Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hlelolenkosi Hlophe

Life at Lethabo's warehouse had turned into something like a secret getaway. It wasn't just a building — it was a fully furnished home, warm and cozy, with enough space for all of us and the kids. For once, we weren't running around cooking, cleaning, or stressing about our men's moods.

Here, we were just… women. Friends. Sisters.

Mornings started with us sitting around the big kitchen island, sipping tea and laughing over the most random things — from Tshego learning to walk and falling on his bum, to Lerato's twins fighting over who got the bigger slice of toast. The helper was around, making things easier, and for once we felt spoiled.

Afternoons were for pampering. We'd take turns braiding each other's hair, trying out face masks, or lying on the couches while the kids played together. The weight that had sat on our shoulders for so long was gone, and for the first time in years, we allowed ourselves to just breathe.

By evening, we'd gather in the living room, snacks spread out, wine glasses filled, a comedy show on TV, and the kids tucked in. The laughter came easy, healing the cracks left by betrayal.

For a while, it almost felt like paradise.

Meanwhile…

The men were spiraling.

Back in Joburg, frustration brewed like poison. Instead of dealing with their guilt, they drowned it in shady business. Nights blurred into heists, cash-in-transit (CIT) robberies, and ATM bombings.

What was once a calculated hustle now became reckless chaos. They needed to feel in control again, needed an outlet for their anger at losing us, so they poured it all into the streets. Money flowed fast, but so did blood. Every job was louder, riskier, more dangerous.

And every time they came back, they felt emptier.

Back at the warehouse…

We were sprawled on the couches, a bowl of popcorn between us, Tshego sleeping on my chest. The news anchor's voice cut through the jokes we'd been sharing.

"Breaking news: Johannesburg police are investigating a string of violent cash-in-transit robberies and ATM bombings that have left multiple people injured and millions of rands stolen. Authorities believe this is the work of a highly coordinated gang…"

The screen shifted to grainy CCTV footage — men in balaclavas, moving fast, carrying explosives, guns flashing under the streetlights.

We sat frozen. Our laughter died instantly.

The camera zoomed on one of the men, his build unmistakable. The way he walked, the way he carried himself… We knew.

That was our men.

I covered my mouth, heart pounding. "No… no, this can't be…"

But it was.

The room filled with silence so heavy it felt suffocating. Our men — the fathers of our children, the ones we had left to prove a point — were on the news, making headlines for destruction.

The paradise we'd built suddenly felt fragile, like it could shatter at any second.

And deep down, we all knew: sooner or later, their chaos would find its way back to us.