PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 26
LINDIWE SMITH
The house had finally emptied — or at least it had pretended to. Footsteps faded down long corridors, doors clicked shut, and the heavy hush of evening settled into the rooms like velvet. I pressed my back against the cool plaster of the bathroom wall and closed my eyes. For a moment, I let the quiet cushion the noise in my head: Tony’s thinly veiled threats, Jayden’s frightened face, Roy’s storm brewing somewhere not far away.
My thumb hovered over my phone. I had told myself there would be no calls, And yet here I was, looking at the saved number that had been hidden under “J” and two small, stupid hearts — childish, sentimental things I’d never bothered to remove because some parts of a mother are softer than they should be. I pressed it.
It rang once. Twice. Then Jayden’s voice, a scraped whisper, threaded through the line. “Mom?”
I swallowed. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Where are you now?”
There was a pause — then, “Somewhere out of the city. I’m on a bus.”
A bus. My throat tightened. “You need to get rid of this phone?”
“Okay.” His breath hitched, like he was trying not to breathe too loud.
“Ma They are looking for me.”
“Did Roy—” I started, then stopped. Names were dangerous now. Saying the right syllables might carve my throat open.
“No. I told them I was at the club with friends. They believed it for an hour.” He let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Who would think I’d run?”
“You were scared,” I said, because it was true and because truth mattered less than cover sometimes. “Where are you headed?”
“Cape Town,” he said. “A friend of a friend arranged a ride. I’m meeting him at the bus depot in Somerset West. I—” His voice broke. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to fail you ”
My hand tightened on the phone. “You didn’t fail me anywhere,” I said sharply. “You are just a stupid dont contact that .stupid girl”
“I’m sorry it just that I don’t you yo get in trouble “
I laughed, soft and dark. “Trouble? Since when has that word meant anything to me? I’ve been living in it all my life.” The admission slipped out easier than I planned. I had been a woman of choices, not confessions.
“Listen to me, J. You did the right thing. You ran. Good. Don’t come back.”
“You helped me leave,” he said, a question and an accusation tangled together.
My fingers found the cold sink behind me. “Yes…you my son ” I didn’t apologize. There was no need. Helping him had been a decision I’d made while he was going to sing my name when Roy tortures him
“I told you before,” I said. “Sometimes fear makes your hands work faster than your mouth. I called a driver I owe a favor to. He’s loyal because people like him don’t forget kindness or debt. He moved you out through the back lane, the old service entrance. No cameras. No one saw you. I told him if anyone asked, say you were picked up for an emergency. He’s good, Jayden. He knows how to vanish with a trunk full of secrets.”
There was silence on the line long enough for me to hear the faint shuffle of a bus station, the distance crackle of a PA announcement. “You could get caught,” he said finally.
“That’s why you don’t look like yourself,” I said. “You cut your hair, the driver bought you an old coat, and you throw your shoulders wrong. Act like a man who’s just stepped off a train and has other plans. Don’t be special. Special gets noticed.”
His laugh, small and relieved, made something in my chest unclench. “You sounded like a general.”
“A general who birthed two useless sons,” I muttered, then added softer, “and one stubborn one who thinks he can fix everything on his own.”
“Mayi—” He started to ask about her, and the sound of her name was a raw thing between us both. I could hear the way his voice folded around the worry for her like it always did when he cared too much.
“Get that bitch out of your head moron….she is the reason we in this shit,” I said. It was a lie I would make true.
“She has bodyguards. Don’t go near her. Don’t call her. The less you touch this with your hands, the better.”
“You’re sure she—” He didn’t finish. I could hear the guilt unraveling him.
“you are stupid my son i clap hands for you” My voice softened.
There was a new sound then — the faint shuffle of people near him. He whispered, “They’re boarding. Mom, I can’t talk long.”
“Listen to me,” I said, the command brittle but tender.
“When you get to Cape Town, head straight to the old guesthouse on Buitenkant Road. The owner’s name is Mthetho. He owes me a favor. Tell him Lindiwe sent you. He’ll give you a room on the top floor. Don’t talk to anyone about us.Don’t mention Roy. Don’t mention you are Jayden Smith. Tell them you’re a student with no papers. Keep your voice small.”
“You’re risking a lot,” he said, incredulous.
“And you’re alive, aren’t you?” I replied. “Risk and life are married. I chose life.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” His voice was raw now, the son beneath the mask.
“You don’t choose for me,” I said. The words were soft, brutal. “I choose for you. Always. That’s what mothers do. I know Roy he will kill you…”
“How long can you keep hiding me?” There it was — the inevitable question: the horizon of safety.
“As long as I have to,” I lied again, because lies were tools and sometimes a lie was better than panic.
“Mthetho’s house is small and won’t attract attention. I’ll help with money wired under other names. Change buses, don’t stay in one place too long. Get work. Keep off social media. If you have to change your name, change it. I’ll give you papers through channels. I’ll do what I can.”
“You’ll come see me?” His need for the physical closeness — the one thing I could not give without endangering him — was a finger pressed into the place where regret lived.
“I can’t,” I said immediately. “Not yet. If I move, they will trace me. If they trace me, they will find you. For now, we stay apart. We send messages through safe routes. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.” The lie tasted metallic