The morning rose heavy with tension, as if the sun itself hesitated to shine upon the Davids' household. Life resumed in mechanical rhythm—work, college, routines stitched into the fabric of their lives. In the kitchen, Maria moved like a woman trained to forget pain, preparing breakfast as if last night's storm hadn't shaken the walls.
Star entered, her steps deliberate, voice calm but calculated.
"Morning, ma'am?"
Maria flinched slightly, masking it with a warm smile.
"Oh, Star, morning… I'm so sorry about last night. The accusations… I'm just trying to protect my family's name. Reputation is everything."
"It's okay, ma'am," Star replied smoothly, voice soft but laced with warning. "When someone's first plan fails, they always have a backup."
Maria caught the meaning, the jab well-placed, and fought to keep her smile from cracking.
"You see, Kefas wronged us before. I thought his apology was sincere, but clearly… he wanted to strike again."
Star kept her thoughts quiet, but her eyes burned with fire: "Still lying. Do I look blind to you? Lord, how do I corner her without setting off alarms?"
Out loud, she offered, "Can I help with breakfast? You should start getting ready for work."
"No need. Let's finish together. I don't take long," Maria replied, still pretending.
As they chopped, stirred, and moved in choreographed avoidance, Star set her bait.
"Madam, I've noticed something… odd. Why do you get nervous whenever Mandume walks in unexpectedly?"
Maria blinked. "What? Nervous? Who's Mandume—oh, Mendu. No, I'm not. I'm his mother. Why would I be?"
"Exactly. You're his mother. So why do you look like you're hiding a ghost every time he surprises you?"
"What are you insinuating?" Maria's voice had cooled.
Star gave a sly smile. "If you are hiding something, madam, your mask is slipping. Try acting normal next time." She dropped the line and walked out, leaving Maria frozen.
Upstairs, Star searched for Mandume. When she didn't find him in his room, she turned to head back—only to see him coming out of hers. They both stopped.
"Where were you? I was looking for you—" they said in unison, then again,
"Where—?"
Mandume chuckled. "Ladies first."
"Morning," she said finally.
"Morning, Star. Sleep well?"
"Pretty well," she replied, taking his wrist and leading him silently to her room. She locked the door behind them.
"What are you doing?"
"Arresting you," she said half-seriously, then added, "Mendu, I found something… about your father."
His face tensed. "What is it?"
"Not sure yet. But I need your trust."
"Star—"
"Just look." She showed him the screenshots—Google searches, a patient record, a clinic's logo.
"Paola Asylum?" He frowned. "This doesn't mean anything. My father wasn't mentally ill—"
"Exactly. That's the mystery. Why would your mother issue a cheque of N$5,000 to that clinic—signed by her—on the exact day your father vanished? She isn't even in the finance department."
Mandume stiffened. "Don't accuse my mother. She's off-limits."
"Mendu, open your eyes. You love her—I get that—but love shouldn't be blind. Haven't you noticed how she flinches around you? Like she's afraid?"
Mandume's tone sharpened. "Stop. Just stop. If this is how you're going to twist things, stay out of it. I'll find my father on my own."
He turned to leave, but Star blocked him, slapping the report into his chest.
"Then explain this."
Mandume scanned the report—his father's name, the asylum's signature, the dates, Maria's name inked in black. His face drained of color.
"No… no, no… Dad?"
He bolted to the living room, report in hand. Star followed, too late to stop the collision.
Maria and Bonita were seated, halfway through breakfast.
Mandume struck the report onto his mother's plate. "Where is my father?"
"Mandume! I'm eating!" Maria snapped.
"This isn't about food, it's about truth!"
Bonita blinked. "Wait… what's going on?"
Maria's face lost all warmth when she recognized the report.
"How did you get this?"
"Answer the question: where is he?"
"That's private—"
"He disappeared five years ago! You knew where he was the entire time! You lied!"
Bonita picked up the report, her eyes widening.
"Dad was mentally unstable?"
"ENOUGH!" Maria stood abruptly. "Yes. I kept it from you. I thought it was better that way… for your sake."
"Where is he now?" Mandume demanded.
"He disappeared again last August. The clinic doesn't know where he went."
Bonita looked broken. "You mean he's… missing again? And you just carried on like everything was normal?"
"I didn't want you two to suffer like I did."
"You weren't the only one who loved him!" Mandume shouted. "And don't pretend it was all for our good!"
"You lied to us for five years," Bonita added bitterly.
Maria's voice cracked. "What was I supposed to do? Tell you he was deteriorating? That he wasn't the man you remembered?"
Mandume's voice wavered. "But the police… you must have made them hide the truth too."
"You dare accuse me of that?!"
Star stepped in, voice calm but firm. "Maybe I shouldn't speak, but… don't be too quick to judge. She was trying to carry your pain, alone. Five years of silence isn't easy—it's slow death in disguise."
Mandume bit his lip. "Still… we had a right to know."
"We all make bad calls in pain," Star said. "But now the truth is here. What matters is what you do with it."
"If not for Star," Mandume said, glaring at his mother, "we'd still be in the dark."
Maria's eyes snapped to Star, realization dawning.
"It was you who brought this report?"
"I accept I was wrong," Maria said, voice soft. "But I beg for your forgiveness. Please… try to see where I was coming from."
"I'm disappointed in you, mom," Mandume said coldly.
Star raised a hand, voice sharp.
"Hey. Manners. This is your mother—flawed, yes—but she's still your blood."
The silence that followed wasn't peace. It was a wound being exposed to air for the first time—raw, stinging, but healing at last.