I spend the rest of the day pacing up and down. It is now 8 p.m and Thami has not yet answered any of my phone calls. I sit on the bed and cry just as I’m about to call again, the phone rings my heart is now racing fast as if threatening to leap out of my chest.

I quickly answer “Where’s my child?”

“He’s here and he’s fine.”

I sit on the floor, with my knees drawn to my chest and with my hand on my hair “Please bring him back.” I say softly with a defeated tone because that’s how I feel right at this second, defeated.

“I want sole custody of my son.”

No, this can’t be happening “You can’t do this Thami; you can’t leave us and come here and kidnap my son. He’s not yours and can never be yours, I will never allow you to strip me off my child never.”

“You will never win.”

He’s right, I can never win. He’s rich and can bribe any judge or police officers. I say softly with my voice full with vengeance: “I will fight tooth and nail until I get my son back. I will never stop fighting.” And with that the phone got cut off.

I placed the phone down and scream as loudly as I can as if that will make Thingo come back home. I silently vow to my self that I will make sure that I get my son back even if that’s the last thing I do.