Rose



The weight of the past two days lifts as I step towards the door, my heart fluttering with a mix of emotions—apprehension, curiosity, confusion and the comfort of seeing my sister, Caroline, waiting for me on the porch.

Her face lights up with a wide smile as she rushes to hug me, her warmth filling me with a sense of safety and understanding. “What are you doing here?” I inquire as we make our way to the lounge.

“To see you,” she responds with genuine concern in her eyes.

I can’t help but feel a surge of anxiety as I ask, “Please tell me Senzo isn’t here.”

Caroline hesitates before replying, “He’s here, but he just wants to talk.” I can’t help but feel skeptical about his intentions. “Where is he?”

“In the car,” she responds, leaving to fetch him. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the conversation ahead. When Senzo enters, he looks worn and exhausted, as if he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hi,” he says quietly, taking a seat across from me.

“What do you want, Senzo?” I ask, my voice laced with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“I want an explanation for why you left,” he says, his tone tinged with both confusion and desperation.

I let out a bitter laugh, finding it ironic that he’s asking for an explanation when he never considered my feelings before. “How ironic,” I mutter.

He looks at me, genuinely puzzled, waiting for me to elaborate.

“That’s the problem, Senzo,” I begin, trying to put my feelings into words. “You do everything for me, leaving me with nothing to do except stay in this enormous house or go shopping. Before you came into my life, I had a job, I worked at the café, and I loved it. I enjoyed working for myself, being independent. But then you came along, bought the café, and within four months, we were married, and I found myself in this colossal mansion with no purpose.”

For the first time, Senzo is speechless, his eyes locked on mine, as if trying to understand the depth of my emotions.

Tears of frustration blur my vision, but I continue, my voice tinged with anger. “I miss my old life, where I woke up each morning and went to work. Have you ever considered what I wanted in all of this? Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I don’t desire a lonely house with fifteen bedrooms?”

Senzo’s voice barely rises above a whisper as he says, “I’m sorry.”

Shaking my head, I assert, “Signing those divorce papers is what needs to be done.”

His reply is soft, almost pleading, “I can’t.”

“I need space to breathe, to rediscover myself, to figure out who I truly am. And I can’t do that if you’re here. If you truly love me, you’ll let me go,” I say firmly, my heart heavy with the weight of this decision.