THE PRICE OF LOVING HER
EPISODE 55.
The weeks that followed Chibuzor’s visit drifted by gently, like a calm river that knew exactly where it was headed. Life at Chidimma’s PPA in Umunede continued steadily, but now, everything carried deeper meaning. She was no longer just a corps member fulfilling national duty—she was a woman stepping intentionally into her future.
Every weekday morning, Chidimma woke before sunrise. The rooster’s crow blended with the distant hum of early buses as she knelt briefly to pray, committing her day to God. After that, she ironed her clothes carefully, pinned her NYSC tag properly, and stepped out into the cool Delta morning.
By 7:30 a.m., she was already in school.
“Good morning, Aunty Chidi!” her students chorused, their voices bright and eager.
She smiled warmly every single time. “Good morning, my people. Open your books to page twenty-two.”
Teaching had become more than duty—it had become purpose. She taught English with patience, corrected grammar gently, and encouraged even the shyest students to speak. When classes ended, she often stayed behind, marking scripts or explaining lessons again to struggling students.
The teachers noticed.
“You’re very committed,” the vice principal said one afternoon as they walked out of the staff room together. “Marriage has not distracted you at all.”
Chidimma smiled softly. “It has only made me more focused, sir.”
At CDS meetings, she participated actively, listened carefully, and avoided unnecessary drama. Her service year was unfolding smoothly, and she felt content knowing she was giving her best—both as a corps member and as a wife.
At night, her modest room transformed into a planning center.
Phone calls came daily—sometimes from her mother, sometimes from her aunties, sometimes from Chibuzor himself.
“The church has confirmed the date.”
“The caterer wants final numbers.”
“The seamstress says your second gown is ready.”
“The choir has started full rehearsal.”
Chidimma kept a small notebook where she wrote everything down—expenses, reminders, prayer points. Some nights she laughed, other nights she felt overwhelmed, but through it all, she felt supported.
She traveled home frequently, sometimes leaving Umunede late on Fridays and returning on Sundays, tired but fulfilled. Each visit brought fresh excitement.
Her mother would hold her hands, smiling proudly.
“God has truly done well for you, my daughter.”
Her father said less but watched more, his quiet pride louder than words.
Chibuzor, on his part, proved himself steady and responsible—meeting with the priest, finalizing logistics, coordinating groomsmen, and ensuring nothing was left undone.
They spoke every night.
“Are you tired today?” he would ask.
“Yes,” she’d laugh softly, “but happy.”
The night before the wedding, sleep refused to come. Chidimma lay awake in her childhood room, listening to distant laughter, drums, and the voices of villagers making last-minute arrangements.
Her mind wandered—NYSC camp, Umunede, the long-distance days, the patience, the trust, the prayers.
She folded her hands over her chest and whispered,
“God, thank You for bringing me this far.”
Peace settled over her like a warm blanket.
Morning arrived bright and beautiful.
Church bells rang across the village, calling everyone to witness love sealed before God. The church glowed with white and gold decorations—flowers, ribbons, and softly flickering lights. Guests arrived in elegant outfits, filling the pews with anticipation.
In the bridal room, Chidimma stood before the mirror in her white gown—simple, elegant, radiant. Her veil rested gently on her shoulders. She barely recognized herself.
She looked complete.
“Are you ready?” her mother asked gently.
Chidimma nodded, tears shining in her eyes. “I am.”
The music changed.
Everyone stood.
Chibuzor walked in first, calm and composed in his suit. But the moment he turned and saw Chidimma walking toward him, his breath caught.
She was everything he had prayed for.
As she reached the altar, their eyes met—and in that moment, nothing else existed.
The priest spoke about love, patience, sacrifice, and faith. Vows were exchanged with trembling voices and unwavering hearts.
“I choose you,” Chidimma said softly.
“I will always choose you,” Chibuzor replied.
Rings were exchanged.
Blessings were pronounced.
“You may kiss your bride.”
The church erupted in applause.
Outside, celebration took over.
Music blasted. Guests danced freely. Friends sprayed money. Children ran around laughing. Elders nodded approvingly.
Chidimma and Chibuzor danced together, joy radiating from them.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “We did it.”
He smiled. “This is only the beginning.”
Later that evening, away from the crowd, they sat quietly, fingers intertwined.
Her NYSC service was still ongoing.
Life would still demand discipline.
Responsibilities would still come.
But now, she would face everything with a partner.
Chidimma rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.
From orientation camp to PPA,
From waiting to becoming,
From hope to home.
She had found balance—between duty and love, dreams and reality.
As the night sky stretched above them, filled with stars, Chidimma knew one thing with certainty:
Her story was no longer just about surviving.
It was about living.
It was about love.
It was about purpose.
And it was just beginning.
As the celebration slowly wound down and guests began to leave, Mama Chidimma stood quietly at the edge of the compound, watching her daughter laugh beside her husband. The joy on Chidimma’s face was calm, deep, and unmistakable—the kind that comes from being truly loved.
Mama Chidimma exhaled slowly, her eyes shining with emotion. She adjusted her wrapper, nodded to herself, and said softly, yet firmly:
“Chibuzor truly loves Chidimma… and he paid THE PRICE OF LOVING HER.”
And in that moment, everything felt complete.
🌺THE END🌺
👉Please Like and share, it will encourage me to do more🙏
To be automatically notified when the next EPISODE drops, please f0llów Bethrand Nnaike #fypシ゚ #writer #creativewriter #storytime
EPISODE 55.
The weeks that followed Chibuzor’s visit drifted by gently, like a calm river that knew exactly where it was headed. Life at Chidimma’s PPA in Umunede continued steadily, but now, everything carried deeper meaning. She was no longer just a corps member fulfilling national duty—she was a woman stepping intentionally into her future.
Every weekday morning, Chidimma woke before sunrise. The rooster’s crow blended with the distant hum of early buses as she knelt briefly to pray, committing her day to God. After that, she ironed her clothes carefully, pinned her NYSC tag properly, and stepped out into the cool Delta morning.
By 7:30 a.m., she was already in school.
“Good morning, Aunty Chidi!” her students chorused, their voices bright and eager.
She smiled warmly every single time. “Good morning, my people. Open your books to page twenty-two.”
Teaching had become more than duty—it had become purpose. She taught English with patience, corrected grammar gently, and encouraged even the shyest students to speak. When classes ended, she often stayed behind, marking scripts or explaining lessons again to struggling students.
The teachers noticed.
“You’re very committed,” the vice principal said one afternoon as they walked out of the staff room together. “Marriage has not distracted you at all.”
Chidimma smiled softly. “It has only made me more focused, sir.”
At CDS meetings, she participated actively, listened carefully, and avoided unnecessary drama. Her service year was unfolding smoothly, and she felt content knowing she was giving her best—both as a corps member and as a wife.
At night, her modest room transformed into a planning center.
Phone calls came daily—sometimes from her mother, sometimes from her aunties, sometimes from Chibuzor himself.
“The church has confirmed the date.”
“The caterer wants final numbers.”
“The seamstress says your second gown is ready.”
“The choir has started full rehearsal.”
Chidimma kept a small notebook where she wrote everything down—expenses, reminders, prayer points. Some nights she laughed, other nights she felt overwhelmed, but through it all, she felt supported.
She traveled home frequently, sometimes leaving Umunede late on Fridays and returning on Sundays, tired but fulfilled. Each visit brought fresh excitement.
Her mother would hold her hands, smiling proudly.
“God has truly done well for you, my daughter.”
Her father said less but watched more, his quiet pride louder than words.
Chibuzor, on his part, proved himself steady and responsible—meeting with the priest, finalizing logistics, coordinating groomsmen, and ensuring nothing was left undone.
They spoke every night.
“Are you tired today?” he would ask.
“Yes,” she’d laugh softly, “but happy.”
The night before the wedding, sleep refused to come. Chidimma lay awake in her childhood room, listening to distant laughter, drums, and the voices of villagers making last-minute arrangements.
Her mind wandered—NYSC camp, Umunede, the long-distance days, the patience, the trust, the prayers.
She folded her hands over her chest and whispered,
“God, thank You for bringing me this far.”
Peace settled over her like a warm blanket.
Morning arrived bright and beautiful.
Church bells rang across the village, calling everyone to witness love sealed before God. The church glowed with white and gold decorations—flowers, ribbons, and softly flickering lights. Guests arrived in elegant outfits, filling the pews with anticipation.
In the bridal room, Chidimma stood before the mirror in her white gown—simple, elegant, radiant. Her veil rested gently on her shoulders. She barely recognized herself.
She looked complete.
“Are you ready?” her mother asked gently.
Chidimma nodded, tears shining in her eyes. “I am.”
The music changed.
Everyone stood.
Chibuzor walked in first, calm and composed in his suit. But the moment he turned and saw Chidimma walking toward him, his breath caught.
She was everything he had prayed for.
As she reached the altar, their eyes met—and in that moment, nothing else existed.
The priest spoke about love, patience, sacrifice, and faith. Vows were exchanged with trembling voices and unwavering hearts.
“I choose you,” Chidimma said softly.
“I will always choose you,” Chibuzor replied.
Rings were exchanged.
Blessings were pronounced.
“You may kiss your bride.”
The church erupted in applause.
Outside, celebration took over.
Music blasted. Guests danced freely. Friends sprayed money. Children ran around laughing. Elders nodded approvingly.
Chidimma and Chibuzor danced together, joy radiating from them.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “We did it.”
He smiled. “This is only the beginning.”
Later that evening, away from the crowd, they sat quietly, fingers intertwined.
Her NYSC service was still ongoing.
Life would still demand discipline.
Responsibilities would still come.
But now, she would face everything with a partner.
Chidimma rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.
From orientation camp to PPA,
From waiting to becoming,
From hope to home.
She had found balance—between duty and love, dreams and reality.
As the night sky stretched above them, filled with stars, Chidimma knew one thing with certainty:
Her story was no longer just about surviving.
It was about living.
It was about love.
It was about purpose.
And it was just beginning.
As the celebration slowly wound down and guests began to leave, Mama Chidimma stood quietly at the edge of the compound, watching her daughter laugh beside her husband. The joy on Chidimma’s face was calm, deep, and unmistakable—the kind that comes from being truly loved.
Mama Chidimma exhaled slowly, her eyes shining with emotion. She adjusted her wrapper, nodded to herself, and said softly, yet firmly:
“Chibuzor truly loves Chidimma… and he paid THE PRICE OF LOVING HER.”
And in that moment, everything felt complete.
🌺THE END🌺
👉Please Like and share, it will encourage me to do more🙏
To be automatically notified when the next EPISODE drops, please f0llów Bethrand Nnaike #fypシ゚ #writer #creativewriter #storytime
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