Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lerato

I had just finished cooking dinner, the aroma of curry and rice lingering through the house. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and made my way upstairs to fetch Senzo. When I got there, he was standing on the balcony, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. Senzo isn't a smoker — not unless the world is pressing down on him. My heart tightened, but I didn't ask. I knew if I pushed, he'd only retreat deeper into himself.

Instead, I slipped my arms around his waist from behind, resting my cheek on his back. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the night, and then placed his hand over mine. After a moment, he turned, kissed me softly, and then his hand drifted down to my stomach. He pressed his lips there, gently, reverently. That simple act said more than his words ever could — he wasn't just carrying his burden; he was carrying us.

Ntandoyenkosi Zulu

Later that night, the boys and I were on a group call. The line was tense with silence, voices low, cautious.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, staring at my own reflection in the black screen of my phone.

Nkululeko's voice came through steady but heavy: "Let's wait for him to strike. We don't want to be the ones who initiate the war."

The others agreed. No one wanted to say it out loud, but we all knew what "him" meant: Rodrigo. A man you don't provoke unless you've lost the will to live.

I was still holding the phone when Hlelo appeared from the bedroom, her hair wrapped in a scarf, her body relaxed from putting Tshego to sleep. She wandered into the kitchen, opening cupboards.

"Who are we waiting for to strike?" she asked casually, like it was just another conversation she'd walked into.

My heart lurched. She had no idea. If she knew the kind of war we were inviting into our lives, she'd never sleep again. She turned, waiting for an answer.

Instead, I stood, walked over, and kissed the side of her neck. She stiffened in surprise, then melted. I kissed her deeper, needing her to forget, needing myself to forget. Soon enough, the call was ended, and the night was consumed by us — clinging to each other like we could hold the world at bay.

Hlelolenkosi Hlophe

Morning came like any other. I packed Tshego's lunch, drove him to daycare, kissed his cheek, and hurried off to work. Ntando had said he'd be working from home today. I pictured him in sweatpants, laptop open, coffee steaming on the side table while the hum of life buzzed outside. That was my comfort — the idea that even if I wasn't there, he was.

Work dragged on as usual. conducting tests, inserting drips, seeing patients. I was just about to clock out when my phone rang. It was Ntando.

"Baby, did you fetch Tshego?" His voice was sharp, frantic.

Confused, I answered, "Ntando, what do you mean did I fetch Tshego? I'm still at work. I'm about to knock off."

There was silence. Then his voice cracked, low and panicked. "Baby… I can't find Tshego. His teacher says his uncle fetched him. I called the boys — no one has seen him."

The ground dropped beneath me. My chest tightened, the air vanished, and all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. My fingers went numb, the phone slipping slightly in my hand. The last thing I remember before everything went black was Ntando shouting my name through the line.

Lights out.