Melokuhle



It was a cold, moonlit night as I stood outside my parents’ gate, my face stained with tears. The clock struck 4:00 a.m, amplifying the silence that enveloped the surroundings. With a trembling hand, I pressed the intercom, and the sound of my mother’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Who is it?” Her voice carried a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“It’s me, mom,” I managed to choke out, my voice betraying the weight of my emotions.

In a heartbeat, the gate swung open, revealing the dimly lit path leading to the front door. Before I could take another step, my mother emerged from the house, hastily wrapping a gown around herself. With a swift yet gentle motion, she raced toward me, her eyes filled with both relief and worry.

As I collapsed into her waiting arms, all pretense of composure crumbled. I dropped my bags, surrendering to the overwhelming flood of tears, and clung tightly to my mother as if my life depended on it.

My father, hearing the commotion, hurried over to retrieve the abandoned bags, his steady presence providing a reassuring anchor amidst the storm of emotions. With a silent nod, he guided us inside the house, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

Now seated on the cozy couch, a warm blanket enveloping me, I sipped the sugar water that my mother had prepared. Its sweetness provided a temporary solace for my shattered spirit, soothing my hysterical crying to some extent.

Through tear-filled eyes, I looked at my mother, her face etched with regret and maternal love. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice laden with a profound sense of sadness. “I thought he was the one for you.”

My father, sitting nearby, interjected with a firmness that only a concerned father could possess. “I always knew that he was not right for you,” he stated, his words resonating with conviction.

“Steve,” my mother chided him disapprovingly, her tone a gentle reproach. “Go to sleep. When you wake up, you might feel a little bit better.”

As I nestled deeper into the comforting embrace of the couch, surrounded by the love and understanding of my parents, sleep beckoned me. With a heavy heart, I closed my eyes, hoping that the new day would bring a glimmer of hope and healing.