Shadows at Forty-Seven
Chapter 2: Quiet Bridges
The next morning, the house held a strange kind of energy. Not quite warmth, but no longer the cold silence Katlego had grown used to.
He stood in the kitchen, scrambling eggs with care for the first time in years. The smell of onions and toast filled the air. His tie hung loosely around his neck, the radio softly humming an old Brenda Fassie song.
He heard footsteps. Palesa entered the kitchen, still groggy, hoodie over her pyjamas.
Her eyes landed on the breakfast spread—eggs, toast, boerewors, and fresh juice.
She blinked. "What's this?"
Katlego turned. "Breakfast. I thought maybe… we could sit down. Before school."
She hesitated, eyeing the chair like it might bite her.
Then, to his surprise, she sat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Katlego passed her the salt. She nodded in thanks.
"So," he began, "graphic design, huh?"
Palesa smiled faintly. "Yeah. Since I was like… ten. I used to draw superheroes and sell them at school for five rand."
He laughed. "Entrepreneur from day one."
She shrugged. "I stopped telling you about that stuff a while ago."
"I know," he said, voice quiet. "And I'm sorry for making you feel like it didn't matter."
Palesa took a sip of juice. "I meant what I said last night. But… thank you. For coming."
They finished the meal slowly. There was no breakthrough, no dramatic tearful confession. But there was connection. And for the first time in a long time, Katlego felt like a father again.
At work, Katlego's mood surprised even himself. He greeted the receptionist, complimented a junior staff member's new haircut, and even cracked a joke in the boardroom.
His manager, a stern woman named Mrs. Maluleke, raised an eyebrow at his sudden spark. "You're either drunk or in love," she said dryly.
Katlego chuckled. "Neither. Just… finding my way back."
She gave him a rare smile. "About time."
That afternoon, he printed out flyers for a youth creative expo happening that weekend. As he stapled them into a folder for Palesa, he paused. He had no idea what her art looked like anymore.
That realization stung.
When he arrived home that evening, the house was already lit. Palesa's music played softly from her bedroom—lo-fi beats and the scratch of pencil on paper.
He knocked gently.
"Yeah?"
"Can I come in?"
She hesitated, then opened the door wider. "Sure."
Katlego stepped into her world—walls decorated with handmade posters, a corkboard full of doodles, magazine cut-outs, and quotes in bold fonts. On her desk sat a digital drawing tablet connected to her laptop, where she was designing a surreal portrait of a woman whose face dissolved into birds.
"This is… incredible," he said, genuinely impressed.
Palesa smiled. "Thanks. It's for my application portfolio. I'm hoping to get into the Cape College of Digital Arts next year."
"Cape Town?" he asked, masking the twist in his chest.
"Yeah. It's one of the best. Mom always said I belonged in big cities with bright lights."
He nodded slowly. "She was right."
He placed the folder on her desk. "There's an expo on Saturday. Art, design, gaming stuff. I thought maybe we could go together?"
Her eyes lit up. "Seriously?"
"Unless you'd rather go with Sipho. I won't be offended."
"No… I'd like that. It'd be cool."
Katlego smiled. "Then it's a date."
Saturday arrived with skies the colour of cold steel. They took the Rea Vaya bus into the city, Palesa humming along to music in her earbuds, one side offered to him halfway through the trip.
Katlego tried to nod along to the beat, but she laughed gently. "It's okay. I know it's not your style."
"I can learn," he grinned.
The expo was a colourful explosion of creativity. Booths lined the hall—animation studios, art colleges, design software demos, comic artists. Palesa buzzed with excitement, dragging her father from table to table, explaining how vector art worked, or why typography was everything in branding.
He listened, soaking it all in. Proud didn't even begin to cover it.
At one table, a recruiter from a Cape Town college noticed her sketchbook and offered feedback.
"This is raw but expressive. You've got real potential."
Palesa beamed. "Thank you!"
Katlego stepped back, letting her stand in the light. For the first time, he saw the adult she was becoming. The confidence. The vision. The soul.
Later, over burgers and strawberry milkshakes, she looked at him thoughtfully.
"You've changed," she said.
"How so?"
"You're… softer. You listen more."
He nodded. "I've been stuck in grief for too long. I thought being quiet was strength. But I see now, it was just fear."
Palesa sipped her milkshake. "Sometimes, I wished I could talk to you without walking on eggshells."
"I don't want that for us anymore."
She looked away, then back. "Me neither."
They sat in silence for a moment—comfortable this time.
"Mom would be proud of you," she said softly.
He swallowed hard. "And she'd be so proud of you."
That evening, back home, Katlego did something he hadn't done in years.
He opened Ayanda's journal.
She had kept it hidden in her wardrobe drawer, under old perfume bottles and silk scarves. He hadn't dared to touch it since the funeral.
But tonight, he needed to hear her voice.
The first page read: "Raising a daughter is like painting—every day you add a brushstroke. Sometimes bold, sometimes soft. But always with love."
He closed the book gently.
Katlego realized something powerful that night: it wasn't too late.
Not to heal.
Not to connect.
Not to grow.
End of Chapter 2