Sister by blood

KHAYELIHLE – POV

We were all seated around the table, plates full, voices low, the kind of meal where no one was rushing and no one was really talking too much either. Food was there, yes, but appetite was something else entirely. I ate slowly, more out of habit than hunger, my attention never fully leaving Olerato.

My woman wasn't okay.

I could see it in the way she barely touched her food, the way she kept pushing it around with her fork like she was negotiating with it instead of eating. Her smile came and went too quickly, never reaching her eyes. Those eyes… they carried too much. Loss. Fear. Strength she shouldn't have been forced to grow this fast.

I hated seeing her like this.

I hated that I couldn't take it all away.

She sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched, but even then I could feel the distance inside her. Not from me — never from me — but from the world. Like she was still half somewhere else, guarding herself, holding her breath.

I shifted my chair slightly closer and rested my hand on her knee under the table, my thumb brushing slow circles against her skin. She glanced at me, surprised for a second, then softened. That small look alone told me everything — she needed grounding.

"You don't have to force it," I murmured quietly, leaning closer so only she could hear. "Eat what you can."

She nodded, swallowing hard.

I watched her chest rise and fall, the way she unconsciously protected her belly with one arm, like instinct had taken over long before words could. My chest tightened.

That belly held life.
Hope.
A reason to keep breathing when everything else hurt.

Without even thinking, I slid my hand from her knee to her stomach, slow and gentle, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

She didn't.

My palm rested there, warm against her dress, and I felt her relax just a little, leaning into me. The table conversation continued around us — soft laughter, clinking cutlery — but in that moment, it was just us.

Then it happened.

A sudden movement.

A firm, unmistakable kick against my hand.

I froze.

"What—" I breathed.

Olerato gasped softly, then her eyes widened before she laughed. Not a small laugh. A real one. The kind that broke through the heaviness and cracked something open.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, her voice lighter than it had been all day.

I stared at her belly like it had just spoken to me.

"She kicked," I said, awe flooding my chest. "She really kicked."

She nodded, smiling now, both hands coming to rest over mine. "She's strong," she whispered. "Just like her father."

That did something to me.

My throat tightened, emotion hitting hard and fast. I rubbed her belly gently, as if responding to the kick, as if she could hear me through skin and fear and love.

"I'm here," I murmured, not sure who I was saying it to — Olerato, our baby, or myself. "Always."

Another small movement followed, softer this time, but enough to feel.

Olerato laughed again, wiping at her eyes. "She likes you."

I smiled, a real one, the kind I hadn't managed all day.

The pain didn't disappear.
The loss didn't vanish.

But for the first time since everything happened, I saw light return to her face — fragile, yes, but real.

I leaned over and kissed her temple gently, holding her close while the world continued around us.

For that moment, that kick reminded us both of something important:

Life was still here.
And we were not alone.

LINDIWE – POV

I smiled when the news reached me.

A slow, satisfied smile that curled at the edges of my mouth and stayed there longer than it should have.

Olerato's child was dead.

No heir.

No future threat.

For the first time in days, my chest felt light.

It should have been me.

That thought burned hot and sharp inside my mind. It should have been me carrying that child. Me standing beside Khayelihle with a future secured. Not her. Never her. Olerato walked into a life that wasn't meant for her and took it like it was owed.

I paced the room, my heels clicking against the marble floor, anger and triumph twisting together in my stomach.

I wanted to see her.

Not to comfort her.
Not to pretend.

I wanted to see her face. Her brokenness. I wanted to look into her eyes and confirm that the thing she loved most was gone.

That bitch deserved to feel empty.

The door opened before I could summon a guard.

My mother stepped in.

She looked out of place in the palace — smaller somehow, wrapped in a long coat, her eyes darting around like the walls themselves frightened her. She closed the door behind her carefully, as if what she carried couldn't survive noise.

"Lindiwe," she said softly.

I turned sharply. "Why are you here?"

She swallowed. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together. "I needed to speak to you. Alone."

I laughed, short and cruel. "Now? Of all times?"

She took a step closer. "Yes. Now. Before you do something you can't undo."

That irritated me.

"I'm not in the mood for lectures," I snapped. "If you're here to cry about Olerato, save it. I don't care."

Her face paled.

"It's because of Olerato that I'm here," she said.

Something in her tone made my smile falter.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a thin, worn envelope. Hospital papers. Old. Yellowed with time.

"What is this?" I demanded.

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked at me the way mothers do when they're about to shatter their child's world.

"You were stolen," she said quietly.

The words didn't land at first.

"What?"

Her voice broke. "You were switched. Taken. At the hospital, the night you were born."

My chest tightened. "Stop talking nonsense."

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "Your real name is not Lindiwe."

I felt heat rush to my face. "Enough."

"Your real name," she continued, voice trembling but determined, "is Oratile Moagi."

The room tilted.

I laughed — loud, sharp, hysterical. "You're lying."

"She is your sister," my mother whispered. "Olerato… is your blood."

The word blood echoed.

"No," I said, backing away. "No. That's not possible."

"You were born minutes apart," she said. "There was chaos that night. A nurse. A bribe. By the time I realized, you were gone. And when we found you… it was already too late."

My vision blurred.

"You're saying," I breathed, "that she—" I pointed blindly, disgust curling my stomach — "that she is—"

"Your sister," my mother said again, crying openly now. "They stole you. Both of you were victims."

Something inside me snapped.

All the rage I'd carried for years, all the jealousy, the hatred, the feeling that something in my life never quite fit — it exploded.

I crossed the room in two strides.

Smack.

The sound echoed.

My mother staggered back, hand flying to her cheek, shock written all over her face.

"How dare you," I hissed. "How dare you come into my life with this filth."

She sobbed. "Lindiwe—Oratile—please—"

"Don't call me that," I screamed. "I am not her. I will never be her."

I grabbed my coat, my hands shaking violently.

"You ruined everything," I said, my voice low and venomous. "If she is my sister, then I swear she will never live long enough to claim it."

My mother collapsed into the chair, crying.

I didn't look back.

I yanked the door open and stormed out, fury boiling in my veins, one truth burning louder than the rest:

Olerato wasn't just a rival anymore.

She was the living proof of a life that should have been mine.

And I would not forgive that.