everywhere. Her body was shaking. "Mama! Mama!" I screamed. I called David. David came running with a keke. We carried my mother, both of us crying, to the hospital. The hospital was crowded. The doctor checked her and shook his head. "Her condition is critical," he said. "Her kidney has gotten worse. If we don't do dialysis tonight and prepare for surgery in 48 hours, she will not survive the week. Go and deposit 500,000 naira now for dialysis." 500,000 naira. Tonight. I ran to the cashier office. I had 12,000 in my account. David had 18,000. Total 30,000. I called my uncle. He switched off his phone. I called my auntie. She said she has no money. I called the church. No answer. David was hitting the wall with his fist, crying like a child. "Amara, I am useless! I am useless! I cannot save your mother! I have failed you!" It was 11pm. The nurse said, "If you don't bring money in the next one hour, carry your mother and leave. We have other patients." I sat on the hospital floor and cried. I had lost hope. My mother was dying in front of me because I am poor. Because I chose love over money. And then, I felt a shadow over me. I looked up. He was there. Ethan. He was leaning against his black G-Wagon outside the hospital gate, wearing the same expensive suit, hands in his pocket, looking at me. How did he know I was here? How? He walked to me slowly. Everyone in the hospital was looking at him. He looked like he owned the hospital. He stood in front of me and said, very quietly so only I could hear, "I told you. You need money, not love. Your David cannot save her. I can." He brought out his phone and made one call. "Yes. Pay 5 million to this hospital now. Private ward. Best doctors. Do it now." In five minutes, the hospital director himself came running. "Are you Miss. Amara? Your bills have been cleared! 5 million! We are moving her to a private ward now! The best doctors are coming!" My mother was put on a stretcher and wheeled away to the clean private ward. I was still on the floor, shocked. Ethan knelt down to my level. He held my chin and lifted my face. "Your mother will live now, Amara," he said. "But from today, you are mine. You belong to me." I looked at David. David was standing far, watching everything. Tears were falling from his eyes. He knew he had lost. I had to make a choice. My mother's life or my true love. And I made the most painful choice of my life. I followed Ethan