1
The table was set in the heart of the old house, gleaming silverware catching the dim light from the chandelier above. The smell of roast chicken and garlic bread filled the air, but something else lingered—something unspoken, simmering under the surface. Grandma Nandi had insisted everything be perfect for the reunion, but her silence spoke louder than any orders she could’ve given.Thuli leaned back in her chair, twirling her wine glass in her fingers. The house was too quiet. Too still. She flicked a glance at Kabelo, who was sitting at the head of the table, trying his best to play the role of the “good grandson.” His smile was warm, but his eyes betrayed him. He was hiding something—something he wasn’t ready to share.
Mandla, as usual, was the last to arrive. He strode into the room like he owned it, flashing his signature grin. “Sorry, traffic,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “But I’m here now. Let’s eat!”
Grandma Nandi didn’t move a muscle. She hadn’t even acknowledged Mandla’s entrance, her gaze fixed on the family portrait hanging on the wall. The one with her late husband, the one with all their smiles before the cracks started showing. A subtle reminder that she was still in charge—at least, that’s what she liked to believe.
Sibongile sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was the peacemaker, the one who always tried to smooth things over when the tension got too thick. But even she couldn’t ignore the storm brewing.
“So,” Thuli began, breaking the silence, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Anyone have any juicy gossip? It’s been, what, two years since the last reunion? I’m sure someone’s got a skeleton in their closet.”
Kabelo cleared his throat, eyes darting nervously from Thuli to Grandma Nandi. “Not the time, Thuli,” he muttered, glancing at his grandmother, hoping she wouldn’t explode.
But Grandma Nandi didn’t flinch. She merely adjusted the napkin in her lap. “We’re here to enjoy dinner,” she said in her calm, measured tone. “No need for drama.”
Mandla, who had been quietly eyeing the room, couldn’t resist. “Drama? Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty of that to go around. All these years and the same people at the table. Haven’t any of us changed?”
Thuli smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself, Mandla. Some of us are still trying to figure out how to make their lives a bit less... chaotic.”
Sibongile shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling the weight of her role as the mediator. “Let’s just eat, okay? No one’s going anywhere until we’ve had at least one round of food.”
But it was already too late. The cracks had started to show. The unspoken words hovered in the air, and everyone at the table knew that no one was here just for dinner.
The real reason they had all gathered tonight had nothing to do with food or family. It was the secret that Grandma Nandi had been holding onto for far too long. And it was about to come to the surface.
Got it, bestie! Let’s add more dialogue and keep the tension high. Here’s the next part:
The conversation died down as the food was served, the clinking of plates and glasses filling the awkward silence. Everyone knew something was off, but no one dared to be the first to say it.
Thuli, ever the provocateur, leaned forward and forked a piece of chicken onto her plate. She glanced around the table, her lips curling into a smirk. “So, Grandma,” she started, her voice dripping with sweetness. “How’s everything been going in the land of control? Still running the show like always?”
Grandma Nandi’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze never left her plate. After a moment, she finally spoke, her voice low but commanding. “I’ve been fine, Thuli. And I suggest you keep your comments to yourself if you can’t say anything respectful.”
Thuli’s smirk faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered, leaning back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Respect. Right. That’s what we’re doing now, huh? I guess that’s why we’re all gathered around this table pretending like we don’t know what’s really going on.”
“Thuli…” Kabelo started, his voice strained. He cast a nervous glance at Grandma Nandi, but his words were lost in the growing tension. “Can we just have one peaceful meal for once?”
Mandla, who had been unusually quiet, set his glass of wine down with a soft clink. “Peaceful?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Who are you kidding, Kabelo? This family was never about peace. It’s always been about power plays and keeping the upper hand. We all know it. We just play nice for a few hours and pretend the cracks aren’t there.”
The room fell silent again. Sibongile shifted in her seat, her eyes darting between her cousins. “Mandla, not now,” she whispered, her voice tight with concern. “We agreed, remember?”
But Mandla wasn’t done. He leaned in, his smile never leaving his face. “Oh, don’t pretend, Sibongile. We’ve all been here long enough to know that ‘peace’ is just a nice word for ‘silence.’ Grandma Nandi doesn’t want peace; she wants control. And as long as we play her game, we’ll never get anything close to real freedom in this family.”
Thuli’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Ooh, Mandla, you always know how to stir the pot. I love it.” She turned to Grandma Nandi. “Tell us, Grandma, what’s really going on? You’re looking mighty... quiet tonight. What’s the secret? Come on, you’ve been hiding something for years.”
Grandma Nandi’s lips twitched, a hint of annoyance creeping in, but she held her ground. “There is no secret, Thuli,” she said, her voice cold now. “And I suggest you keep your curiosity in check. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to remind you who’s in charge here.”
The air grew heavier with every word. Thuli sat up straighter, ready to challenge, but before she could speak, Sibongile cut in. “Please, can we just—”
But it was too late. Kabelo, his face pale, spoke up quietly. “Grandma, we all know there’s something you’re not telling us. Something about Dad. About... about the will.” He winced as the words left his mouth, his eyes dropping to his plate.
The tension in the room shattered like glass. The room went completely still.
Grandma Nandi’s eyes narrowed, her grip on her glass tightening. “You dare bring that up?” Her voice was sharp, like a knife. “You’re not old enough to understand the complexities of our family. Some things are better left unsaid.”
Sibongile’s breath caught in her throat. “The will…” she whispered, barely above a breath. “What will, Kabelo?”
Kabelo looked up, his face red with shame and frustration. “The one Dad left behind... when he passed. The one he never showed us. The one that had everything to do with…” He paused, his voice faltering. “Everything to do with the company. With the house.”
Thuli leaned forward, her voice dripping with curiosity. “Wait, wait... there was a will? And no one’s ever talked about it?” She raised an eyebrow. “Grandma, that’s a hell of a secret to keep.”
Grandma Nandi’s eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity. “I said no more questions.”
Mandla, his smirk fading into something more serious, turned to Grandma Nandi. “Oh, this just got interesting. A will no one’s seen, and a company no one’s mentioned. What are you really hiding, Grandma?”
The room was on the edge of boiling over. Everyone could feel it—the storm that was just waiting to break. Grandma Nandi was visibly tense, but before anyone could say another word, she stood abruptly, knocking over her chair.
“You think you know everything about this family?” she snapped. “You don’t know anything. Keep digging, and you’ll find more than you bargained for.”
Thuli smirked, unfazed. “Well, Grandma, I’m looking forward to it.”
The storm was coming, and no one was prepared for the truth.
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