Precious calls me from down the passage. I take the folder into the room. I lean over the bed, where Abigail is lying beside the machine, with her belly huge and bare. I lean over, holding up the folder to her, tapping the fateful words with my forefinger. Pregnancy confirmed: 5 November.

And then I take Precious by the hand and lead her away from the room, away from the clinic, away from the nightmare of these past seven months. Even though she is protesting, “But Lex, maybe we should stay? Even if it’s not your baby. Poor Abigail is all alone now.”

I am trying to understand it all – from Abigail’s point of view. I suppose Thobo is the father. And what woman wants her child to have a criminal for a dad? But why did she choose me? Who knows? Maybe she realised that my headmistress mother would encourage me to do the right thing.

And what did she think would happen when her baby arrived a good month earlier than it should? In June instead of late July. Would she claim it was premature?

And surely, surely, she knows about DNA testing? Or did she think I’d be too much of a gentleman to demand a DNA test?

Did she start believing her own lie? Or was she just a mother doing the best for her unborn child? What is your verdict, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury?

Precious says, “I feel such sympathy for her.”

“Sympathy,” snorts Sidney, the legal eagle from down the road. “She doesn’t deserve sympathy. She deserves suing. And I tell you what, Lekoko, you have a strong case. I mean, you have hard, written evidence.”

For someone so impassive, Sidney seems quite excited at the prospect. But why would I want to add to Abigail’s burdens?

When I tell my mama, she says nothing. She goes through to her bedroom. And there I watch as she packs away the things she bought: soft blue baby blankets, some cuddly toys, a cute blue onesie that says I love my Daddy. She looks a little sad as she pushes them into the back of her cupboard.

BK – well, BK is so overwhelmed with the news, he forgets the no-swearing rule in my house. “You fucking lucky bastard! Damn, what a lucky escape.” But things are going better for him now. He’s back to seeing his twins every weekend. Sometimes Precious and I go along too.

Mid-June and Refilwe phones to tell me the little boy has been born. Abigail is naming him Thobo Junior. Thobo will soon be out on an early-release program. I am glad that my cousin is standing by her friend.

“I still wish it was your baby,” says Refilwe. “That would have been so great. So special.”

And Precious and I are preparing for our finals, studying hard. We have a bet on: who will get the most As. The loser has to pay for a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant of the winner’s choosing. Precious is still sure she wants to be a Social Worker, even if it hurts her to see people in pain.

“Someone has to make things better for them,” she says. “What’s the use of crying if you aren’t going to do something about it?”

*****

And one night, one beautiful summer’s night, Precious and I make love for the first time.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask her ten, fifteen times over. She smiles and nods.

And yes, I have a condom ready. Of course I do. I say, “No babies yet, my darling. Not till we are finished with college and on our way in the world. And then I promise you, I will be the best Daddy ever.”

“I know,” she says softly and simply reaching out her arms to me.

***

Tell us: How do you feel about Abigail now? What is your verdict on her?