“How’s married life treating you?” I asked. She looked like she wasn’t living her best life. I mean, I looked ten years younger than her.

“What can I say?” she shrugged.

“I don’t know. Details?” I laughed softly.

“Well, I’m, as you can see, I’m a mother to two boys, which is a full-time job by the way. I’m expecting a third child, I so pray it’s a girl,” she replied, handing Muzi a chip.

“How do you keep securing these maternity leaves?” I asked, jokingly.

Suddenly there was sadness in her voice. “I’m a housewife,” she replied.

I was taken aback. Lelo always wanted to be independent, always.

“Why?” I asked.

“My husband prefers it that way. He’s a businessman, you know. He can afford us,” she said, defensively.

I nodded slowly, putting a mouthful of my salad in my mouth.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“What? Eat?” I asked.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said.

I put my fork down to look at her. She went quiet for a while, then sipped her juice again. She stared at the glass for a while.

“I’d love to work,” she finally said.

“Then, what’s stopping you?” I asked.

“Zakhele, he’s insecure and he doesn’t like me being around people. He says a woman’s place is in the kitchen,” she says.

“And you agree?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Does he beat you?” I found myself asking. I noticed her face go darker, then fear in her eyes.

She stood up hastily. “Thanks for lunch,” she said, putting Muzi on her back and pushing the pram out.

***

Bontle and I were having a candlelit dinner. Honestly, I was a sucker for love. She looked pretty in her glittering red dress, it hugged her curves.

While talking to Bontle, I received a strange phone call.

“Hello?” I said.

Nothing. “Zinhle here, hello?” I said again. Nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” I said, about to hang up.

“Wait,” a voice said, so low, barely audible.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Zinhle… I need your help,” she cried.

I recognised the voice, it was Nompumelelo.

“Send me your location,” I said, hanging up.

“Where are you going?” Bontle asked, as she saw me taking my car keys.

“I’ll be back baby. Don’t wait up,” I said, kissing her cheek and running out.

As I drove in Lelo’s huge yard, she was standing outside, a blanket over her shoulders. I parked my BMW and walked over to her. She hugged me, I put my arms around her.

“Come in,” she said, hurrying inside the house.

I walked in. It was lavish. The kitchen was spotless. The house itself was big and beautiful and the kitchen was white and silver. I sat down in one of the chairs there.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“He promised he wouldn’t do it again,” she said, putting the kettle on.

“Do what again?” I asked.

“Look at me, Zinhle,” she said.

She had a bruised face.

“He did this to you?” I asked, as I stood up and walked over to her.

She nodded, sobbing.

“Where were your kids?” I asked.

“Asleep. He never beats me in front of his sons,” she said.

I nodded.

“I just hope no major damage was done to the baby I’m carrying,” she said, holding her baby bump.

I nodded. She handed me coffee.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He drove off after hitting me,” she said.

“Why don’t you leave him?” I asked.

“It’s my fault. I just have to keep the house clean and cook for him. Today he came back hungry, and I hadn’t cooked yet,” she defended the scumbag.

I didn’t want to say anything. “Do you want to go to the cops?” I asked.

“No,” she almost shouted, then stood up. “Listen Zinhle, thanks for coming. I think you need to leave now. Zakhele won’t appreciate me having people over without telling him,” she said, leading me to the door.

***

“What was the emergency?” Bontle asked as soon as I walked in.

I thought she’d have gone to bed. “Nothing important,” I said, kissing her cheek.

“It had to be important seeing as you ditched our dinner,” she said, folding her arms and standing up to face me.

“I don’t want to fight. Let me love you,” I said, kissing her neck and running my hand up and down her back.

***

Tell us: Do you think Zinhle should tell Bontle about Nompumelelo?