“This is so delicious, my daughter,” Mokgadi complimented.

“Thanks, Ma,” Monica smiled.

Mokgadi was fussing over Relebogile; ‘my granddaughter this’, ‘my granddaughter that’, she kept saying.

Mandla came in, hot tempered. Monica stood up hastily.

“Get out,” she said.

Mandla stood, facing her.

It went quiet. Dead quiet.

“Who’s this man?” Mokgadi asked.

Mandla looked at Monica as if giving her a chance to come clean. Monica looked away. Mandla sat down, taking Mojalefa’s plate.

“How dare you disrespect me in my home?!” Mojalefa shouted.

“I’ve long started!” Mandla laughed, chewing the meat vigorously and licking his fingers.

“You’ve always been a good cook, Monica,” Mandla said, digging into Mojalefa’s plate.

“Monica, who is this man?” Mojalefa’s father asked.

Monica started weeping.

“You didn’t want to give me a baby, Mojalefa. Your mom kept nagging,” Monica cried.

“Don’t lie. That’s not the only reason, Monica,” Mandla said, then gulped down the champagne that was meant for Mojalefa.

“How dare you eat from the same plate as my son?” Mokgadi asked.

“That’s not all I did,” Mandla laughed. “Tell them, Monica,” he continued.

“Tell us what?!” Mojalefa’s father shouted.

“Ma, you kept nagging me for a grandchild. I didn’t know what to do,” Monica sobbed.

“Oh Monica, don’t be like that. That’s not the reason why our daughter was conceived,” Mandla said.

“Our daughter?” Mokgadi repeated.

Monica faced the floor.

“Yes, Siphosami.” Mandla stood up, wiping his hands.

“My daughter. The one you’re carrying,” he said, pointing at Mokgadi.

“This is my son’s daughter, you fool,” Mokgadi retreated.

“No. She’s mine,” Mandla laughed, taking her from Mokgadi’s arms and embracing her. “Siphosami, I will never let you go again,” Mandla said warmly. A tear quickly ran down his cheek. “Monica? Are you coming? I’m still going to fulfil my promise and marry you. I love you, Monica,” Mandla said, extending his hand to her.

“Mojalefa! Why are you quiet? Another man is taking your family!” his father shouted.

“No, father. I don’t have a family. I have no daughter. Monica, I’ve always known I was infertile, that’s why I always avoided the kids talk,” Mojalefa said.

“No son of mine is infertile,” Mojalefa’s father said in utter disbelief.

“It’s true, Father. So, when Monica told me she was pregnant, I was shocked. I thought I had been miraculously healed, but I had doubts, hence I was withdrawn from your pregnancy,” Mojalefa said, tears in his eyes.

“I’ve never been man enough for you, Monica. I don’t blame you for looking at other men,” Mojalefa continued.

Mandla stood, his child in his warm arms. “Only a real man would admit that he wasn’t man enough,” Mandla said, looking at Mojalefa.

“I’ve always known you were a whore!” Mokgadi shouted, “And I could tell that Rele wasn’t a Taung,” Mokgadi continued.

“Stop it, Ma! From today going onwards, you will not dance on top of my wife’s head. As for Rele, she may not be mine by blood, but she’s my daughter!” Mojalefa shouted. “I will change her surname!”

Mojalefa turned to look at Mandla.

“Thank you. Finally she will get her real paternal name.”

Mandla smiled through his tears, shaking Mojalefa’s hand.

“I’m staying, Mandla,” Monica said, “I’m staying with Mojalefa. He may be unable to give me kids, but I love him.”

Mandla nodded. “Can I see her on weekends and holidays?” he asked.

“Any time,” Mojalefa said.

“Thank you.” Mandla gave Relebogile to her mom then walked out.

***

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