CHAPTER NINE: WOMAN OF THE YEAR
Amara was at her desk — a real one this time, in a co-working space filled with exposed brick and bold women — when the notification came in.
“Congratulations! You’ve been nominated for ‘Woman of the Year – Emerging Entrepreneur’ by EmpowerHER Africa.”
She blinked. Then blinked again.
Her name. In bold. On a national ballot.
She called Toke first, then Nia, then cried in the elevator. Not the shattered kind of crying she’d done after the divorce — this was different. This was release.
She didn’t post it immediately. She let the moment breathe. Held it close. This wasn’t about going viral — this was personal. Proof that starting over hadn’t been a waste.
That night, she told Malia.
“Does that mean you’re a queen and a winner?” the girl asked, wide-eyed.
“No, baby,” Amara smiled. “It means I’m becoming one.”
But success never came without echoes.
By Monday, her lawyer forwarded her a notice: Jason had filed for shared custody. His argument?
“Amara’s growing fame and business schedule put the child’s emotional stability at risk.”
It felt like a slap. A calculated, cowardly slap.
She paced the apartment, heart pounding. This wasn’t about Malia — Jason had barely shown up for real parenting. This was about punishment. About dragging her back into courtrooms and control.
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That evening, Darius called. He’d seen the nomination post go live. He asked to take her out — not to celebrate, but just... breathe.
They met by the lagoon, no cameras, no noise. Just the city lights dancing on the water.
“You okay?” he asked as she sipped her chapman.
“No. But I will be.”
She told him everything — the notice, the lawyer’s advice, her fear that Jason would twist Malia’s mind or weaponize her again.
Darius didn’t try to fix it. He just listened. Then quietly said:
“You’ve fought wars with no armor and still came out standing. This? You’ll win. Not because you have to. But because it’s who you are now.”
There was a pause. Long. Soft.
Then he said, “I need to tell you something.”
Darius’s past unfolded slowly.
A marriage that fell apart after his wife cheated — not with another man, but with a version of herself that outgrew their life together. He wasn’t bitter. Just... tired of building alone.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said gently. “Not because I want to catch you. But because I see you. And if you ever want to build together again — not now, not tomorrow — but someday... I’ll be here.”
Amara looked at him, emotions swirling like a storm that somehow didn’t feel dangerous. For the first time in years, love didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like space.
“I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”
“That’s okay. Queens don’t rush.”
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