The coming election was dependent on the votes of the people.
I needed the votes of these people more than anything. I needed to become the first lady. I can’t remember how long I’ve been obsessed with it, but it was something I’d always wanted to be.
Since I was a child, I watched several world presidents hold their first ladies by the hand and stand in front of everyone. It was such a thrill. I wanted it.
The first female citizen of the state. Imagine being addressed as the First Lady. Let’s practice First Lady Mrs.
Is that how it’s said? It doesn’t sound correct.
I need to ask questions.
Another name that the pastor’s wife is called in church. Not really. It wasn’t the kind I wanted to be. I didn’t want to sit there and take charge of all the women in church. The ones who gossiped were the ones who were hypocritical. I wanted to be a first lady in government, and so far my husband was a senator. He had given me a great life. We lived in the suburbs. Our children went to private school. I had maids and drivers at my disposal. I had women’s brunch every month with my best friends. I served in church giving to charity and orphanages. Deeds had to be public. They had to be seen, and approved by people. I had my own YouTube channel, where I sat down and became a therapist to women in bad marriages.
The ones that needed to leave, but instead they stayed.
i) Because of the kids.
ii) Because of what other people would say.
iii) Because they didn’t think they could find love or a better man than who they were currently with.
I feel the reasons are pathetic, but who am I to judge them?
The comment section was filled with love from my fans and hate speech from women who I felt were chasing clout. I talked about basically everything feminine. I shared my wardrobe with people. The ones filled with designer stuff, perfumes, shoes, handbags, including I also V-logged my trips to foreign countries on vacation. We were in La Rochell, France last week, and Bilboa, Spain the previous week. Montego Bay, Jamaica was the next on the list with my female friends.
My husband wasn’t in support of sharing the intimate parts of my life on my YouTube channel. He didn’t want us to be a target for getting robbed. I understood where he was coming from, but with more than twelve orderely’s in the house and other domestic staff, it would take a long time for anyone who wanted to rob me to get through.
Life was good.
It was great!
Three months ago, my husband made his intentions to run for governor known to his party members. As soon as he made that announcement, it was as if all our enemies and village people had crawled out from the woodwork. Bloggers, journalists, paid and unpaid were everywhere looking for the next best story to tell about my husband and I. There were joking for the good, the bad and the ugly. I noticed that bad and ugly news were best sellers, and those would start early. Smear campaigns, poor journalism, and the comment section were guaranteed to sell out the best stories.
My personal assistant had told me about a meeting I was supposed to be having with a new orphanage that I picked to take care of. I was getting ready in front of the mirror. My husband walked into the room. He was dressed in a suit. I hadn’t seen him in a suit in a long time. This is what campaigning does. Normally he was dressed down in a shirt and jeans, but this time he was fully dressed in a three piece suit. Today it wasn’t Sunday, so I wondered where he was going dressed like that.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” I asked.
“I have a meeting. There are a few investors coming in today from France,” he replied.
“Investors?” I asked confused. “What are they investing in?”
“It’s a project that’s ongoing. I can’t tell you the details right now. I’m looking for a yellow Manila envelope that I left on the bed yesterday. Did you see it?” he asked, looking distracted.
“A Manila envelope? No, I haven’t seen any of such. Where did you leave it?” I asked.
“It’s only both of us who are in this bedroom, except for domestic stuff that comes in here to clean. I left it on the dresser, where I leave things that are of importance to me.”
I could feel the retort in his voice. I decided to ignore it. I didn’t have time for him this morning, and I didn’t want him to spoil my morning mood.
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” I responded as I powdered my nose with the foundation. “What is in it?”
I asked curiously. It had to be money. That was the only thing you put in such envelopes. The important documents, like deeds if you ask me.
“Are you trying to sell property?” giving him a sharp look through the mirror. He wasn’t staring at me. He was busy fiddling around the drawers looking for the envelope. He kicked the right leg of the bed out of frustration.
“Arghhhhh, you ask too many questions? You are breaking my concentration,” he said. His cell phone began to ring. He threw a frustrated fist punch into the air and answered the phone.
“I can’t find the document, I am running late. It may be in the office, but I am sure I left it at home. I will head out now,” he said to whoever the caller was. I lined my lips with the lip pencil and applied lipstick.
“Honey, I have to go, I will see you later,” he said and kissed me on my forehead.
“Alright darling, have a wonderful day,” I said.
He walked out of the room.
I continued with my make-up, a few minutes later I looked out of the window and saw the huge gates open. The Mercedes Benz drove out.
I walked to my purse closet and pulled out my Hermes bag from the top shelf. I opened it and pulled out the yellow Manila envelope I hid in there. It was time to figure out the contents. I opened the envelope