Now that I’ve got your email address, I don’t know what to do with it Mthandeni.

Mom says, I should reach out. But, my brothers say I should lay off you. How can I lay off you when I see you, when I look in the mirror.

I’m sitting in front of my laptop, I’m hesitating. What will I say, if and when you reply to my email? What will I say I want? It’s been ten years since we last spoke. I’m scared, Mthandeni.

I look down at my trembling fingers, as I hesitate to press send, and they’re bruised. I’ve finally done it, Mthandeni.

I lost my family, like you lost us.

Last night, I beat Ayabongwa black and blue, and Njabulo, my second born, fought for his mother. Something I should’ve done when I was 10,11,12 and 13 when you were laying your dirty hands on my mother! Instead of just standing by.

I’m proud of him for standing up like a man, and fighting for his mom. He beat me with his cricket bat. My head is still buzzing.

I watched them leave this morning, I couldn’t do anything. Because in Ayabongwa’s face I saw the face of my defeated mother all those years ago, and I knew she was done, nothing I could say would make her forgive me.

I hope you’re happy, Mthandeni. I lost my wife. My kids. And I guess the therapy didn’t help.

The house feels lonely. I’m a man who’s already dead inside. I have nothing more to lose.

On my left hand side, there’s an AA pamphlet. And on my right hand side, a gun.

I hope Njabulo and Sipho don’t grow up to be angry men like me. And to my little girl, my first daughter, my first born, Buhle, I’m sorry princess.

The gun is the better option.

I hope you’re happy, Mthandeni.

Kind Regards,

Your son,

Avethandwa Zulu.