I am now 27 years old. Today marks fifteen years staying at the house my father built in 1995. It’s so free and comfortable compared to the flats we used to stay in before.

Our guard and his family stay in a timber house. It’s made of wood and now the insects and worms are wrecking the house. Our guard has a wife and four children. I and my sister stay with our father in the cottage.

I have been married and divorced with two children. I came home because my father was worried about my life. I returned back hopeful that I wouldn’t stress after my disastrous marriage. I worked at OK Supermarkets as a personal assistant to the director, but I lost the job when I became pregnant with my son.

I woke up full of joy one weekend, remembering what happened 14 years back. I see our guard’s wife, Sarah, sitting outside with her last born, Bobby. Our guard had a daughter, Nomsa, before marrying Sarah. She accepted her and had three kids with our guard. He looks after our yard. It is attractive to thieves because there are few houses in the area and big bushes. When the house was built, my father didn’t fire him because he said he is a good man and wouldn’t want to mistreat him, but maybe he will leave on his own account.

Our guard has sharp ears and eyes. He scans the yard attentively. If he sees a stranger, he makes sure he asks what they want. No human that we don’t know enters without seeing him first.

I walk to our guard’s house, which is between the main house and the cottage. The first house you see when you enter the gate is the main house; if you walk 5 metres you see the guard’s house.

“Morning, Anna,” she smiled.

“Morning, Ma Bobby,” I replied.

“You look happy today, what’s up?” She asked, feeding her son.

“Where is Nomsa?” I asked, looking around.

“She went to the shop; her father sent her for a few things,” she answered.

I nodded my head and sighed, “Ok, I will see her later.”

I went home, did my chores and cooked mealie meal porridge for everyone. My family knew the first meal you eat is porridge after washing your face and brushing your teeth. We eat silently, but my sister Lora didn’t bother joining us.

After our meal, I went with the plates while my daughter and son ran to play with Melody and Bobby. They loved hide and seek too much. Nomsa interrupted me when I was sorting the dishes in the cupboard.

“Heard you want to talk to me?” she asked.

I nearly threw the plate at her, but she ducked. I would’ve missed her if I had tried to throw the plate at her.

“You want to scare me!” I shouted.

“Sorry sister,” she said, sitting on the chair.

Our kitchen had a table with six chairs. Everything was wooden, that’s how my father liked it, but he uses a cushion on his chair. He says the wood makes his buttocks hurt.

“Did you tell your mother about the incident that happened when Vimbai was a year old,” I asked anxiously.

“No, Anna, you can’t bring up the past,” she hissed, hitting the table.

“Do you know Vimbai could have been dead if God hadn’t saved her?” I said calmly, avoiding a fight.

“She is not my real mother; she will think I wanted to kill her,” she said worriedly.

“She will understand. Vimbai is now 10 years, don’t forget that,” I said gently.

“Please don’t tell her,” she begged.

I consented not to tell her. What will happen if I tell Sarah? Will she be hurt? Vimbai isn’t dead, it’s a miracle she was saved.

Tell us: Do you think they should forget the past?