Mojalefa kissed her and walked out.

She quickly called Mandla back. “What do you want, Mandla?”

“My child. I know you just gave birth,” Mandla said.

“Relebogile isn’t your daughter,” Monica replied.

“It’s a girl? I’m coming in,” Mandla said, and hung up.

As soon as he walked in, his eyes landed on his daughter.

“Siphosami,” Mandla said, beaming with pride, tears of joy flooding down his cheeks.

“Mandla, how did you get in here?” Monica panicked, sitting up in a haste, making her child cry.

“Let me hold her,” Mandla said, extending his hands.

“No. Get out, before her father comes back,” Monica said.

“I’m her father. Let me hold my daughter, before I make a scene!” Mandla shouted.

Monica handed the baby girl over to her biological father. She curled up in his arms.

“Oh, Siphosami. I’ve been longing to meet you,” Mandla said, kissing his daughter’s face time and again.

“She is the spitting image of you,” Monica said.

Mandla nodded, smiling down at the girl.

“Thank you, Monica. I love you. I love you both,” Mandla said, then kissed his daughter again.

“You can’t be in her life, Mandla,” Monica said.

“She’s my daughter,” Mandla replied.

“Mojalefa’s mom and I are finally getting along, please don’t take that away from me,” Monica said.

“I don’t want to be a deadbeat father, Monica. I want to be there when she starts teething, when she starts crawling, when she takes her first step, her first day at school,” Mandla said, wiping his tears with his palm.

“You can’t, Mandla. Please, understand,” Monica said, crying too. “You need to leave, there’s Mojalefa and his parents,” she said.

“I’ll give you a week.” Mandla kissed his daughter one more time, then he walked to the door.

He turned back to look at Monica, “Her name is Siphosami, not Relebogile. That child is a Khumalo, uMntungwa. Not a Taung. She is Zulu by blood, not Tswana,” Mandla walked out.

***

“I can’t believe we actually have a baby. Father wants us to do a traditional ceremony to welcome her to our family. The first girl grandchild,” Mojalefa said, fixing his tie, getting ready for work.

“Traditional?” Monica panicked. “Let’s wait till she turns one, baby,” Monica continued.

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, love.” He kissed his wife. “Kiss my daughter for me.” He walked out.

***

Minutes after Mojalefa drove away, Mandla drove in. He came bursting through the front door.

“Where’s my daughter? I come bearing gifts!” he shouted, shopping bags on either side of him.

“What are you doing here?” Monica came rushing down the stairs.

“To see my daughter.” Mandla put the bags on the sofa. “Where is she?” he looked around, as if expecting the infant to crawl in.

“Asleep.” Monica fastened her gown.

“I’ll wait. By the way, your week is up,” Mandla told her.

“Mandla! Relebogile isn’t yours. Get that into your thick skull!” Monica shouted.

“You say that, the blood that runs in her veins says otherwise,” Mandla said.

The baby started crying. Monica went to tend to her, Mandla followed. Mandla picked her up first.

“Siphosami. Mntungwa, Khumalo,” Mandla said, praising his child.

“Put her down,” Monica said.

“She is my daughter, Monica. Mine!” Mandla shouted.

“Leave. My parents-in-law will be here for lunch. I need to start preparing,” Monica said.

Mandla put the little girl down, but not before kissing her cheek.

“I will be part of my daughter’s life. With or without your concern.” Mandla walked out.

***

Tell us: Do you think Mojalefa will find out who his daughter’s biological dad is?