Two years later.

I walk out of my Art gallery and walk to my black Amarok. My little son, that I gave birth to a year ago, a result of the rape that Mthandeni put me through, is in the stroller I bought for him.

I put him in the backseat and kiss his little lips, he smiles and touches my face with his wet hands, “mama.” He says then giggles.

“I love you.” I say, and strap him in his carseat. We are on our way to fetch 6 year old Siphosethu, from his first grade class. I can’t wait to hear all about his day.

My phone rings, and I answer it. Mthandeni the caller is you.

“When will you bring the boys over, MaNdlovu?” You ask me.

“At 16:30. I’m still fetching them from school, Mthandeni.” I replied.

“Okay. Please drive safely, then.” You say.

I hang up, and look at the rear view mirror, and find my son smiling at me. I know everything will be okay. I’m only 34, I can still find love, and settle down. No more kids for me though, so the man I find, has to have enough kids on his own.

Mthandeni, I’m glad you married the side chick, I mean, the accountant girl, named Iyani. I’m happy you two now have two beautiful daughters together, and that you are happy and content with what you have. I love you, you gave me the six most beautiful gifts anyone could’ve ever given me.

“Are you ready, Khethokuhle?” I ask my son, as I drive into the busy road.

He claps his hands and giggles, then shouts “Mama!”

I’m grateful, for my boys, and my little angel girl up in heaven, I know she’s her brother’s little angel.