Sindie



I sat on the couch, clutching the blanket tightly as if it could offer some solace in the midst of my anguish. Seven hours and twenty-three minutes had passed since I lost Lloyd, and the pain still consumes me.

Shawn, a compassionate presence in this dark time, approached me, placing a sandwich on the table. “You need to eat,” he said softly, concern etched on his face.

I shake my head, unable to summon an appetite. “I can’t stomach anything right now,” I whispered, my mind still echoing with the piercing sound of gunshots. “Where is Naledi? Is she okay?” I asked, my voice trembling with worry.

“Naledi is still in shock. Thankfully, she’s sleeping now,” Shawn reassured me, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and relief.

My thoughts immediately turned to the police, seeking some semblance of answers amidst the chaos. “What are the police saying?” I inquired, desperate for any information that could bring clarity to this nightmare.

Before Shawn could respond, Simon, a friend who seemed to materialise in the room, entering with his laptop in hand. I had lost track of time and hadn’t even noticed his arrival. My mind felt scattered, detached from reality.

“I obtained some camera footage from the nearby salon,” Simon informed us, his voice tinged with hesitancy.

I rose from the couch, my legs carrying me over to Simon’s side. “Show me,” I urged, my voice filled with a mixture of desperation and determination. “Show me that bastard who took my baby away.”

Simon hesitated, sensing the raw emotions coursing through me. With trembling hands, he displayed the picture on his laptop screen. I turned to Shawn, my heart sinking as recognition washed over me. “I know this guy,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Shawn nodded solemnly, confirming my fear. “It’s Marco,” he confirmed, his voice heavy with sorrow and anger.

My legs felt weak, and I sank to the floor, the realisation hitting me with crushing force. “He was working for Ndumiso,” I murmured, the pieces falling into place. It could only mean one thing.

Overwhelmed by a surge of nausea, I stumbled toward the bathroom. The sickness rose from the depths of my stomach, reflecting the turmoil within me. I doubled over the sink, retching and gasping for air.

After rinsing my mouth, I forced myself to meet my own gaze in the mirror. The reflection that stared back at me was a mere shadow of my former self. The pain etched on my face, the emptiness in my eyes, mirrored the depth of my grief.