Tolu's body had been moved by the time the ambulance arrived. It was moved to a small velvet sofa behind the stage. His eyes remained open. The reception was over. Most people hung around in the parking lot, talking in low voices. Some stayed to find out the fate of the groom. Others stayed because they did not know what else to do.
The exits to the building were blocked off. No one was allowed to leave.
Feyi had left.
Kemi sat on the floor of the bridal suite in her wedding outfit. She had removed her headtie. The mascara had formed black streaks down her cheeks, her makeup a total disaster. Sheila took one look and thought privately that the four hundred thousand naira paid for the makeup was a scam — it was supposed to be waterproof, sweat-proof. But this was not the time for that.
Kemi had stopped crying. Instead she had a blank expression, staring into space. Her mother was the one crying heavily, wiping her face repeatedly with a handkerchief.
"My enemies have finally caught up with me today. I have been disgraced at my daughter's wedding. God why?"
Kemi blinked once. She had zoned out entirely.
"She said she was not going to show up. I took her name off the guest list. I even paid to take her off the list. I was assured she would not come."
"Who are you talking about?" Chief Arowolo asked, his right hand holding his phone to his ear, trying to reach someone in the police force.
Kemi did not look at him. She did not respond. Her eyes were fixed on the area where Feyi had been sitting.
"Feyi is not here," Kemi whispered.
"She left before Tolu fell," Gozee said. "Where is Kika?"
"I have not seen Kika since Tolu collapsed," said one of the planners, standing within earshot. "Her purse is on the table over there, but she is not here."
"She knew what was going on and she ran," someone muttered.
There was a knock. Three soft raps. Sheila went to the door and looked through the peephole.
"It's Aunt Tola," Sheila whispered.
Kemi said nothing. Sheila opened the door.
Aunt Tola walked in slowly. She had on her family outfit, the blouse stiff, no makeup. She said nothing to Sheila. She scanned the room as she walked. Her eyes landed on the bridal fan on the floor — emerald green lace wrapped around the plastic ribs. Aunt Tola bent down and picked it up. It turned in her hands, her fingers tracing the intricate pattern.
"She was here." Aunt Tola's voice was flat. Devoid of its usual warmth. Cutting through the silence of the suite like something with an edge.
Kemi stared at her aunt. Her mind, already a jumble of grief, struggled to connect to the sudden shift in focus. "Who?" she managed.
"The one in green," Aunt Tola replied, her gaze still fixed on the fan. "You didn't tell me she would attend the wedding."
"I didn't invite her. I was surprised to see her. I paid to make sure she didn't come into the venue."
"The pattern has not been made in over thirty years."
Aunt Tola stood and walked to the mirror. There was a stray thread that had caught her eye. She picked it up. It shimmered briefly under the light.
"Did the material come from Mama Ayo?"
"Yes Auntie. It was custom made for the wedding."
"I don't think she did," Aunt Tola said flatly. "The pattern has not been made in over thirty years."
Thirty Years Before — A Midwife's Room
As soon as Aunt Tola said it, her mind left the bridal suite. She was in her early twenties again, standing in the room of the midwife's house, watching a baby wrapped in emerald lace. Beside it, tragically still, was another baby. Silent. Not moving.
Aunt Tola remembered how the lace felt through her fingers then. Like the cloth had life and personality. An unnatural shimmer. The midwife, Cecilia Akin, was a woman whose eyes held a great deal of wisdom. She said something that still echoed in Tola's mind to that day.
"Two destinies cannot share the same fabric. If they try, the fabric will choose."
Tola had made the emerald lace herself. Cut from a bolt that had been passed down through generations of tailors. It had gone through prayer and power and was a covenant fabric. Tola did not question what she was told because she did not fully understand it. She just stitched the cloth. It was when the mother of the still baby refused to name the child — when the family buried the lace instead of the child — that Tola realized something profound had happened and been silenced on the same day. A life not lived. A destiny not fulfilled. A debt not paid.
And now, the lace had returned.
Back in the present, Aunt Tola stared at Kemi and then at the bridesmaids, who looked bewildered.
"Find out where this lace came from," she said, her voice low. "The source. The tailor who made it. If anyone touched it or blessed it, you need to find out."
"But I just — I ordered —"
Aunt Tola cut her off with a look that made the words freeze in Kemi's throat.
"If that girl is still wearing it — tell her not to sleep near a mirror."
Zainab let out a disbelieving laugh. Everyone in the room stared at her.
"This sounds so funny and sinister at the same time. What does a mirror have to do with —"
Aunt Tola stared sharply at Zainab. Then took her gaze back to the window.
"If she does," she said quietly, "she will find someone else looking back."
Silence fell on the room. Not the ordinary kind. The kind that feels more like fear.
Gozee held onto her fan. Kemi looked like she would be sick, her face pale, the mascara still drying on her cheeks.
Aunt Tola picked up her leather bag and walked to the door. She paused in the frame for a moment.
"She came back to collect what was left behind," she muttered under her breath.
Then she walked out.
The door closed behind her.
No one moved for a long time.