A truth deliverd in blood

CHAPTER 36
OLERATO – POV

I didn't know what to do.

That was the truth I kept swallowing back as the babies cried, their small voices slicing through the house like knives. One cried, then the other followed, as if they took turns reminding me that this was real. That they were here. That someone had just dropped a life-altering truth at my feet and walked away.

They didn't even look the same.

One had softer features, rounder cheeks. The other's eyes were sharper, more curious even through tears. Twins — but not mirrors. I lifted them one by one, my hands shaking, my heart racing.

"Shh… it's okay," I whispered, even though nothing was okay.

My body felt wrong. Heavy. Tight. Protective in ways I hadn't expected. My hand kept drifting to my stomach without permission, like my body was trying to remind me that I was already carrying a life. That I was already responsible.

I grabbed my car keys with trembling fingers.

I didn't think. I couldn't.

I wrapped the babies carefully, settling them into the back seat once they finally dozed off, their lashes resting softly against their cheeks like they had no idea what kind of storm they'd just been born into.

As I closed the car door, my chest burned.

Lihle… how could you do this to me?

The drive to the palace felt unreal. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. Every red light felt like punishment. Every second stretched too long.

I wasn't crying anymore.

I was past that.

I was empty — and emptiness is dangerous.

When I pulled into the palace driveway, the lights were bright. Warm. Inviting.

A happy home.

That made something in me snap.

Inside, laughter echoed from the dining room.

They were eating.

Together.

A family.

I stepped in slowly, my eyes swollen, my body stiff with rage and heartbreak and fear all tangled into one unbearable knot.

"Good evening," I said, my voice barely recognizable.

The room went quiet.

Khayelihle looked up first.

His smile faded instantly.

My knees almost buckled when our eyes met.

His mother was the next to notice.

"Olerato?" she said gently, already standing. "My child… what's going on?"

I swallowed hard. "Where is he?"

"I'm right here," Khayelihle said, pushing his chair back.

Behind him, Emihle froze mid-bite. Sbu's brows drew together in concern. Andile straightened slowly, sensing danger before it had a name.

I stepped aside.

They saw them then.

The babies.

Wrapped. Sleeping. Innocent.

The room shifted.

"What is this?" the Queen asked, her voice sharp now.

I laughed.

It came out broken. Ugly.

"These," I said, pointing, "are Khayelihle's children."

Silence exploded.

"What?" Emihle breathed.

Khayelihle's face drained of color. "No," he said quickly. "That's not—"

"Twins," I cut in. "One year and six months. Girls."

His mouth opened. Closed.

"You knew," I said, my voice rising. "You knew about them. You knew about her."

"That's not fair," he snapped. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly!" I shouted. "You built a life with me while another woman was raising your children alone!"

His mother gasped softly. "Khayelihle… is this true?"

He didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

"I'm done," I said quietly, my voice suddenly calm. "I'm leaving."

I turned.

That's when I heard it.

The metallic click.

I froze.

When I turned back, Khayelihle was standing — gun in his hand.

The world stopped breathing.

"You're not leaving," he said, his voice shaking. "Not like this."

Emihle screamed. "Khayelihle! Put that down!"

My heart pounded so loudly I thought I might collapse.

I stepped back instinctively, my hand flying to my stomach.

"Do you hear yourself?" I whispered. "You're pointing a gun at the mother of your child."

"You're not taking my family away from me," he said, tears filling his eyes now. "Not after everything."

I laughed again, hysterical this time. "Family?" I cried. "You already destroyed it!"

I stepped closer, fear blazing into fury.
"You want to trap me here?" I said. "Then know this — the baby growing inside me will never know you. Never. I swear it."

His breath hitched. "Don't say that."

"I just did."

Andile moved.

"Khayelihle," he said carefully, stepping forward. "Give me the gun."

"Stay back," Khayelihle warned.

Andile didn't listen.

He lunged.

Everything happened too fast.

Hands collided. Voices screamed. The babies started crying upstairs.

The gun went off.

The sound was deafening.

Pain exploded through my body.

White. Blinding. Burning.

I gasped, my legs giving out beneath me as something warm spread across my stomach.

"No—" Khayelihle screamed.

I hit the floor.

Another scream joined mine — Emihle's — as she collapsed too, blood staining her dress.

The room descended into chaos.

Khayelihle dropped the gun like it had burned him and fell to his knees beside me.

"Olerato—oh God—Rato—please—" His hands hovered helplessly, terrified to touch me.

I could barely breathe.

Everything hurt.

My hands shook as I pressed them against my stomach.

"My baby," I whispered. "Please… my baby…"

Khayelihle sobbed, pulling me into his arms, his face buried in my neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Sirens wailed in the distance.

The palace blurred.

The ceiling spun.

As darkness crept in, the last thing I felt was his tears soaking into my skin and the terrible, crushing weight of knowing—

This was the moment everything broke beyond repair.

OMPHILE – POV

Hospitals have a smell you never forget.

Disinfectant. Blood. Fear.

It clung to my skin as we stood there, trapped between white walls and unbearable silence, waiting for a verdict that could change everything. My sister lay behind those doors, fighting for her life again. Fighting for a baby again.

She couldn't lose another one.

Not after everything.

Not after she had already buried a child.

My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stand. I had to. Someone had to.

Onthatile wasn't standing.

She was broken.

She cried into Melikhaya's chest, her shoulders shaking so violently I thought her bones might crack. Melikhaya held her tightly, his jaw clenched, eyes red, whispering things I couldn't hear — prayers, maybe. Promises. Lies we tell ourselves when we're desperate.

The King stood tall but hollow, his face carved from stone, while the Queen sat beside Segametsi, holding her hand. Segametsi's face was swollen from crying, her eyes barely open, her lips trembling like she was afraid to breathe too hard and lose control completely.

Khayelihle…

I couldn't even look at him properly.

His shirt was still stained with Olerato's blood. Dark. Sticky. Proof of what his hands had caused even if the gun hadn't been meant for her. He stood frozen, like a man already condemned, while Sbu and Andile paced back and forth, back and forth, like caged animals.

Every step echoed.

Every second hurt.

Finally, the theatre doors opened.

A doctor stepped out.

My heart slammed so hard against my ribs I thought it would burst.

Everyone rushed forward at once.

"Doctor?" the Queen asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong.

The doctor raised his hands gently. "Please… one at a time."

He looked tired. The kind of tired that comes from carrying other people's grief.

"First," he said, "Emihle is stable."

A sharp gasp ripped through the group.

"She lost a lot of blood," he continued, "but the bullet missed any major organs. She's awake. She's going to recover."

For a split second, relief tried to settle.

Then he added—

"And the baby is safe."

The air left the room.

"What baby?" Segametsi whispered.

The doctor blinked. "Emihle is pregnant. Early stages. But the fetus is stable."

Shock hit us like a wave.

Onthatile pulled away from Melikhaya, her tears freezing on her cheeks. The Queen covered her mouth. The King's eyes widened. Even Khayelihle looked stunned, like he was hearing the words from underwater.

Pregnant?

Emihle?

"No," someone breathed.

That's when Castro stepped forward.

His face was pale, his voice too loud in the silence. "It's mine."

Every head snapped toward him.

"What did you just say?" Sbu asked dangerously.

Castro swallowed. "The baby. Emihle is carrying my baby."

The silence that followed was not calm.

It was violent.

Khayelihle moved first.

Then Andile.

Then Sbu.

They didn't speak.

They just attacked.

Fists flew. Castro went down hard, the sound of bone against tile echoing through the corridor. He tried to cover his face, but they didn't stop. Punch after punch. Rage poured out of them like poison that had waited too long to be released.

"Stop!" the Queen screamed.

"Enough!" the King roared.

But they didn't hear.

They couldn't.

Castro stopped moving.

His body went limp.

That's when fear finally cut through the rage.

"He's not breathing!" Segametsi screamed.

"Nurse!" I shouted. "Help! Someone help!"

Doctors and nurses came running, pushing them away, checking Castro's pulse, shouting instructions as they worked on him right there on the hospital floor.

My hands were shaking.

Everything was spiraling.

And then I snapped.

I turned to Andile, my chest burning, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"If you didn't fight for that gun," I said, my voice cracking, "maybe my sister would be holding her stomach right now instead of lying in an operating theatre."

He froze.

"We are done, Andile," I continued, every word slicing through the air. "I love you — mara you and your brothers bring nothing but trouble into our lives. Blood. Guns. Secrets. Death."

His eyes darkened.

"Watch how you speak to me," he warned, stepping closer. "Don't make me put you in a hospital bed too."

I laughed bitterly. "You think I'm scared of you right now? I'm already living my worst nightmare."

Onthatile turned toward Khayelihle then, her grief transforming into fury.

"This is your fault," she sobbed. "All of this! Your lies. Your silence. Your selfishness!"

Segametsi stood too, pointing at him with a shaking hand. "If you had told the truth, Olerato would not be bleeding. Emihle would not be shot. Those babies would not be motherless tonight."

Khayelihle didn't defend himself.

He just stood there, breaking piece by piece.

The theatre doors remained closed.

And behind them, my sister fought for her life — again.

I pressed my hands together and prayed silently.

Please, God.

Don't take another baby from her.

Not tonight.

Not ever.