WHAT HER MOTHER LEFT BEHIND
1147 Words
Naledi barely spoke during the drive home.
The words from the phone call kept replaying in her head.
Your mother knew.
Maseko had tried calling the number back, but it was already disconnected.
“Don't let one anonymous call make you believe everything you hear,” he said.
“I know.”
“You don't sound like you know.”
Naledi stared through the window.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“I remember.”
“You remember?”
“I remember hearing about it.”
She looked at him.
“You knew my family before I knew you.”
Maseko smiled slightly.
“Your father had a lot of lawyers.”
“That doesn't explain why you remember me.”
“I told you. You were difficult to forget.”
Naledi looked away before he could see her smile.
When they arrived home, she went straight to her mother's old room.
She rarely entered it.
Portia had never changed much after the funeral. The room had remained almost exactly as it had been, with the same dressing table, the same photographs and the same wooden jewellery box.
Naledi sat on the floor beside the bed.
“What would you have hidden?” she whispered.
Maseko stood in the doorway.
“Maybe you shouldn't do this tonight.”
“I need to know.”
He came inside and sat beside her.
“You don't have to do everything alone.”
Naledi looked at him.
“I've spent my whole life doing it.”
“Then maybe it's time you stopped.”
The words were simple.
They still affected her.
She opened the jewellery box.
Inside were old earrings, a watch and several pieces of costume jewellery.
Nothing unusual.
Then she noticed a small envelope underneath the velvet lining.
Her mother's handwriting was on the front.
For Naledi.
Naledi stopped breathing.
She opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
Her mother stood beside a younger version of Naledi's father.
And beside them was Richard Mthembu.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
Portia.
Naledi stared at it.
Maseko leaned closer.
“This was before Portia married your father.”
Naledi turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
Eleven years before Richard died.
“Why would my mother have this?”
She searched the box again.
Another envelope.
This one contained a newspaper clipping about Richard's death.
The article called it suicide.
A handwritten sentence had been written across the bottom.
I don't believe this.
Naledi's eyes filled with tears.
Her mother had known.
She had suspected something.
Then why had she never told anyone?
A noise came from the hallway.
Naledi looked up.
Mama Rose stood there.
When she saw the photograph, she stopped.
“You found it.”
Naledi slowly stood.
“You knew about this?”
Mama Rose looked down.
“Your mother asked me to keep it safe.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of Portia?”
Mama Rose didn't answer.
Naledi's voice broke.
“Please.”
The older woman sighed.
“Your mother believed Portia was involved in something with Richard.”
Naledi closed her eyes.
“Why didn't she tell Dad?”
“She tried.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“What happened?”
Mama Rose hesitated.
“Your father didn't believe her.”
Naledi felt something crack inside her.
All these years, she had believed her parents had been happy.
Maybe they had been.
Maybe they hadn't.
“Did my mother know about the money?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she know Richard was going to die?”
Mama Rose's eyes filled with tears.
“She was frightened the week before the accident.”
Naledi turned sharply.
“Accident?”
Mama Rose froze.
“What accident?”
“The accident that killed your mother.”
Naledi stared at her.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you call it an accident like that?”
Mama Rose looked away.
“I shouldn't have said anything.”
“Mama.”
“I don't know what happened.”
“Did you ever believe it wasn't an accident?”
The older woman whispered, “Your mother didn't believe it was.”
Naledi's heart stopped.
Maseko stood.
“What did she tell you?”
“She said the brakes had been tampered with.”
Naledi's eyes widened.
“And you never told me?”
“You were a child.”
“And my father?”
“He knew.”
Naledi stepped back.
Her father knew.
Her mother suspected Portia.
Richard had died.
Now she was being framed.
The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
Maseko gently took the photograph from her.
“We need to preserve this.”
Naledi nodded.
Her phone rang.
This time, it was her father.
She answered.
“Dad?”
His voice was strained.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Are you alone?”
“Maseko is here.”
Silence.
Then he said, “Listen to me carefully.”
Naledi sat down.
“What?”
“Don't trust anyone.”
She looked at Maseko.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I should have told you everything years ago.”
Her heart began pounding.
“Tell me now.”
“I can't.”
“Dad.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Then come here.”
Another silence.
“I don't think I can.”
“Why?”
“I think someone is following me.”
Naledi stood.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
The call ended.
Maseko looked at her.
“What happened?”
“My father thinks he's being followed.”
Before he could respond, the lights went out.
The house fell completely dark.
Naledi froze.
Maseko reached for her hand.
“Stay behind me.”
Something moved downstairs.
A door slammed.
Then glass shattered.
Maseko pulled Naledi behind him.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Naledi.”
“I've had enough of people telling me to stay behind.”
He looked at her.
Even in the darkness, she could see the frustration in his face.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone was inside.
Maseko reached for his phone.
A light appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
Then disappeared.
Naledi's fingers tightened around his.
The footsteps stopped.
A shadow moved across the wall.
Then everything went silent.
Maseko whispered, “Don't move.”
A minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, the security lights came back on.
The front door was open.
No one was there.
But the photograph of Naledi's mother was gone.
And on the floor where it had been left was a single white lily.
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