A husky man opened the door, wearing a black vest with his arms full of tattoos. He had a scary glare with a bald head.

“Can I help you?” he asked with a cocky voice.

Fana glanced at Qhawekazii, who had worked herself up into a state of panic. When she eyed the man, she saw his brow cocked as he waited for her response.

“I-I’m…”

“Mr Cele,” Fana injected. “This girl is looking for a woman named Sindisiwe Cele. I brought her over here because this house has the only Celes I know from the neighbourhood,” Mr Cele gazed at Qhawekazii.

“Who are you? And what do you want with my wife?” he probed.

“I am Qhawekazii,” she said, “Her daughter,”

Mr Cele’s face broke into stunned smile.

“Oh my, God. Qhawekazii,” he grinned. “Your mother never stopped talking about you,”

She sighed, relieved and pasted a bright smile on her face. Mr Cele hugged her and told her to come inside. Before she went in, she thanked Fana with a hug.

“I hope I will see you again,” he said, and Qhawekazii smiled.

“If you’re lucky again. You will,” she chuckled. Qhawekazii went inside the house and Mr Cele closed the door behind him.

“Please, take a seat,” said Mr Cele, with his hand directed to the sitting room, which was filled with black leather sofas, a medium glass coffee table and a 50 inch screen TV on the wall with a sound system that had long speakers on the sides of the room divider. Before she took a seat, she slid off the big jacket and Mr Cele took it to the laundry room. The air conditioning heated the sitting room, so she was sitting comfortably warm.

“Can I make you some coffee, tea, hot chocolate, cappuccino?” Mr Cele asked with hands clasped together. Qhawekazii chose the beverage she was familiar with.

“Tea would be lovely.”

Mr Cele smiled and went to the kitchen and came back with a pot of tea, a cup on a saucer with a teaspoon placed next to it, a small jug of hot milk and a small container that was full of white sugar. He placed the tray on the coffee table and poured the tea in a cup, then he sat on the sofa opposite her, with his leg crossed over the other.

“So, how did you find your way here?” he asked with curiosity.

“My mother sent me a letter four years ago, but I only found it yesterday and the address was included on it,” Mr Cele frowned.

“Was that the only letter you found?”

“Yes, Sir,” she responded.

“Qhawekazii,” he sat back up. “Your mother sent you letters twice a year, with some money too.” That obviously shocked her as she had no idea that her mother was actually keeping in contact with her every year. And not just with letters but with some money to support her too.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “There was only one letter that I found in my father’s suitcase,”

Her mind had suddenly remembered when her father would come back with lots of groceries, he even would buy her a new school bag. That’s when he even bought a new gas stove, which ended up not being used because they hardly had money to buy gas.

“Your father might have kept it as a secret from you,” said Mr Cele. “With obvious reasons for you to think that your mother wanted nothing to do with you.”

She couldn’t understand such betrayal from her father. If he hated her mother for leaving him, then his revenge must have been all the lies he told her about her mother, that she wanted nothing to do with her. That she hated her, which is why she abandoned her.

Tell us: Do you trust Mr Cele?