Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hlelolenkosi Hlophe

Six weeks later.

We were sitting in the lounge after supper, the kids asleep, the air filled with the quiet hum of the fridge. That's when Lerato finally spoke up.

"Guys… I think they've learnt their lesson," she said softly, her eyes glued to the table. "And honestly… I miss my man."

We all looked at her. Lerato had been different these past few weeks — moodier than usual. One moment she was crying over burnt toast, the next she was laughing so hard her stomach hurt. And the way she ate? Yoh! We'd stopped being surprised.

Keabetswe leaned forward, nodding. "I stand with Lerato. It's enough now. Let's put it to a vote."

We sighed but agreed.

"Okay," I said. "Vote time. Yes means we call them, no means we give them more time."

Lerato: Yes.
Keabetswe: Yes.
Lethabo: No.
Rethabile: No.
Me, Hlelo: No.

The warehouse fell into silence. Two for yes, three for no. Lerato's eyes glossed over, and her lips trembled, but eventually she nodded and let it go.

Or so we thought.

Lerato

I couldn't take it anymore. My heart was aching. I slipped into my room, locked the door, and switched on my phone for the first time in weeks.

It lit up instantly — dozens of missed calls, countless unread messages. All from Senzo.

Before I could even process them, the phone vibrated.

Incoming call: Mageba ❤️

My hands shook as I answered. "Mageba…"

"Mama, ngiyaxolisa," he said, his voice breaking. Just those words melted me completely.

"Please… come fetch me," I whispered.

"Okay, ngiyeza. I'll use the tracker now that your phone is on."

And just like that, I knew everything was about to change.

Senzo Zulu

As soon as the call ended, I didn't waste time. I dropped messages into the group chat:

"Bafo, switch on your engines. I found them."

Within minutes, everyone was on the road. We drove in a tight convoy, headlights slicing through the night, engines roaring like lions in unison. It wasn't just a drive; it was a mission. A mission to bring our women home.

When we finally pulled up outside, Nkululeko froze. It was his wife's warehouse.

"Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. "I should've known."

He stepped out, unlocked the gate with trembling hands, and led us inside.

Hlelolenkosi Hlophe

We were in the middle of a heated argument about who had snitched when the sound of engines filled the air. My heart raced.

"Who told them?!" Lethabo hissed.

Keabetswe's eyes darted nervously, but Lerato broke down, tears spilling over her cheeks.

"It was me," she sobbed. "I couldn't take it anymore."

Before we could say anything else, the door swung open.

They were here.

Our men.

For a moment, the world stood still. Then, one by one, they rushed to us, pulling us into hugs, kissing foreheads, clutching their kids like they'd never let go again.

Across the room, I watched Tshego's little face light up. "Papa!" he squealed, crawling as fast as his chubby legs could carry him.

Ntando dropped to his knees, scooped him up, and hugged him tight. He kissed his forehead, then looked up at me. His eyes met mine, raw with emotion, and for a second the whole world disappeared.

We all sat down together, the air heavy but warm. Apologies poured out — some tearful, some quiet, some desperate. Words we had waited weeks to hear finally came.

And then, naturally, we broke off. Each couple retreating into their own corners, ready to have the private moments we had been starved of.

The warehouse, once a safe house for our anger, was now filled with love, apologies, and the sound of families piecing themselves back together.