Monica looked at herself in kitchen mirror. She was not fat, she was very slender, her body resembled that of a model’s.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Mojalefa said, as they got ready for bed.
“Perhaps we attended different lunches,” Monica said, slipping into her nightdress.
“What do you mean?” Mojalefa asked, and jumped into the bed.
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear your mom saying they needed to call a family meeting so they could get you a second wife to bear you kids,” Monica said.
“I’d never allow that,” Mojalefa said.
“I didn’t hear you say that to your mother,” Monica said.
“I don’t want to disrespect Mother,” Mojalefa said.
“Great! Now I have to take insults from her just because I have a weakling for a husband,” Monica laughed humourlessly and got in bed.
“I’m not weak, Monica,” Mojalefa said.
“Then show me!” Monica turned her back on him.
Mojalefa tried to kiss her from behind.
“Not today, Mojalefa,” Monica said.
“It’s been four weeks,” Mojalefa said.
“So what? It’s not like you’ll make me pregnant,” Monica said.
“Wow,” Mojalefa turned his back and slept.
***
“Sit down, Monica, you’re frustrating me,” Mandla said to Monica. They were in his luxurious two-bedroom apartment.
“You don’t understand, Mandla.”
Monica hadn’t stopped pacing up and down ever since she arrived at Mandla’s house.
“Sit down and tell me what’s wrong,” Mandla said, casually sipping his wine, staring at his lover.
Monica sat down, “I need a beer. Do you have beer?” Monica asked.
“I don’t. I don’t drink beer. I can pour you some wine,” Mandla said.
“It’s fine, thanks. I probably shouldn’t be drinking. Nor smoking,” Monica said, shoving her cigarette back in her bag.
“Why?” Mandla asked.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
Mandla stood up, a broad smile on his face.
“Is that a smile I see on your face?” she asked, annoyed.
“I’ll be a father,” Mandla said, reciting his clan names.
“Mandla, I’m a married woman!” Monica said.
“How far?” Mandla asked, embracing her.
“Two weeks. Mojalefa and I haven’t been intimate in four weeks. It can’t be his.” Monica pushed Mandla away.
“You can divorce him, marry me,” Mandla said.
“Are you crazy?” Monica shouted. She took out a cigarette from her bag. “Have a lighter?” she asked.
Mandla took it from her. “You’re not going to harm my baby,” he said.
Monica shrugged, “Maybe I won’t keep it anyway.”
“You will not abort my child!” Mandla shouted.
“It’s not even a child yet,” Monica said.
“It will be. Monica, that’s a human being inside of you,” Mandla begged.
“Even if I do keep it, you won’t be in its life,” Monica told him.
“That’s my child. You have no right to keep my child from me,” Mandla said, determination in his voice.
“What were you thinking getting into a relationship with a married woman? What were you expecting? That I’d leave my husband?” Monica asked.
“Monica, I love you,” Mandla said, holding her.
“I love you too,” she said.
“Then, let’s get married,” Mandla told her.
“It’s not that easy,” Monica frowned.
***
Tell us: What do you think will happen in the sequel to this story?
