ZAMAHLOBO, THE BLOOD WIFE
CHAPTER 04
The amber liquid in his glass catches the low light of the study. Mandla swirls it, the ice clinking a soft, lonely rhythm. Across from him, his younger brother Bongani breaks the long silence.
“I heard you and Sibonelo arguing last night. Is everything alright?”
Mandla looks up, the weight of the day etched into his features. He sighs, a sound that seems to come from deep within. “He is angry that I made Mkhonto CEO instead of him.”
“Do you blame him?” Bongani’s question is gentle but pointed.
Mandla’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Sibonelo has given that company four years of his life. He has worked tirelessly, made real sacrifices. He even married Zenzile to solidify the family alliance you wanted.” Bongani leans forward, his voice earnest. “Everyone expected him to succeed you—I did too. Then Mkhontowesizwe comes home, and you hand him the crown. How did you expect Sibonelo to feel? Put yourself in his shoes, Mandla. He’s bound to feel betrayed. He earned that entitlement.”
Mandla looks down into his whisky, Bongani’s words sinking in, settling like a stone in his gut. He hadn’t considered the perspective of the son who had stayed, who had played by all the rules. The cost of his decision suddenly feels heavier, more complex than he’d allowed himself to see.
–
MKHONTOWESIZWE
Adjustment is a slow, grating process. For the past two weeks and a half, MaPhakathwayo i.e Zamahlobo—has been a steady presence, mapping the vast terrain of Ngwenya Logistics for him. Today, they navigated the dense forest of finances. The company is healthy, prosperous. A well-oiled machine he now ostensibly drives.
“And… that’s all for today,” Zamahlobo concludes, her voice pulling him from a cascade of numbers.
He blinks, returning to the room. The world outside the floor-to-ceiling windows is dark, the city lights glittering like scattered diamonds.
“I should probably get going. It’s late,” she says, gathering her folders.
He checks his wristwatch. Half past eight. They’d been buried in work, oblivious to the passing hours.
“You are right. ”
Wordlessly, they pack up and walk out together, their footsteps echoing in the deserted executive hallway.
“Thank you,” he says as they push through the glass doors into the cool night air.
She looks at him, a surprised chuckle escaping her. “ You are welcome.”
She lingers by the entrance, checking her watch, then her phone. Her face falls as she sees the screen. Over ten missed calls from ‘Mnqobi.’ She tries calling back—straight to voicemail. Sindiswa’s phone is off as well . A familiar knot of anxiety tightens in her stomach.
The purr of an engine makes her look up. Mkhontowesizwe’s black sedan idles at the curb, the passenger window down. He assumed she’d left.
“Why are you still here?” he asks.
“Waiting for a taxi.”
He glances at his watch again. “At this hour?”
“I’m… hopeful.”
He stares ahead for a moment, his jaw working. A silent battle between indifference and obligation. With a sharp sigh, he relents.
“MaPhakathwayo, get in. I’ll drive you home.”
The offer, gruff as it is, feels like a lifeline. “Are you sure?”
“Are you coming or not?”
She doesn’t need another invitation. She slips into the luxurious interior, giving him directions to her apartment. The drive is quiet, filled with a strangely comfortable silence. In twenty-five minutes, he pulls up outside her building.
True to a forgotten form of chivalry, he gets out and opens her door, offering a hand to help her step onto the pavement.
“Thank you. My car is at the mechanic, so…”
“You don’t have to explain.” He closes the door. “Get some rest.”
“Goodnight.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, stopping her. “Can you take me to the site of the new building project?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Then tomorrow at eight, I’ll be here.”
“Here?”
“Your car is still at the mechanic right .I’ll be your chauffeur until it’s back. Consider it… a thank you.” The words are awkward, unused.
A small, genuine smile touches her lips. “Okay then, Sizwe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I prefer Mkhonto.”
“Well,I prefer Sizwe. Goodbye.” She turns and walks toward her building.
He watches until she disappears inside, a figure of puzzling resilience, he slowly chuckles before sliding back behind the wheel and driving into the night.
–
ZAMAHLOBO
She steps into her apartment, the click of the lock a sound of relief. She flicks the light switch.
Her heart lurches, then hammer-stops.
Mnqobi is seated on her couch, shrouded in the shadows she just dispelled. He isn’t sleeping. He’s waiting.
“Babe! I didn’t know you were here.” She forces calm into her voice, setting her bag down, shrugging off her blazer.
“Where were you?” The question is a low wire, strung tight.
“At work.”
“Until now?”
“Yes. We lost track of time.” She moves toward the kitchen, needing space, needing to break his intense gaze. “I’m tired and hungry.”
“I called you. Multiple times.” He stands, a slow, threatening uncoiling. “Who was he?”
“Who?”
“The man who dropped you off. In a very expensive car.”
“Ohh that was Mkhontowesizwe. My boss.” She keeps her voice level, turning back to face him.
“You call your boss by his name?And since when do bosses give their employees personal rides home?” He takes a step closer. The air in the room thickens.
“What is with this interrogation, Mnqobi? I’m exhausted.” She tries to move past him again.
His hand shoots out, fingers digging into her arm as he yanks her back to face him. The grip is painfully tight. “ Zamahlobo ngikhuluma nawe . [I’m talking to you ]?”
Fury, hot and sharp, rises above her fear. “I already told you! Are you that insecure?”
The crack of the slap is shockingly loud in the quiet apartment. Her head snaps to the side, a white-hot sting blooming across her cheek. For a second, the world is silent and buzzing. Slowly, she brings a trembling hand to her face, tears of pain and disbelief springing to her eyes.
“Mnqobi… you slapped me?”
His own anger seems to evaporate,replaced by a panicked realization. He releases her arm as if burned. “I’m sorry, sthandwa sami. I didn’t mean to. I just… I was worried, and you weren’t answering…”
“Get out.” Her voice is a whisper, then a fracture. “Get out!”
“Zama,please—”
“GET OUT!”she screams, the sound raw and guttural. “Don’t make me call my brother! Get out of my house! NOW!”
He stares at her, at the fiery defiance in her tear-filled eyes, and sees a line has been irrevocably crossed. Without another word, he leaves.
She locks the door, slides the chain, and leans against it, her body trembling. Then she sinks to the floor, the sobs finally breaking free. It was the first time. And with a resolve that hardens through the tears, she vows it will be the absolute last.
–
SIBONELO
The house is a tomb of quiet luxury when Sibonelo enters. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks solemnly. Half past nine. Everyone must be asleep. He begins climbing the stairs, his body heavy with a fatigue that is more emotional than physical.
“Sibonelo.”
He nearly misses a step. His father sits in a high-backed armchair in the dimly lit livingroom, a spectral figure waiting in the dark.
“Baba. You’re still up.”
“I was waiting for you. We need to talk. Sit.”
Sibonelo descends the steps and sits on the sofa opposite him, bracing himself.
“Before you start,”Sibonelo begins, his voice carefully measured, “I want to speak first. I’m sorry for my behavior yesterday. I was disrespectful. Ngiyaxolisa.”
Mandla watches him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s okay. I was wrong too. I didn’t see it from your perspective. After all you’ve done, you were bound to feel… overlooked. Making Mkhontowesizwe CEO without discussing it with you was a mistake.”
Sibonelo nods, the admission loosening something tight in his chest. “I was angry. More than that, I was disappointed. But I’ve had time to think. I’m perfectly content as COO. I shouldn’t have counted my chickens. Mkhontowesizwe is the rightful CEO.”
“Are you sure?” Mandla searches his son’s face.
“Yes.I’m sure.” Sibonelo stands, the movement final. “I’m tired. I’ll get some rest now.”
“Sibonelo.”
He turns at the foot of the stairs.
“I might not say it often,”Mandla says, his voice rough with emotion. “But I am proud of you, my son. Truly.”
A real, weary smile touches Sibonelo’s lips. He nods once, then continues upstairs. He will apologize to Mkhontowesizwe tomorrow. He will play his part.
–
MKHONTOWESIZWE
He is parked outside her apartment at 7:50 a.m., engine off. Precisely at eight, she emerges, but something is wrong. She walks with her head slightly bent, her stride less assured. As she gets closer, he sees it: the careful, heavy layer of foundation on her left cheek, imperfectly masking a faint, telltale swelling.
“I was just finishing up. Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, avoiding his eyes entirely.
He gets out of the car, his gaze fixed on her. He doesn’t speak, just studies her face with an intensity that makes her want to shrink away. Slowly, he removes his hand from his pocket and gently, but firmly, tilts her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“What happened to your cheek?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She tries to pull away, but his hold is steady.
“MaPhakathwayo,angisona islima mina. I won’t ask again.”
The concern in his voice, so uncharacteristically soft, undoes her. She looks down, shame heating her neck.
“My boyfriend slapped me yesterday. He was angry that I didn’t return his calls and on top of that returned late .I already broke things off with him so it doesn’t matter anymore.”
He releases her chin, his hand curling into a fist at his side. A cold, dangerous stillness settles over him.
“What is his name?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I could kill him for you if you asked,”he says, his voice a low, controlled tremor. “How dare he lay a hand on you. He needs to be taught a lesson.”
“No! There’s no need. Just let it go. It’s over. Let’s just go to work.”
“No.”The word is final. “You take the day off. I need to go somewhere.”
He turns, strides back to his car, and gets in.
“Wait! Mkhonto, where are you going?” Her question is lost to the roar of the engine as he peels away from the curb, leaving her standing alone, a storm of protective, unpredictable fury speeding toward an unknown destination.