“You are the next vessel.”
The word hit me harder than any slap.
“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “I am not pregnant.”
He smiled faintly.
“You will be.”
My legs weakened.
“You think marriage was for romance?” he asked. “Everything in this house exists for continuity.”
I remembered the nights he stood at midnight beside the bed.
The quiet murmuring.
The way he insisted on sweeping alone.
“She is not a clone,” he said, as if clarifying something technical. “She is a replacement.”
My breathing became shallow.
“A replacement for who?” I asked.
“For you.”
The meaning settled slowly, heavily.
“When she gives birth,” he continued, “your body will no longer be required.”
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
I tried to move, but Musa had already stepped subtly to block the small space between me and the side fence.
“You cannot leave,” Obinna said gently. “You are already part of it.”
