Billionaire's Accidental Wife

Chapter 15

Chapter 15 One year later. Chelsea’s Diary.

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Dear Diary, The beautiful grasslands, bright sunshine, and enormous acres of undeveloped land never

cease to astonish me. Every morning, I wake up just before dawn to hear the first tweets of native birds

and the delicate rustle of towering trees kissing the sky outside my window.

But it’s the huge gray elephants with their gorgeous ivory tusks and lengthy, wrinkled trunks that I

appreciate the most about my home. They are quite kind with the locals, especially the youngsters,

who regard them as pets as well as companions. The contact between animal and man in this scene is

organic and spontaneous; none is afraid of the other. Kenya’s breathtaking beauty has been my home

for the past one year.

However, the adjective “beautiful” is not restricted to merely the land. I have an unfathomable bond to NôvelDrama.Org content.

the people here as well, and my heart hurts a little as I look down at the wild smiles of the children

playing football on their lunch break.

I am alone in the classroom now with my suitcases packed at my feet. A tear streams down my face as

reality sinks in. I have been dreading this day. Nothing could have prepared me for the teary goodbyes

from my students and their pleas for me to stay. I am so melancholic, heartbroken and weary all at the

same time. My body is frozen in place as I continue to stare at the beaming faces of my orphaned kids.

They have become more than just students to me. I love them like they are my own. The tears pour out

like an uncontrollable flood.

How can I leave them? It’s been almost a year now, and this land has become my life since I left. Dave

in Paris. I have my reason, and it is more complicated than that. I’ve never heard any of them, not even

Jane. Catherine and especially Dave. I have my new life now. But I can tell you just yet.

But how do I say goodbye to the most beautiful, loving and happy children I have ever met? Children

who, despite their unfortunate circumstances, greet me each day with exclamations of, “Hello Miss!”

followed by an enthusiastic hug.

Their determination and courage are inspiring and as I prepare to leave, I vow to take a tiny piece of

their little souls with me, to keep in my heart. “Chelsea…it’s time,” comes a soft maternal voice from

behind me.

Miss Maya, the leader of the volunteer staff at Alfonso Orphanage, appears at the classroom doorway,

ready to accompany me to the cab.

I take one last look around my classroom before leaving for what could be the last time. I catch a

glimpse of my kids’ charts, sketches, and personal things. The mural we created was originally riddled

with bullet holes, and the tank of the little baby turtle we nursed back to health is on the back wall. I see

a flicker of their raised, passionate hands to solve a math

question as I turn my gaze down to their desks.

I will myself to be strong and reach down to collect my luggage, exhaling a long, deep exhale. I go with

Miss Maya through the orphanage, past the bunk beds, other classrooms, and cafeteria, remembering

where each of my children sleeps and what their favorite lunch dish is.

Finally, my journey through the halls of my home for the last one year is nearing its end, and I as step

outside of the orphanage, I am bombarded by a sea of tiny arms swallowing me up in hugs and kisses.

“We will miss you, Miss Chelsea!”

“Please don’t go, Miss Chelsea!”

Their cries are heartrending and I crumble to my knees in their embrace. I try desperately not to lock

eyes with any of them for fear that I may find leaving too impossible. My heart threatens to break

further when they hand me roses and makeshift cut-out hearts, each scribbled with their name and

signed with, I love you, Miss Chelsea. Miss Maya comes to my aid, peeling the kids away from me and

instructing them to give me some room. I stand with tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes.

The rest of the staff is just as distraught, quickly wiping away tears to hide them from the children. I

make my way over to them and embrace them individually. These women, both local and foreigners

from the volunteer group, have become like family to me and leaving them is almost as gut-wrenching

as leaving the kids. “You’re a kind and gentle soul, Chelsea. Don’t ever forget that. You’ve done an

amazing job here and we’ll always be grateful for the contributions you’ve made. Thank you so much,

my dear,” Miss Maya whispers as her final goodbye with a tight hug.

I nod bittersweetly and make my way to the cab. The driver gets out and opens the door for me, just to

close it again once I’m in the backseat. I look out the window, my eyes welling up with tears. The entire

orphanage has gathered outside and is waving wildly as the cab drives away. I turn my head to look out

the back window, keeping my gaze on everyone until they fade away. My heart feels like it’s been

ripped out of my chest. The long drive to the airport is dismal as I gaze forlornly out the window at the

last glimpses of my beloved Kenya. I take my window seat after checking in and boarding the plane.

I’m wandering aimlessly among the fidgety passengers surrounding me. While completing final

preparations for takeoff, the flight attendants advise that everyone should take their seats, but I’m too

depressed to enjoy the voyage. I still can’t believe I’m on my way back home. A house with plenty of

flowing water, paved roads, and books. A place where I am not required. It’s not like I was here. The

flight attendants do their final inspections throughout the cabin, and the plane soon takes off, soaring

high above Kenya. I stare out at the scenery intently, taking mental snapshots so I don’t forget my time

here. I recall the undulating hills, the magnificent sun stretched across the land, and Nairobi’s high-rise

structures. Pretty soon, I find myself deep in nostalgia.

I remember the day I first landed in Kenya like it was yesterday. I found it overcrowded and

The most difficult adjustment was the blazing heat. Except for a visit in the Philippines with a friend, I

had never been exposed to such a humid climate. Aside from that, the only time I’ve ever experienced

tropical weather was at London tanning salons during the winter. I initially regretted my decision to

relocate here and found myself wanting home. The uneven dirt roads, the children running around

without shoes, the lack of “western world “facilities, and limited resources such as clean running water

and ample loaves of bread were all jarring. It took some time for me to adjust, but it was a touching talk

with my sister that changed my first perspective. “Keep in mind, Chelsea, this is what you wanted to

do.” You want to make an impact on the world. Few people have the fortitude to travel to areas like

Kenya and assist those in need. If that doesn’t motivate you, consider that after a year, you’ll be able to

return home to a more fortunate existence. People there are unable to escape their poverty. They have

no choice. It’s fair that it would take some getting accustomed to, but ignore the tiny details and

concentrate on why you’re there.” I had gone silent after Christie said that. She was absolutely right. I

was in Kenya for a reason and that was to make a difference in the lives of all those little orphans.

Taking onboard my sister’s words of wisdom, I changed my attitude.

In just a few short weeks, I was no longer bothered by any of the things that had shocked me when I

first arrived here. I was too busy getting to know my students, helping them to learn, and uncovering

the magical-like beauty that Kenya had to offer. Soon, I fell in love with my new home.

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I am jolted from my thoughts by a friendly flight attendant asking me to adjust my seat to prepare for

landing. Another tear streams down my face as I prepare for the descent. I brush it away hastily. I must

stay strong. The fond memories of my one year in Kenya have left me weary and emotional. So much

so, that I barely notice the skyscrapers as we glide over London. The journey has just flown by and I

was so lost in my memories of Kenya earlier that I forgot I have not seen my sister in over one year. I

also have not been able to speak to her much during my time at the orphanage, as connections in

Kenya were somewhat unreliable. There was no way of emailing, Skyping or texting anyone back

home.

Every few months, I had to travel to Nairobi on a rickety bus and buy an expensive calling card. But

even then I was lucky if the call made it through or if I was able to hear my sister on the other end. I

have almost forgotten the sound of her son’s sweet and loving voice. I have almost forgotten how much

I have missed her and, although I am still deeply saddened to have left Kenya, Christie and her son are

the one thing that does make me feel some joy about coming home.

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