The wife who cast no shadow

There are houses people admire from the road. And then there are houses people avoid looking at for too long. Tawanda and Nyari's home was the kind people admired. It stood alone on a quiet rise in Chishawasha Hills, surrounded by manicured gardens, tall trees, and walls high enough to keep the outside world away. Its enormous windows reflected the Harare sunset, and at night, the house glowed like a jewel against the darkness. Everyone thought the walls protected the couple. Nobody knew what they were keeping inside. Tawanda had built his life carefully. He was the kind of man people trusted without knowing why. Successful, disciplined, well dressed, and rarely seen without a calm smile. At thirty-eight, he had everything he had once prayed for—a thriving business, a beautiful home, and a wife who seemed to have stepped out of someone's dream. Nyari. She was twenty-nine, elegant without trying, with deep brown skin, long dark hair, and eyes that seemed to notice things other people missed. Tawanda had fallen for her quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. They met at a friend's dinner. Nyari had been sitting alone near the window, watching the rain. “You don't look like you're enjoying yourself,” Tawanda had said. She turned and smiled. “I was just thinking.” “About?” “The rain.” He laughed. “That's a first.” She looked back outside. “Rain remembers things.” He remembered those words. He just didn't know why. Two years later, they were married. Yet there was one part of Nyari's life Tawanda could never enter. Her past. He knew almost nothing about where she had grown up. He had never met her parents. She had no childhood friends who visited. There were no family photographs displayed anywhere in the house. When he asked, she always gave him the same answer. “They're gone.” Once, Tawanda had asked, “Gone where?” Nyari had looked at him for a long moment. “Does it matter?” He had laughed then. He wasn't laughing now. It was a Thursday evening when things began to change. Tawanda arrived home just after seven. The house was unusually quiet. “Nyari?” No answer. He found her in the upstairs sitting room, standing before the window. She was wearing a long emerald dress. “Why are you standing in the dark?” “I like the view.” Tawanda walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn't move. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “You're cold.” Nyari smiled faintly. “I've always been cold.” He kissed her cheek. Then he noticed something on the glass. A faint handprint. On the inside of the window. “Tawanda?” He looked at her. “Did you touch the glass?” Nyari's expression changed. “No.” He turned back. The handprint was gone. That night, neither of them mentioned it. But at 2:13 in the morning, Tawanda woke to the sound of footsteps downstairs. Slow footsteps. Bare feet against marble. He reached for Nyari. The bed was empty. “Nyari?” Silence. He got out of bed and walked downstairs. The footsteps stopped. The house was dark. He switched on the hallway light. Nothing. Then he heard a woman's voice from the sitting room. Soft. Almost a whisper. “Don't let him see.” Tawanda froze. He knew that voice. It was Nyari's. He moved toward the sitting room. “Nyari?” No answer. He pushed open the door. She was standing beside the balcony doors, staring into the darkness outside. “Tawanda?” He swallowed. “Who were you talking to?” Nyari slowly turned around. “No one.” “I heard you.” “You were dreaming.” “I wasn't.” For several seconds, they stared at each other. Then lightning flashed across the hills. The room filled with white light. Tawanda looked down. His shadow stretched across the floor. The furniture had shadows. The curtains had shadows. But Nyari— had none. His breathing stopped. “Nyari…” She looked down. Her face went completely still. Tawanda took one step backward. “What are you?” Nyari's eyes filled with something that looked almost like sorrow. Then she whispered, “Please don't make me tell you.” “Tell me what?” She looked toward the dark balcony. And when she spoke again, her voice was barely human. “The truth about me.” Outside, something moved among the trees. Nyari closed her eyes. “It's here.” Tawanda turned toward the balcony. “What is?” Nyari grabbed his arm. “Don't look.” But it was already too late. Something knocked softly against the glass. Once. Twice. Three times. And from the other side of the balcony door came a voice Tawanda had never heard before. A woman's voice. Calling Nyari by another name. “You promised you would never come back.” Tawanda looked at his wife. Nyari was crying. And for the first time in their marriage, Tawanda realized something terrifying. Perhaps the woman standing beside him wasn't hiding her past. Perhaps she was hiding how she had returned from it. TO BE CONTINUED…