Grace felt she was operating on autopilot. She dashed across the room to her mother’s side, knelt down and leaned into her face. Angela was breathing, but her breath was low and shallow.

Grace dialed the emergency number. “Please hurry!” She spoke rapidly into the phone: “My mother’s been hurt. I think somebody’s attacked her. There’s blood–”

“OK, slow down, love. What’s your name?”

“Grace Dube. My Mum’s name is Angela Dube. Our address is 44 Pheasant Road, Humewood. It’s just off the Cathcart Road.”

“I know where it is, darling. Is there anybody else in the house with you?”

“No, my father’s away in Johannesburg this week. I don’t know where my brother is. He might still be at soccer practice.”

“You’re doing well, Grace. Now stay calm and tell me, do you think there might be any intruders in your house?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Grace said slowly. “When I came home from work I looked all over the house for my mum. I think I would have spotted somebody if they were hiding.”

“That’s good, Grace. Can you stay on the line with me? I’ve already sent the police and an ambulance to your address. They will be there very soon.”

“Grace, Grace. Is that you?” It was her mum. She spoke very softly, weakly.

Grace dropped the receiver but didn’t disconnect the call.

She leant in close to her mum so she could hear her more clearly. For the first time Grace noticed the source of the blood: a deep gash on the right side of her face. Blood was pouring out of it.

Grace jumped up and grabbed a clean, white towel from her parent’s en-suite bathroom. Gently she dabbed her mum’s face. In horror she noticed that the cut started just above her ear and ran all the way down under her neck, and along to her chin.

It looked as if somebody had slashed her face with a knife.

“It’s OK, Mum. You’re going to be alright,” Grace said. She tried to stay calm as she noticed the white towel was now already bright red with her mum’s blood.

“Grace,” Mum said, and tugged gently on her arm. “I don’t have much time. Just listen to me.”

“You don’t have to talk now, Mum. Please save your energy,” Grace pleaded as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

“Yes, I do,” Angela said softly. “I’m not going to make it, Grace. I want you to be brave and strong. Your father is not the man you think he is.”

“Mum! What are you saying? He did this to you? He’s away in Johannesburg, remember?”

“That’s what he wants us all to believe.”

Grace took some deep breaths to calm herself down. Surely her mother was confused. Dad was a bully and a control freak. But was he capable of trying to kill his wife? He was always telling everybody how much he loved her.

But like mothers everywhere, even in her dying moments Angela was trying to protect her precious child.