{"id":18977,"date":"2026-01-23T13:50:47","date_gmt":"2026-01-23T13:50:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/?p=18977"},"modified":"2026-01-23T13:50:47","modified_gmt":"2026-01-23T13:50:47","slug":"void-novel-chapter-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/void-novel-chapter-3\/","title":{"rendered":"VOID Novel Chapter 3"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
VOID<\/div>\n
\u00a92026 Sanelisiwe Ndlovu Hoko<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
CHAPTER THREE<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
SINENHLANHLA<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
When my father died, his family slammed the door in our faces. I was too young to remember the details, just fragments, really. But my mother told me enough. She told me how they threw her out like a stray dog the same day they buried him. As if she\u2019d never been his wife and pregnant with Kayise. They didn\u2019t let her stay and mourn. They took everything and gave us nothing.<\/div>\n
Now, twenty years later, this woman stands in front of me at my workplace, tears streaming down her face, calling me \u2018mntanomnewethu\u2019 like I\u2019m some long-lost lamb returning to the herd.<\/div>\n
I\u2019m out of the office now, looking her in the eye, anger simmering.<\/div>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know you and I don\u2019t want to know you. Please.\u201d<\/div>\n
She wipes her eyes, voice trembling. \u201cI\u2019m your aunt. The youngest at home. We\u2019ve spent twenty years looking for you, every lead taking us to a dead end. To think I swapped places with a friend last minute so I can come here, now I see it wasn\u2019t coincidence. It was meant to be, so I could find you.\u201d<\/div>\n
I let out a dry laugh. \u201cLooking for us where? Didn\u2019t your family kick us out? Your parents threw my pregnant mother onto the street and took my father\u2019s inheritance. Don\u2019t you dare act as if you ever cared.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNo one kicked anyone out,\u201d she insists, suddenly firmer. \u201cSiphokazi left the same day Butho was buried. My father begged her to stay, even just a week. She refused. An argument even escalated and there was a soldier wo threatened to have my father arrested for abusing a widow. I remember everything. You wore a pink dress, black shoes and a pink bow with a black rose which I gave you to match your outfit. You even\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWe are not talking about outfits!\u201d I snap. \u201cI could\u2019ve been naked for all I care! My point is your greedy family cast us out and stole what was ours. Now you come here, dripping fake tears, calling me family like you didn\u2019t let us starve while you feasted on my father\u2019s blood money? Uyanginyela sisi wabantu.\u201d<\/div>\n
Gift nudges my elbow. \u201cMind your language, Nhlanhla.\u201d<\/div>\n
I whirl on him. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare tell me what to mind. This woman can\u2019t just waltz here and claim kinship like it\u2019s a gift.\u201d<\/div>\n
I charge to Lihle and stand before her with my chest out. \u201cI raised myself. I raised Kayise. I went to school on handouts from NGOs that sometimes forgot to pay my fees for two terms. And all the while, your family sat in comfort, living off the pension of a man who died fighting for this country while his daughters ate dust.\u201d<\/div>\n
Lihle\u2019s hands shake. Tears fall faster. \u201cWhat money? No one applied for Butho\u2019s pension. We didn\u2019t know where you were. My mother never stopped talking about you, wondering if you ate or in school wherever you were. She fell apart after your father\u2019s death. She\u2019s still on depression medication.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI hope that medication runs out,\u201d I hiss. \u201cI hope she dies the way she lived, like a witch. I hate her. I hate you. And I hate that I had to inherit these owl eyes of yours.\u201d<\/div>\n
I grab her by the shoulders and shake her hard. My fingers dig into her collarbones like I could rattle the lies right out of her. \u201cI hate you,\u201d I spit, voice trembling with fury. \u201cI hate your family. I hate your dead brother who left behind people who never once asked if we were alive! I hate you, Lihle! Do you hear me? I hate you!\u201d<\/div>\n
I say it again and again, like a chant or a curse.<\/div>\n
\u201cI hate you. I hate you. I hate you.\u201d<\/div>\n
As if repetition could carve the truth into her skin. As if saying it enough times would make her feel even a fraction of what we felt, abandoned, erased and starved while they enjoyed my father\u2019s money.<\/div>\n
She doesn\u2019t fight back or pull away. Instead, she shuts her eyes tight and lets the tears stream down, silent and endless, as though she\u2019s not defending herself\u2026 but accepting it. She deserves every word. Her silence makes me want to scream even louder.<\/div>\n
\u201cI hate __\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on here?\u201d Mr. Khabo\u2019s voice cuts through the air like a whip.<\/div>\n
I let go of Lihle and cross my arms, still trembling with rage. He takes in the scene and his face smooths into that practiced mask of professionalism.<\/div>\n
\u201cWelcome to our school,\u201d he says, suddenly warm, shaking hands with Lihle and her colleagues like nothing happened. \u201cPlease, come this way.\u201d<\/div>\n
He leads them off without another glance at me.<\/div>\n
\u201cThat- was-bad,\u201d Gift mutters, already backing away.<\/div>\n
I get back inside the office. Tears stream down, endless. It hurts. Not just in my chest or throat.<\/div>\n
It\u2019s physical. I can\u2019t even breathe. My lungs burn. My hands tremble. My knees threaten to buckle. It\u2019s not just grief, it\u2019s suffocation. Like the fire that took my house didn\u2019t stop burning, it followed me here, wrapped its smoke around my neck and pushed me deeper into the water of my own past.<\/div>\n
I\u2019m drowning. Not in tears, but in twenty years of anger. With every sob, I feel myself sinking further, dragged down by the weight of a family that abandoned us when it mattered most. Now they want to claim us when it\u2019s convenient for them? That\u2019s crazy.<\/div>\n
There was a time, when I was younger and hopeful, I wished for this moment. I imagined meeting them, looking them in the eye, and asking them why did they abandon us and if ever they thought of us. I used to hope that if they ever saw me, they would be happy. But Siphokazi never wanted to talk about them, even my grandmother. Not once. My father\u2019s name was always spoken in whispers, if at all. It was as if saying it too loud might summon ghosts.<\/div>\n
I remember one afternoon; I must\u2019ve been twelve. I\u2019d found the only photo we had of him tucked inside an old Bible. I showed it to Kayise. Sibongile saw us. She didn\u2019t say anything, she just hit me hard across the cheek and snatched the photo from my hands like it was poison. I never saw his face again.<\/div>\n
I closed the chapter on them and accepted I will never have any relationship with that family. Seeing Lihle and her telling me I\u2019m her late brother\u2019s daughter is like a wound ripped open all over again. I don\u2019t want her love. I don\u2019t want her stories of being the caring aunt.<\/div>\n
I just want the past to stay buried, where my mother put it.<\/div>\n
A hand taps my shoulder. I look up and meet Mr. Khabo\u2019s blazing stare.<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat was that stunt?\u201d he demands, voice low and dangerous.<\/div>\n
\u201cThat woman is my aunt and\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t care who she is to you,\u201d he cuts in. \u201cThose are social workers. Sent here because of the student suicide last month. When you sit behind that desk, you represent this school, not your personal vendettas. I expect professionalism always. Not a public breakdown over family drama.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cProfessional to the people who abandoned me? Who treated me like\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cLihle is here as a social worker, not your aunt,\u201d he snaps. \u201cYou could\u2019ve saved your fury for after. But no, you chose to scream in front of her colleagues. Did you even think how that makes us look? Like we can\u2019t control our own staff?\u201d<\/div>\n
I say nothing. There\u2019s no point. He\u2019s already judged me. He doesn\u2019t know what it cost me to get here; how many nights I studied by candlelight or how many shoes I wore through to the sole. He doesn\u2019t know that while Lihle sat in classrooms paid for by my father\u2019s death, I fought for every scrap of education I could find.<\/div>\n
\u201cI think you\u2019re in no state to work right now,\u201d he says coldly. \u201cPack your things and go.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cSir, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d I whisper, hands raised like a beggar\u2019s.<\/div>\n
\u201cSorry doesn\u2019t undo the damage, Nhlanhla. We\u2019re all carrying burdens, but we don\u2019t drag them into the workplace. You can\u2019t sit at that front desk with your claws bared.\u201d<\/div>\n
I can\u2019t look at him. My chest is hollow. I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m being fired or suspended. I don\u2019t ask. One wrong word and he might make it permanent. I grab my handbag; there\u2019s nothing here that\u2019s truly mine anyway and turn to leave.<\/div>\n
He holds out his palm for the keys. I hand them over without a word and walk out, dragging my feet like they\u2019re filled with stone.<\/div>\n
I think of saying goodbye to Gift or Olay, but with everything collapsing around me, the last thing I want is to bleed on people who\u2019ve only ever shown me kindness.<\/div>\n
\u201cSinenhlanhla.\u201d A voice calls behind me. I turn and see the one and only Miss. Social worker, the aunt whose education was funded by money that should have taken care of us. I want to continue walking because I know what will come out of my mouth right now will be venomous. I don\u2019t want to be accused of tarnishing the image of this school more than I have already did. But I decide to stop, I\u2019m no longer representing the school anymore. I\u2019m just me.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou walk like your father,\u201d she says softly. \u201cThose long strides.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat do you want, Lihle?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cTo talk.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI have nothing to say to you. The only person I\u2019d ever want to talk to is your depressed mother. Not you. You grew fat on my father\u2019s money while I scraped mold off bread just to survive. And now you\u2019re paid in bank transfers while I get my salary in a brown envelope at a rural school. Don\u2019t pretend you love me.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s exactly why we need to talk,\u201d she says, stepping closer. \u201cI understand your anger. But Sinenhlanhla, you\u2019ve been fed lies. Someone told you you were kicked out. But that\u2019s not the full story.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAre you calling my mother a liar?\u201d My voice is ice. \u201cShe had nothing to gain from lying. But you have everything to hide.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not saying she lied,\u201d Lihle says quickly. \u201cBut there are two sides to every story. Hear mine. Then decide who\u2019s telling the truth.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t need to decide,\u201d I spit. \u201cI lived the truth. Your version is just smoke.\u201d<\/div>\n
She takes a breath then asks, quiet and sudden:<\/div>\n
\u201cI heard you mention Kayise. Is she a boy or a girl?\u201d<\/div>\n
I stare at her. \u201cIs that part of your social work now? Get lost, Miss Social Worker. Have a good day.\u201d<\/div>\n
She opens her mouth to speak.<\/div>\n
I raise my hand. \u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d Then I walk away.<\/div>\n
I don\u2019t look back until I\u2019m at the gate. She\u2019s still standing there, still as stone. A conniving bitch who inherited a life that was never hers.<\/div>\n
I pull out my phone and call Siphokazi. She hasn\u2019t spoken to me since the fire. I thought I will never contact her as well, but she needs to hear this.<\/div>\n
\u201cSinenhlanhla,\u201d she answers. \u201cStop treating my phone like your playground. Two calls in a week is invading my privacy.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t want to miss this.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYour house burned, I heard. I told you I don\u2019t have money and you cannot stay with me.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cLihle Ndlovu is here.\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence. Then, \u201cYour father\u2019s younger sister? Umntanomthakathi (daughter of a witch) What does that one want?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s a social worker. They came to the school on duty. You should have seen her crying, saying she \u2018finally found her brother\u2019s child,\u2019 that they\u2019ve been \u2018searching for us for years.\u2019\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI hope you didn\u2019t believe that snake,\u201d Siphokazi hisses. \u201cThat family isn\u2019t just evil, they\u2019re witches Nhlanhla. They killed your father for his pension. I don\u2019t want their shadows near you.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cOf course I didn\u2019t believe her. I told her exactly where to go.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou did right my dear. Don\u2019t allow her near you or talk to her. She will tell you nothing but lies. Everything you want to know about your father, you can ask from me. They never cared about you, why start now?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI know mom.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t even give her your contact details. She might bewitch you. I will talk to my husband and see if perhaps we can drive there and put this Lihle in her place.\u201d<\/div>\n
I knew Lihle was a liar. I\u2019m glad I never gave a chance to explain anything.<\/div>\n
.<\/div>\n
.<\/div>\n
.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

VOID \u00a92026 Sanelisiwe Ndlovu Hoko CHAPTER THREE SINENHLANHLA When my father died, his family slammed the door in our faces. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18977","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-void-novel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18977","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18977"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18977\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18988,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18977\/revisions\/18988"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18977"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18977"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18977"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}