The Wedding That Almost Cancelled

Miriam’s fingers shook as she smoothed the lace of her wedding dress for the twentieth time. She stared into the gilded mirror in the small bridal suite overlooking the Lekki church courtyard, willing her heart to slow. Outside, rain pounded the stained‑glass windows and church bells chimed noon. She should have been walking down the aisle by now.

Her phone buzzed. She read Emeka’s single text again: “Maybe we rushed into this?” The words burned on her screen.

She sank onto the velvet chaise. Dara, her maid of honour, hovered nearby. “What did he mean?” Dara whispered, brushing a stray curl from Miriam’s face.

Miriam closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” She finally let the tears come.

Emeka sped through the flooded streets toward home, his car’s wipers flapping furiously. He’d just fled his mother’s compound, where a furious argument had erupted over his marriage plans. His mother, flanked by two stern aunts, had spat out an ultimatum: “Marry the Oba’s daughter, or lose everything I’ve built for you.” Emeka’s chest tightened with panic. He didn’t want to hurt Miriam, but his mother’s threats had driven him to the brink.

His thumb hovered over his phone’s “Cancel” button as he sat in stalled traffic. The thought of calling off the wedding felt like admitting defeat, yet he almost did it. Memories of Miriam, her warm smile when he proposed, the way she whispered “I love you” under the night sky, rocketed through him. He rammed the accelerator.

Back at the church, chaos reigned. Bridesmaids tried to soothe a wailing flower girl; groomsmen hovered by the entrance, checking watches. Pastor Okafor stood at the altar, wringing his hands.

Miriam’s breath hitched when she heard the heavy doors swing open. She closed her eyes and prayed. “God, send him if this is Your will.”

Then a drenched figure stumbled down the aisle. Emeka, soaked to the bone, fumbled with his suit jacket and ran forward. “Miriam,” he cried, voice raw. “I”

She turned, her mascara running. “Emeka? What are you doing here?”

He swallowed hard. “I came to—” He glanced sheepishly at Pastor Okafor. “I almost called it off.”

Miriam’s heart lurched. “Because of my mother? Your mother?”

He shook his head. “No. Because she threatened to disinherit me. She wants me to marry someone else.”

Miriam looked at him, stunned. “And you ran?”

“I panicked,” he admitted. “But I love you. I can’t—”

She cut him off with a sharp intake of breath. “Love me? You almost cancelled our wedding at the sound of your mother’s threats?”

He stepped closer. “Yes. I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He reached out; she hesitated, then let him take her hand.

As the rain eased, Miriam grabbed Emeka’s hand. “Come on.” She led him out to the courtyard. “We’ll face her together.”

They slid into the waiting SUV and sped toward Emeka’s family compound. The gates loomed tall and ornate, but Emeka hopped out before the driver could stop. Miriam followed silently.

Under the porch, Mrs. Eze stood like a statue, umbrella poised. Nadia, the Oba’s daughter, watched from the veranda, expression unreadable.

“Mother,” Emeka said, voice trembling. “I love Miriam. I won’t marry anyone else.”

Mrs. Eze’s eyes glittered with anger. “You betrayed me, son. You almost ruined everything.”

Miriam stepped forward, water dripping from her hair. “Ma, I respect your tradition, but I love your son. I will honour this family.”

Mrs. Eze turned to the veranda. “Is this true, Oba’s daughter?”

Nadia gave Miriam a small nod, then left without a word. Mrs. Eze studied Miriam’s soaked gown and earnest face. The tension was so thick it trembled in the air.

Finally, Mrs. Eze sighed. “If you truly love my son, prove it. Stay, and face our family, together.”

Miriam’s pulse soared. Emeka grinned, relief flooding his features.

That evening, the compound courtyard glowed with lanterns. Family and friends emerged from porches, umbrellas closed. Pastor Okafor rearranged the altar beneath a newly cleared patch of sky. Miriam and Emeka stood hand‑in‑hand, dripping but determined.

“You may proceed,” the pastor said, voice strong.

Emeka looked at Miriam. “Will you marry me, here, now?”

She laughed through tears. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger. The gathered crowd erupted into cheers that echoed through the rain‑washed night.

Later, under strings of fairy lights, Emeka held Miriam close as they danced. Their clothes clung, their hair frizzed, but their hearts were light.

“I’m sorry for letting pride and fear drive me away,” Emeka whispered. “You chased me through the storm.”

Miriam smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I’ll chase you through any storm, because love wins.”

Behind them, Mrs. Eze watched, a soft smile on her lips. Even tradition could bend before a love that refused to be broken.

Love had nearly failed, but in the end, it triumphed.