At first the wonderful, fresh eddies of excitement were drowned out by the overwhelming waves of guilt, but then she started to enjoy it, and indeed, enjoy him. Grant was his name. The way she said his name when she was alone was like a breathless sigh. Her appetite for this fascinating, undiscovered dimension of love was insatiable. She went through great pains daily to downplay her bubbling exhilaration in the presence of her family; they went through the humdrum of life while she fell hopelessly in love.

In those months following the tragic death of Sebatu, Dengwe became increasingly withdrawn. He drank until he ran out of beer, then he complained about how poorly she shopped for the items he needed. He became an angry drunk overnight. Nothing pleased him any more, he smiled less, but what happened next shocked them both.

One evening Dengwe decided to go out for drinks with his army friends after their shift. He found it difficult to deal with his thoughts alone, night after night, beer after beer. He found comfort in a group of drinking men; it seemed to temporarily fill the hole in his spirit. He often lingered at the local tavern long after the others had left. By that time, he was usually staggering around severely drunk, becoming a rowdy nuisance to visibly annoyed patrons.

He was physically ejected from the tavern by two heavies that were always on standby should the need arise. Landing roughly on his left hip and shoulder, he let out a grunt. The excessive drink was causing him to become lethargic and weak. He rested there on the filthy pavement while others walked by; looking down at him, laughing at the old drunk man that had just pissed himself. He couldn’t move, but he could hear them. The humiliation burned his cheeks like the heat of the midday sun.

The ornate red clock indicated that it was 00:47 by the time Dengwe’s key jammed around the keyhole aimlessly. Merril opened the door eventually, roused by the loud complaining. When she saw the large, dampened portion around the crotch of his hunter-green army pants, her eyes widened and she couldn’t hide her disgust.

“You have become like your father.”

Her words cracked through the silent night like a leather whip propelled with great force and fury. The tension building between their glares throbbed with emotion; it seemed to lengthen the seconds that ticked by on the clock above her doek-bedecked head.

Dengwe drew in a long, slow, deep breath that seemed endless; then the rage seeped away and left his blood-shot eyes. The consuming black pools of his irises became vacant, emotionless and soulless. Suddenly he reached forward and struck her across the face.

Merril was brought out of this flashback by the ticking of the clock above her head now. It was a fresh reminder that time was not on her side. She realised with great urgency that she needed the results. The words spelling out the instructions swam before her furiously blinking eyes. Her hands trembled as she held the empty box up to eye-level. She had secured the lock on the front door, she could not run the risk of her children or, worse still, her husband, catching her in this position.

Tell us: Do you think that Merril should have left her husband after he hit her?