Page 52 of Certified Pressure 3
The whole ride there I was quiet, staring out the window. The closer we got, the more I tried to talk myself out of it, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t about to keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
When we reached the gate, I leaned forward and pressed the buzzer, but there was no answer.
I waited a few minutes before pressing it again.
Finally, a deep male voice came through. “Yes?”
“I am here to see Mrs. Mensah,” I said. “My name is Kashmere.”
There was silence on the other end. Then the man said, “Please hold.”
I held for thirty long damn minutes. I couldn’t even believe it. Thirty whole minutes just sitting here, waiting like I was some stranger off the street. Then the gates finally opened.
The car rolled through the long driveway until the mansion came into view, gleaming under the afternoon sun. I took a deep breath as we parked, then climbed out.
When I looked up, Abeni was at the front door talking to three tall men in suits. They looked like the type of men who made big decisions in important rooms. I didn’t know who they were, but I could tell they were somebody. Abeni smiled at something one of them said before shaking their hands. The way they moved around her made it clear she was the one running things.
When she turned and saw me, that polite smile came instantly, the same one that never reached her eyes. “Kashmere,” she said. “What brings you here?”
I pushed my hair behind my ear and tried to sound calm. “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”
She looked at me for a few seconds, almost like she was deciding whether to let me in or not, then nodded once. “Come in. We can talk over tea.”
Inside, everything looked perfect as always. The floors gleamed, the furniture looked untouched, and the air smelled like expensive flowers. A maid appeared the moment we entered, asking what we would like.
“Tea,” Abeni said softly. “The lavender blend.”
We went into the living room, where the maid soon returned with a silver tray and two delicate cups. Abeni poured our tea herself, every movement graceful. When she finally looked up, her gaze met mine.
“So,” she said. “What about yesterday would you like to discuss?”
I swallowed hard. “With all due respect, what happened yesterday made me uncomfortable. When you announced the baby in front of everyone, I felt embarrassed. I just wish you would have made it clear who Pressure was having a baby with.”
She lifted her cup, took a small sip, and set it back down on the saucer. “I see,” she said. “But what I said was the truth. I am going to be a grandmother.”
I felt my chest heat up. “That’s fine, and I am happy for you, but I’m marrying Pressure. Not his baby’s mother.”
Her lips curved faintly. “And that is fine as well. I have come to terms with the fact that my son will live the way he chooses. He is very much like his father in that way. But you should know, my dear, I will also continue to live the way I choose, and say what I want.”
My heart started pounding. “And what does that mean exactly?”
She smiled politely. “It means that soon my attention will be where it belongs, and what matters most—My grandchild, and the woman carrying it.”
The words hit like a knife to the gut. I tried not to show it, but I could feel my throat closing up. “With all due respect, I did not create this problem. I had nothing to do with that. It feels like you’re mad at me over something your son did.”
She nodded slowly. “You are correct. You did not create it, but you are contributing to it by staying. You have chosen to involve yourself with my son during one of the most complicated times of his life. I find it difficult to understand why a woman would willingly choose that for herself.”
I blinked fast, trying to hold back tears. “So you think I should just walk away?”
“I think,” she said softly, “that you should value yourself enough not to beg for a place in a story that was already being written before you arrived.”
I stared at her, feeling my stomach twist. “Mrs. Mensah… it seems like you always take Pressure’s side. You act like he can do no wrong.”
Abeni’s expression didn’t change. She set her cup down neatly and looked straight at me. “I do not excuse my son’s choices, but I understand the weight of them. You see, Kashmere, I don’t raise boys. I raise men. And men must take responsibility for what they create. That baby is his responsibility. That woman is part of that responsibility. What you call unfair, I call accountability.”
Her words were calm, but they tore straight through me.
Abeni leaned back slightly and folded her hands in her lap. “Do you even know what an arranged marriage truly means?”
