THE RISE OF TUMELO By Author’s Voice Chapter 19

THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 19
NTANDO
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This pregnancy wasn’t planned because I know financially I’m struggling, Esihle is also from a struggling home. I am honestly not happy about this because I’m bringing an innocent child to poverty. I want to tell her to terminate, but I’m afraid she might think I’m a bad father to our unborn baby. I know how women are, if I tell her to terminate she’ll break up with me, take her bags and leave.
We’re in our bedroom, the dim light of the evening sun casting a warm glow through the window. The air is thick with the scent of cooked food, and the sound of distant laughter from the street below filters in. Esihle’s head is resting on my chest, her breathing slow and relaxed. I run my fingers through her hair, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me.
“Sihle,” I call for her, my voice low.
“Mhh,” she murmurs, lifting her head to look at me. Her eyes are soft, and for a moment, I get lost in their depths.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask, my hand drifting to her baby bump.
She smiles, a gentle curve of her lips, and nods multiple times. “You do know we’re bringing a baby to poverty, right?” I press on, trying to sound casual.
She nods again, sitting up straight, her hair rustling against the pillow. “Babe, relax, we’ll manage.” She always says that, but at the end of the day, I’m the one who has to hustle hard to bring something to the table.
“Besides, I’ll breastfeed,” she adds, a hint of a smile still on her face.
I look away, trying to gather my thoughts. She thinks milk is the only thing I’m worried about. I know a baby is expensive, and I don’t think I’m ready for this. I sit up straight on the bed, my back against the wall.
“Babe, I know you might hate me for this, but I think you should terminate,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth like a confession.
Esihle’s eyes widen in shock, her face going pale in the dim light. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She looks like she’s been punched in the gut.
“Excuse me?” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a mix of anger and hurt.
I realize I’ve treaded into dangerous territory. “Sihle, calm down, let’s talk about this—”
But Esihle cuts me off, her voice rising as she swings her legs off the bed. “Talk about it? You think we can talk about killing our baby like it’s a decision we’re casually making? No, Ntando. This is a life we’re talking about.” She puts a protective hand over her belly, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sadness.
I try to backpedal, knowing I’m handling this all wrong. “I mean, I just… I don’t want to bring a child into poverty, Sihle. We’re struggling as it is—”
“So you think the solution is to get rid of the baby?” she interrupts, her voice cracking as she stands up, her eyes blazing with tears. “Ntando, that’s not a solution. That’s giving up. And I’m not giving up on our baby. I’m not giving up on us.”
The air is thick with tension now. Esihle’s breathing hard, her fists clenched at her sides. I know I’ve pushed her to a breaking point.
“I’m sorry, Sihle… I didn’t mean it like that,” I try to apologize, reaching for her.
But Esihle pulls away, her expression a mix of hurt and anger. “You need to think about what you’re saying, Ntando. This is a life we’re talking about. Our life. Our baby.” She looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time, and it’s clear she’s scared – scared of what this means for them, for their future.
The silence that follows is heavy, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.
———
FOLLOWING MORNING
It’s 5am when I wake up, the darkness outside slowly giving way to the faint light of dawn. The room is shrouded in silence, except for the sound of Esihle’s gentle breathing, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Usually, she’d wake up early and prepare breakfast for me, but today she’s laying on the bed, deep in sleep, her face etched with exhaustion. I sigh, feeling a mix of disappointment and worry, and get off the bed. The cold floorboards beneath my feet are a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed, and I shiver involuntarily.
I head to the bathroom outside, the chilly morning air a wake-up call as I shower. The water is cold, and I gasp as it hits my skin, but it’s refreshing, and I try to shake off the lingering sleepiness. As I wash, I can’t help but think about the conversation we had last night, the words still hanging in the air like a bad omen. I know I hurt her, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Coming back, I find Esihle behind the stove, stirring a pot of soft porridge. The smell of maize meal and water fills the air, making my stomach twinge with hunger, but I know I won’t be eating it. She looks up, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, and for a moment, our gazes meet, but she quickly looks away, her face a mask of stone.
“Morning,” I greet, wrapping my arms around her waist, trying to break the silence, to rewind the clock and go back to a time when we were happy.
But she doesn’t respond, nor does she try to remove my hand on her. Her body is stiff, her focus solely on the porridge, and I feel a wave of desperation wash over me. I try to turn her around, to make her look at me, but she resists, her eyes fixed on the stove.
“Babe?” I say again, trying to get a reaction, to get her to talk to me.
She’s still not responding, her silence a clear indication of her hurt and anger. I feel a knot forming in my throat, and I know I’m in trouble. I sigh and head to where my clothes are, feeling a sense of defeat. I know she’s good with the silent treatment, and I know I deserve it.
I take my bag and head out, knowing she won’t allow me to eat what she cooked. Deep down, I pray I get a piece job today, something that’ll help me buy maize meal and a few other things we desperately need. The food in our room isn’t going to last us two days, and I don’t know what we’ll do if I don’t find something soon.
As I step out into the morning, the cool air hits me like a slap, and I know it’s going to be a long day. The sun is rising, casting a golden glow over the streets, but I don’t feel any hope, only a sense of foreboding, like the sky is about to come crashing down on me.
———
NARRATOR
Tshepo Mkhonto, a 35-year-old handsome man with a chiseled jawline, sits on the edge of his plush bed, his eyes scanning the luxurious bedroom of his mansion. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting a golden glow over the room, but Tshepo’s mood is far from sunny. He’s busy deleting and blocking numbers on his phone, his fingers moving swiftly as he tries to erase the evidence of his infidelity.
With a flourish, he deletes the last number, and a sense of relief washes over him. Without Khanyisa, he’s nothing – she found him with nothing, and she’s the one who built their empire. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. He can’t lose her, not now, not when he’s so close to having it all.
Just as he’s about to put his phone down, it rings, shattering the silence like a scream in the night. Tshepo’s heart skips a beat as he sees the unknown number on the screen. He hesitates for a moment, his finger hovering over the answer button, before finally picking up.
“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth, but his eyes narrow, his senses on high alert.
A husky voice purrs through the phone, sending a shiver down his spine. “You blocked my number.”
Tshepo’s grip on the phone tightens as he recognizes the voice – Nthabi, one of the many women he’s been cheating with. “You said it’s over, so what do you want?” he spats, his tone venomous.
There’s a pause, and for a moment, Tshepo thinks she’s hung up. But then, in a voice that sends a chill down his spine, she says, “I’m pregnant.”
Tshepo’s world comes crashing down. He leaps off the bed, his eyes wild, his phone clenched in his hand. “Don’t mess with me, Nthabi! You said you’re on contraceptives!” he roars, his voice echoing off the walls.
“I was, I guess…” she says, her voice trembling, but Tshepo isn’t having it.
He cuts her off, his face red with rage. “That thing you’re carrying is not mine. I’m a married man. Don’t ever call me again, bye!” He slams his finger on the end button, his chest heaving with anger.
The phone flies out of his hand, landing on the bed with a soft thud. Tshepo paces around the room, his mind racing, his heart pounding in his chest. What if Nthabi decides to tell Khanyisa? What if she decides to make a scene? He can’t let that happen. He needs to take care of this, and fast.
Tshepo’s eyes narrow, his mind working overtime to come up with a plan to get out of this mess. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect his marriage and his lifestyle.
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