NQABA CELE
It's a Sunday afternoon and I am dreading going back to my house but I need to go back to my house. It was a good week though especial with my brother here. Having to deal with my wife again is draining. She is probably going to be in a bad mood since I didn't respond to her calls and texts.
all weekend. I can only imagine what she's concocting in that mind of hers. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the anxiety. I glance over at my brother, who is lounging casually on the couch, flipping through TV channels. Mabutho left already. "You know it's not easy keeping up this charade," I say, attempting to sound casual but unable to hide the tension in my voice.
"I get it, man. But you chose this life," he replies, not looking up from the screen. "You just have to play it cool. I mean, it's not like she's going to pack her bags and leave you over one weekend."
"Right, but this weekend might just be the tipping point. You don't know how she can be. It's like a switch flips in her head," I say, pacing the room. My brother does understand that the stunt that I pulled could have him hanging from the ceiling. "Sizwe you seem to forget who this woman is. This is not about her leaving, this is about her punishing me for making her calls."
"Ok I hear you, but have plan right and you are getting out. I understand that you are tired of Milani but don't lose your cool. You are almost at the end. Stick to the plan and soon you'll be free. Remember you are also doing this for Lwandle." He says trying his best to keep me calm.
I take another deep breath, remembering what's at stake. "You're right, I can't let my emotions get the better of me," I say, attempting to steady my thoughts. "But how do I face her? I can't let her see through my facade."
Sizwe finally meets my eyes, his expression serious. "Just stick to the script we've discussed. You have to keep your cool and not let her get under your skin. If she senses that you are planning something, it's over."
I nod, knowing he's right but feeling the weight of dread sitting heavily in my chest. "What if she brings up the last argument? You know how explosive she can become."
"Then redirect the conversation. Talk about Lwandle, his birthday, keep things light. Remind her why you've been distant," he suggests, his tone steady.
"Yeah, that might work. But I need to be careful. If she suspects anything, I can't guarantee her reaction," I reply, glancing at the clock. The hours are slipping away, and the looming confrontation hangs in the air like a storm cloud.
As I prepare to leave, a text pings on my phone. It's from her, questioning where I am, probing for answers. My heart races, and I hesitate before typing a reply. "Just wrapping up some things with my brother, be home soon." I hit send, hoping it sounds convincing enough.
"Is she messaging you?" Sizwe asks, raising an eyebrow. "Don't let her get to you, bro. Also remember you are meeting your lawyer tomorrow."
"Good advice, just need to focus," I say, trying to shake off the anxiety. "I can't think about what's next. I need to deal with tonight first."
The drive back to the house is steeped in silence, my mind racing with possibilities. I can't allow myself to slip up. Walking through the door, I'm greeted by the familiar scent of her perfume and the dim lighting of our living room.
There she is, waiting, arms crossed, her expression like ice. "You took your time," she says, her voice cool. "I thought you might've forgotten how to come home."
"Sorry, I got caught up with some last-minute things with Sizwe," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Really? Because I've been trying to reach you all weekend," she retorts, her eyes narrowing. I can feel the tension rising, but I won't give in.
"Let's not do this now, please. I just want to relax," I say, desperately grasping for peace.
"Fine," she huffs, rolling her eyes, but I know this isn't over. There's a storm brewing beneath the surface, and I can only hope to weather it without losing everything. I leave her there before we lose the moment of peace. I walk into my bedroom and take a quick shower after which I just jump into bed. I am tired. Spending a weekend with my son can be tiring. I send him a goodnight text and also tell him I love him. But I can't get any sleep. The thoughts of my meeting with my lawyer tomorrow are invading my brain. I'm not so worried about the meeting, I'm more worried about the papers that I have to give Milani. The storm that they are going to create. She is not going to accept the divorce. It has to happen because I can't live like this anymore.
***
I left the early this morning. I can't stand being in that house anymore. I get to work and start with day. I can't even focus on work today. I'm just glad I have no meetings lined up. I'm interrupted by a knock and my lawyer walks in. Is it that time already. I must have lost track time because 12:00 midday already. He takes a sit opposite me and takes out the paper form his briefcase and hands them to me. "I did everything as you requested. There is nothing in your name. You are basically poor right now. The only thing I left in your name is the restaurant and since it you opened it before you got married, it will remain yours. Everything that you acquired after you got married is in your son's name. Remember the only things that you guys will have to split is everything you accumulated together while married. The antenuptial contract states that very clearly so she won't have grounds to fight you on this divorce. You can go the the papers before handing them to her just to make sure that is as you wanted. I do assure you that is as you instructed. If there's anything you are not sure of call me." He says getting up and he looks at me with a smile on his face. "I am glad you are finally walking away from this marriage Nqaba, it's been too long."
"I am glad too. Thank you very much for this. I really appreciate your help with everything. I'll bring these back to you as soon as Milani signs them." I tell him. He walks giving me pat on my shoulder for encouragement and comfort. Now I have to face my wife. I smell the storm from here, she is going to make it hard for me. She is going to turn this into war.
I take a deep breath as I get into my car, the weight of the papers sitting heavy in my bag. The drive back home feels longer than usual, each second stretched thin as I mentally prepare for the confrontation ahead. I can already imagine the words she'll throw at me, accusations flying like arrows, the slaps, then fist, probably another stab wound, but I'm resolved. I have to stand firm.
Stepping through the front door, the air is thick with tension. Milani is here already, her demeanor icy but her eyes eager, waiting for a fight. I can't afford to be on the defensive. "We need to talk," I say, my voice steady.
"About what, Nqaba? Yesterday you didn't want to talk now you do?" she snaps back, fire in her tone. I brace myself, the storm has officially begun.
"About the divorce papers," I state, watching for her reaction. Her eyes widen, disbelief flashing across her face.
"You can't be serious! All those years and you just want to throw it away?" Her voice rises, shaking with emotion. "You think this is easy for me?"
I swallow hard, holding my ground. "This isn't just about you, Milani. I can't keep living a lie. We've grown apart the minute you started laying your hands on me. I can't live like this anymore, I am tired." I reply, my heart racing as I maintain eye contact.
"Is this really what you want?" she demands, her expression softening just a fraction, revealing a hint of vulnerability.
I hesitate. "I've wanted peace for a long time. I can't be happy like this."
Her shoulders slump, and I can see the realization dawning on her: the gravity of the situation is inescapable. "What about our son?" she asks, her voice now quieter, tinged with concern. I don't buy it. She hasn't bothered herself with Lwandle unless she wants to do something that will hurt me.
"Of course he comes first. This doesn't change how much we both love him, but he will remain staying with my parents." I assure her, the fear of losing him gripping my heart.
She nods slowly, contemplating. I can see the fight in her dimming, and the weight of our shared history settles heavy in the room. I know she is going try and use Lwandle to get her way but I am prepared for that. "I need time to think about this, and I need my lawyer to go through the papers" she finally mutters, suddenly looking small and fragile in the face of the looming decision. I know it just a facade. Her eyes tell a different. A plan, yes that's what it is. She needs a plan.
"I understand. Just know that I'm here to talk whenever you're ready," I reply softly, hoping to create a glimmer of compromise amidst the chaos.
I take one more look at her before leaving for my room, closing the door behind me with a mix of relief and anxiety. The storm has not passed— I can feel, I can see it in her eyes. It's brewing and it's heavy and tonight was the beginning of a larger storm.
MILANI CELE
I take my hat off to him for having the guts to ask me for a divorce. I wonder how long he has been planning this. I must admit, that I didn't see it coming. I think Nqaba has forgotten who I am. I think I need to remind him that I am Milani Cele, his wife and he is nothing without me. He needs to realize that he cannot survive without me. I mean he has nothing in his name. Everything is in my name and the only thing that he is going to get out of this, is that little restaurant of his, it probably doesn't even make any money. How is going to survive on his salary alone. I decided not to go to work today. I took the divorce papers and went to see my lawyer.
I sit across from my lawyer, her expression serious yet calculating as she scans the documents. "He has valid grounds for divorce, Milani, but if you don't sign, you must prepare for a battle," she warns, leaning forward slightly. I nod, the weight of her words sinking in. I know I need a strategy; I can't let Nqaba think he's won so easily. My thoughts dart around like bees, buzzing with ideas of how to keep him on his toes and still under my control.
"What about custody?" I ask, feigning concern, but deep down, it's a tactical consideration. "I want to ensure our son stays with me." My lawyer raises an eyebrow, sensing the real intent behind my question. "You'll have to prove that you can provide a stable environment and that any history of volatility won't impact your ability to be a good mother. Remember he opened two cases against you for abuse and you signed an agreement that his parents will be Lwandle's legal guardians until he is eighteen."
I dismiss her warning with a wave of my hand. "I'm more than capable of handling this. I have resources, connections. Those case don't even exist anymore. The police lost the files as usual." I can't let Nqaba claim the moral high ground. He thinks he can waltz away, happy and free, but I will not let that happen.
"I want you to prepare a counter-narrative. Something that highlights my contributions and his shortcomings," I instruct, my voice firm. Ideas blossom in my mind about how to twist the narrative in my favor. She looks at like I am crazy. "Milani did you read these papers?" She asks confusing me. She is the lawyer, she is supposed to read and explain them to me. "I thought you just explained everything." I say.
"Milani you should have read the papers. He doesn't want anything from you. You get to keep everything since you guys signed an Antinuptial Contract and he hasn't accumulated anything while married to you. There is nothing you jointly accumulated. Everything is in your name and he understand that. You walk away with everything." I must say I am surprised. I thought he would want something out of this. He is not even asking for spousal maintenance.
The drive back home is filled with thoughts of the battle ahead. I can already envision the way I'll stand firm, how I'll manipulate every detail to keep Lwandle close to me. "He thinks he knows me," I whisper to myself as I navigate the familiar streets, "but he has no idea what I'm capable of."
Entering the house, dread fills me again at the thought of Nqaba being there, a reminder of the life I'm fighting to reclaim. I feel a surge of determination; I can't let any flicker of doubt or vulnerability cross my face. Tonight, I will strategize. Every moment counts as I prepare for the war he has unknowingly ignited. I must remind him that I am not a woman to be trifled with, that together we built this life, and I will ensure I don't lose him without a fight. The storm may have just begun, but I will be ready.
When I get home, I find him in the kitchen cooking. I guess he didn't want to wait for me to get home. I greet and head to my room that used to be our room. I don't want to talk to him right now. I place my bag on the couch and start stripping and head to the bathroom for a warm bath. My thought are running wild. I have a plan but now Nqaba made a move he was not supposed to make but that only means I need adjust and change the plan. I get out of the tub know what I need to do. Before leaving the bedroom, I sit on the bed and make a call. "Hello Milani."
"Be at my house tomorrow afternoon. We are moving up the plan and it has to change a bit. I'll feel in you when you are here tomorrow. I already have everything that we need." I tell him not leaving room for negotiation. He knows what's going to happen if this plan doesn't work. I walk out of the bedroom head to the kitchen and I find him dishing up. He hands me my plate and takes his and walks out to the lounge. He is not saying anything and I am not going to say anything. We sit and eat in silence with just the tv playing as background noise. I wish I knew what he was thinking but what I know is that his days are numbered. He thinks he is smart but I am smarter and I have planning this for a long time.
My heart races as I watch him through the corner of my eye, the way he moves so confidently, as if he's still in control. Little does he know that every action he takes is just another piece in my grand strategy. "I have to play this delicately," I remind myself, focusing on maintaining an unimpressed facade. He glances my way, but I keep my attention fixed on my plate, meticulous in my silence. The tension in the air is thick, charging the atmosphere between us with an unspoken challenge.
After finishing dinner, I slip into my room, feigning fatigue to avoid any further exchange. Yet once the door closes, I allow myself to breathe, feeling the weight of the battle ahead. I can't underestimate him, no matter how confident I feel. I pull out my notebook, reviewing the angles I've plotted out, all the potential moves I can make. "What about a social media strategy?" I jot down, thinking about how every public appearance, every interaction matters.
Then there's the narrative, my carefully curated story that places me in the light of a devoted mother—one who has fought against all odds to provide for her child. I know I need to navigate the public perception just as carefully as the legal intricacies that are about to unleash. I can't allow Nqaba to recast himself as the hero in this story; he doesn't deserve it. He is not hero here.
The clock ticks away as I finalize my plan, sweating the details that might seem insignificant but are crucial for the broader picture. I plan to reach out to friends, bolster my public image, and build alliances that will fortify my stance in court—and in life. I can't just rely on my lawyer and the legal framework; this is about crafting a narrative where I come out on top.
As I save my notes, I replay our earlier conversations in my mind. What if Nqaba tries to counterattack in court? I need to be two steps ahead, armed with evidence of his complacency, his neglect. Images of Lwandle playing in our backyard flash through my mind; I won't let Nqaba take that from me. It's time to show him, and the world, what I am capable of.
Stretching my back, I glimpse out the window. The sun has nearly set, casting an orange glow that feels almost empowering. "Tomorrow is a new day," I whisper to myself. I prepare for my meeting with my lawyer and then I hear a soft knock on my door. It's him, but I have no intention of letting him in. I don't answer, instead clenching my fists, ready to face whatever the next move may be. The determination within me strengthens with each silent heartbeat. He might have made a move, but I will counter it with a checkmate.