The wailing sirens echoed through the air. I stood frozen, trapped in a hollow void where emotions should have been. More crowds gathered around, a sea of faces, as the police arrived, their authoritative presence parting the spectators like a heavy curtain. They moved with purpose, enclosing the scene in the yellow tape that seemed almost mocking in its nonchalant proclamation of a boundary that I had crossed.

They entered the room, their stern expressions contrasting the chaos that had unfolded within. One officer’s gaze fell upon me, and he approached me with a set of handcuffs, snapping them onto my wrists as he recited my rights. The cold metal bit into my skin, the weight of the situation seeping in as I was escorted out of the room. Outside, a throng of curious onlookers had gathered, their eyes hungry for a spectacle. Despite the turmoil within me, I lifted my head high, my gaze fixated on Zizipho.

I attempted to move toward her, with a desperate need to reassure her that she would always be in my heart, but the police officer’s push forced me off balance, stumbling and falling. His grip yanked me up, denying me even a moment to connect with her. “I love you,” I shouted, my voice a desperate plea, a declaration of my unyielding affection. From the midst of the crowd, her soft voice reached my ears, her response carrying both reassurance and heartache, “I love you too.” It was a fragile thread connecting us, a lifeline amidst the chaos.

As I was ushered into the police van, I clung to the caged windows, my eyes refusing to leave her until the distance swallowed her form. The police station loomed into view, a daunting reminder of the impending reality. Despite my heart’s increasing rhythm, a determination to stay true to my truth surged within me. The weight of my actions the consequences, were heavy burdens, yet I knew that I had acted to protect the one I loved.

Stepping into the cold precinct, every eye turned toward me, each gaze carrying judgment and scrutiny. The detective’s bored expression was a stark contrast to the turmoil within me as he posed the inevitable question. I recounted the events, my voice a mix of relief and urgency. The weight on my shoulders seemed to lift with every word, an unburdening of the truth that had haunted me.

“Dlozi Hlongwane was raping you?” His voice held a mix of disbelief and curiosity as he set his phone aside and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling upwards as if mirroring my emotions. His next question was more of a statement than a question, exposing the vulnerabilities I had tried to keep hidden. The lump in my throat stifled my response, leaving the unspoken anguish hanging in the air. “And so you chose to murder your uncle,” he concluded, standing abruptly and leaving the room without giving me another look.

Alone in the chilling room, handcuffs binding me, a police officer soon arrived to lead me to my cell. Tears welled up, unbidden, as the reality of my situation crashed down. The hope I had clung to earlier, the belief that justice would prevail, it felt like a fragile dream that had now shattered.

Regret and fear flooded in, drowning out any sense of solace. In the dim light, I curled into myself, tears streaming down my face, the weight of my actions and their consequences pressing heavily upon my chest as I sat in the cold, uninviting cell, hugging my legs close to my chest.

And I knew for a fact that I would no longer be getting out of here. The police officers would make sure that I rot in jail.

I pulled out my t-shirt and started ripping it and made a rope with it as I tied the ends, and went to the window and tied the made-up rope as tight as I could and helped myself stand up from the toilet. I tied the rope to my throat, and I gulped down the lump that had formed in my throat. “I’m sorry, Zizipho,” I mumbled under my breath. I was sorry for failing her, and I should’ve tried harder for us to get out of that place.

I looked at my stomach and did a quick prayer to God so that he could forgive me for the sin I was about to commit. I would not only be taking my life away but also the life of an innocent baby.

I angrily wiped off my tears as I pushed myself away from the toilet, and I quickly felt the tightness of my chest as my lungs begged for oxygen. Tears started stinging my eyes, I could feel my heart pounding, and my legs started kicking as if they wanted me to stop this madness, but soon I could feel myself losing consciousness, and my heart started slowing down. A tear rolled down my cheek as my legs kicked one last time before I finally gave in to the sleep that I would never wake up from as it enveloped me.

Tell us: what can we do as a society to ensure that someone like Lesedi has more options and hope in her life?