7 months later.

The twins are 5 months old now, and I cannot mention how loud and always hungry they are.

“Babe, I’m going to work. Stay well, with your boys.” I kiss Mphikiseni on the mouth.

He frowns and stares at the twins, who are lying on the carpet and pushing dummies into their mouths, sucking the milk from the bottle and yelling things we don’t understand loudly.

“You said you wanted kids.” I tell him.

“I know..but babe…” He sighs again, and grabs my hand. “If I die..it’s them.” He says.

We both laugh.

****

Turns out, the sangoma wanted my dead son so he could use him for making medicine. He thought my son could make powerful muti, so he wanted me to get treatment from him in the name of my ancestors. I’m so happy I’ve got a smart husband, who can think well.

I’m no longer a witch, in my village. I work as a receptionist, and I’m currently furthering my studies as I want to be a nurse.

I guess I got my happily ever after.

“Ngiyabonga Khumalo.” I say, as I spit on a stone and put it on top of Siyamkela’s grave. “I love you boy.” I stand up and take the twins; Siyabonga and Simbongile with me.