Ndalwenhle
"I think that would be all for today," I say the minute I see a nurse coming our way.
"Alright," Nomonde says, standing up.
"So… today it's right?" she asks.
"Yes," I reply.
"Can you please come early?" I ask.
"Mmmh," she murmurs. "I will see what I can do."
"Alright. Thank you for your time."
She smiles politely as she goes away, and a nurse takes me back to my room.
"Sir, you know that your time is running out. Why do you still want to do this?" she asks once I've sat on the bed.
I take a deep look at her. "I know my time is running out. I can feel my body shutting down sometimes. But I need to finish this story. This is the only thing I want to do. I have been through a lot. Don't you think someone deserves to hear my side? The pain I've endured, the situations I was once in, the scars I carry, the broken smile I show.
I can never heal those broken parts of me. I can never heal that little boy who suffered immensely at his mother's hands. I can never heal that child who stood in the corner, waiting to be whipped for a small mistake. The only language that child knew was beatings and shouting. I had to calculate my words around people just to hide that something was wrong.
I survived her. My fear wasn't ghosts or cars—it was her. The angry face she made every time… Don't you think I deserve to tell my story? Don't you think I deserve to be listened to?"
She wipes a tear from her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't have to be. I don't have months, but I will finish this story. This is my chance to heal. I think I deserve that much," I say.
"You are strong," she says softly. "I have seen many cancer patients coming and going. Most of them start being depressed or fear death. But you… you seem ready for anything, even though there is no one by your side."
"When life has thrown everything at you," I answer, "there is nothing left that can break you."
"Alright. Can I make a kind gesture, at least? Just to say you are a wonderful person?" she asks, smiling.
I chuckle a little. "How old are you again?"
"Well, I'm 27," she says.
"You are young. You can buy one. Any kind will be accepted," I reply.
She smiles. "Okay. And I will buy your book once it's out."
I smile faintly as she leaves, but my smile quickly fades as pain stabs my back.
"Just a little more… one more day, and then it's over," I whisper.
---
Nomonde
I just arrived at my house. My husband is still at work. As I settle in the lounge, I feel heavy. Ndalwenhle's story is draining me. As much as I want to hear it all, it hurts—it breaks me apart just to think that he suffered so much at a young age, and at his own mother's hands.
What kind of mother does that to her only flesh and blood? And now, on top of everything, he is fighting cancer. How much more must he suffer, just for a chance to heal?
As I'm lost in thought on the lounge sofa, something hits me. Wait… Mr. Z? Could that mean Mr. Zungu?
I rush to grab my purse and take out my phone. I search him up. I know I once heard that line in a speech.
I scroll through the internet until I find a video. I press play. It was the day he had opened another law firm—the press was there, and he made a speech first.
I skip past the beginning and listen carefully to the last part. And then—boom—he says it:
"Thank you everyone for coming to celebrate my success with me. Please eat and mingle as much as you want. Just a little thank you from yours sincerely… Mr. Z."
I swallow hard. My mouth goes dry. As much as this doesn't prove it's him, I need his wife name.
I call my husband. It goes straight to voicemail.
"Shit," I mutter. "He must be in a meeting. Then I'll wait for him here. Still early… When will 6pm come?"