Years later…

Ding dong. The doorbell rang. I opened the door and found a courier standing outside.

“Sign for this,” he instructed.

I took the clipboard from him and started to sign my name, Maximilian Brown, when the pen stopped working. I spotted my daughter’s school bag on the table and took a pen out of her pencil case and signed the delivery form. Then I opened the package to see what it was.

“Happy birthday to the best husband in the world,” the tag read. It was the coffee maker that I hinted I had wanted. I smiled to myself, looking back on my life.

I remembered that quintessential day twenty years ago. I looked at the tablets in my shaky hands and before I could consume them, I thought of the consequences of my selfish actions. I could have the opportunity to do much more with my life; to help people in similar situations as me. I couldn’t commit suicide and take the coward’s way out. I threw away the pills and got ready to be the man my mother raised me to be.

I squashed the letter and did the confession in person at the local police station. In the middle of my story, they offered me a lawyer which I accepted. When I was done telling them everything, I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt good, empowered; free. The lawyer got the police to grant me immunity for amnesty and information.

Lebo recovered slowly and steadily. We cried it out and I apologized to her a million times. It took some time, but she forgave me. So did my parents. They let me move back in. Ma’s baking business took off. Pa helped her in the kitchen and more jobs came their way. We managed to scrape by until I eventually got a legitimate job at a retail store. I didn’t earn much, but at least I wasn’t getting paid with blood money.

I often wondered why Thabo never suspected that I was the one that helped the police bust him. And one day I finally got my answer when I found a note on my doorstep. It read:

Dear Max,

I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. That drug does crazy things to a person. I checked myself into rehab and I think it’s best if you don’t know my location.

I heard about Thabo and the dealers going to jail. I assumed it was you that helped take him down. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’ve been telling people it was me that helped the police so Thabo wouldn’t come after you. It’s the least I could do after what I did to your family.

I hope you’re not angry but I visited Lebo at the hospital while she was sleeping. I was so relived to know that she’s fine.

I’m changing my life, Max. This is the last time you’ll hear from me. I wish you all the best.

John.

It gave me a strange sense of peace reading that letter and when I showed it to Lebo, she began her emotional healing process too. We never saw John again but I was okay with it.

I started giving motivational lectures at schools and halls, hoping to inspire and help kids. They came to me to help beat the addiction or when they were on the verge of doing something that was unsavoury.

I even ended up starting my own rehabilitation centre with the help of a high school classmate of mine. I got married to her six years later and we had a daughter named Sarah.

Speaking of Sarah, I still had her pen in my hand. I picked up her bag to put the pen back when it fell from my hands and her things toppled to the floor.

I held my hands to my aging face in dismay. I don’t know if it was some sort of karma or a circle that couldn’t be broken, but among her books and pencils there was a packet of powder that fell from Sarah’s bag. Drugs.

This made me realise that even though I stopped one operation, there were thousands of others just waiting to destroy lives. And my daughter was going to be a statistic if I didn’t do anything about it.

This time I was equipped with enough wisdom to help my daughter. It was going to be a rough road ahead but I was certain I would get through it.

The End

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Tell us what you think: What do you think communities can do to win the struggle over drugs?