“Forced marriage? Hugh never wanted to marry you because he didn’t love you. I’m sure even in his grave he still doesn’t love you,” said Marisa.

“Who cares! I’ve got what I wanted in the end. Now I will do what’s best for my son.”

Maria’s eyes squinted, flames still burning, as she folded her arms.

“What did you do to my husband that night?” she asked, and Sthandiwe’s amusement faded away.

“Excuse me?”

“That night you slept with him. He told me he didn’t remember sleeping with you.” Sthandiwe tried to smile, but felt a tug in her chest and turned her gaze back to the fountain.

“Probably had too much to drink.”

“So he had to get wasted so he could sleep with you? I’m sure he was thinking about me while he was making love to you. But we both know what you are saying is bullshit. Hugh was never a heavy a drinker and he wouldn’t forget who he had slept with.”

“He must have lied to you then, to avoid hurting your pathetic feelings.” Sthandiwe’s voice was trailing away, losing interest in the conversation.

Hugh wouldn’t lie, Marisa thought. He was the one who came clean and confessed to having made a horrible mistake by impregnating Sthandiwe.

“You spiked his drink, didn’t you? And then somehow, and I don’t know how, you managed to make him impregnate you.” Even if Marisa wasn’t certain, her heart lurched with a strong sensation of hope that her husband had been telling the truth about not having any memories of sleeping with Sthandiwe on that night. To Marisa, it was a lie and an excuse that she regretted having to believe.

“You’re delusional Marisa,” said Sthandiwe. “Accept that your husband slept with me.” She turned her gaze to Marisa.

Marisa stepped closer. “If anything happens to my daughter, if any little harm comes toward her, I will make sure to make you’ll wish you were dead.” Marisa strolled back to the sliding door. She remembered when she had found out Sthandiwe was pregnant with her husband’s child. Sthandiwe had blindly drunk medicine that almost aborted her son. The thought left a dark pit in her stomach.

Rosie was sitting at a wooden table on her sun porch, shaded by an eerie black umbrella and gazing at a photo album she’d been given by grandmother. She couldn’t help but smile as she went through her father’s pictures. There was no denying she was his daughter. She had inherited his light brown eyes along with the tiny nose and the dark skin colour. Her grandmother told her she had the same voice as him, and that every time she spoke, Rosie reminded her of her only son. Paging through the photos to the end, she took her cell phone from the table and Skyped her best friend.

Tell us: Do you believe that the drink given to Hugh was spiked?