A year later, I turned one of the boutiques you bought for me into an Art gallery, and it got successful pretty quickly, Mthandeni. You heard of it, and you burnt it down. Part of me, burnt down with that Art gallery.

I slipped into depression, as I heard you were paying lobola to the side chick’s family. My parents told me that polygamy was usual and nothing new. That a woman holds the knife by its sharpest point, I guess they enjoyed the 60k you sent them every month.

I started hating you, Mthandeni. You had all the money in the world, but you didn’t buy your side chick and her daughter their own home. No, you wanted me to see her everyday. You wanted me to watch you take her daughter and her to picnics, without my boys! 

That’s why we are here today, Mthandeni. Look at you now, growling and groaning, and crying. You look so ugly when you cry 

“Please, love. Think carefully. The boys need their father.” You groan.

Oh, but you didn’t think of that when you played happy families with that little whore of yours.

When you turned your back on me and your sons. When I had to see your little daughter, who resembles you so much everyday, running around and breaking things, and giggling in that sweet laughter of hers? You think I didn’t want a daughter? Oh I did! You took her from me, Mthandeni.

Then you hit me, abused me, raped me. 

I launch in your stomach again with the knife and you cry loudly, begging me to stop.

“Please.” You cry.

I am naked, you just raped me and hit me, now that I’m fighting back, I have to stop? 

“I want to kill you, Mthandeni!” I shout, while crying.

Avethandwa walks in, he’s now a 14 year old. He quickly covers me with the duvet, as three policeman and two paramedics walk in, with a stretcher.

The paramedics take you with them, while the police take me with them. 

I have a long story to tell the police, Mthandeni. I shall leave no details out, I won’t press any charges against you, I just need a divorce. If you’re man enough, you’ll give it to me.