Yeni: A Family & Its Business

Chapter 7: When the Past Comes Calling

“Sakhile Yeni, you officially have my nerves on probation!” Lefika’s voice cut through the Paris air like a blade. “You tell me to come back from Paris for an urgent family meeting, and now that I’m home, you’re on a damn vacation in KZN? Are you serious right now?”

Her tone was laced with fury and disbelief.

“Lefika,” Sakhile said evenly, “I need you to come down to my mom’s house eMgungundlovu. Tom will drive with you and Thimna. I’ll see you when you arrive.”

“Sakhile, what’s going on? What is this about?” Her anger gave way to a flicker of worry.

“We’ll talk when you get here,” he replied. “See you tonight.”

The line went dead.

Ayanda raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Sakhile sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just Lefika losing her mind because she had to cut her Paris trip short. She and my mother have never exactly been best friends—and my elders don’t even know we’re engaged.”

Ayanda leaned back, crossing her arms. “Then I definitely shouldn’t have asked. This sounds like something that has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

He looked at her, steady and sure. “I’m going to end our engagement tonight. After the family meeting.”

Silence hung in the air like static. Ayanda said nothing. A week had passed since their first conversation about leaving their current partners, and the weight of it still lingered between them.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Sakhile continued quietly. “I love you, Ayanda. I’m not confused about that. So I don’t see why I should waste her time—or mine.”

Her eyes softened. “Sax, you do realize nine years is a long time, right? We’re not the same people anymore. We’ve changed. What if we’ve outgrown each other? What if the hurt we cause Lefika and Nate ends up being for nothing? What if you’re my past, not my future?”

“Not knowing isn’t enough for me,” he said, stepping closer. “With you, I’d rather walk into the fire and get burned than spend my life wondering what could’ve been. If there’s even a 0.0001% chance of our happily ever after, I’m taking it.”

Ayanda smiled through the tears she tried to hide. He pulled her into his arms.

“We need to hit the road soon,” he murmured against her hair. “I hired a bigger car for the trip. I’ll fetch it now. Will you and your mom be ready when I get back?”

“We’ll just grab some clothes and pick up my mom,” she said softly.

“Good. Send me your location when you get there. I’ll fetch you guys, and we’ll drive down together.”

“Okay. It’ll also give me a chance to… you know… end things with—”

Sakhile silenced her with a kiss on the forehead, lingering just long enough to say what words couldn’t. Then he left.

⸻

Nate’s voice trembled with anger. “So, you’re calling off the engagement because the twins’ father is back? Because you’re still in love with him? What have I been to you for the past seven years, Ayanda? A replacement?”

Her throat tightened. “I could never let him go, Nate. I loved you. God knows I did. But it wasn’t the same kind of love. Not the kind that steals your breath and burns your skin when he walks into the room.”

He stared at her, eyes glassy. “You’re ending this for a hope from nine years ago? People co-parent all the time, Ayanda. You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I want to.”

Nate’s face crumpled. He turned away, breathing heavily. “I need my ring back,” he said finally, voice cracking.

Ayanda slipped the ring from her finger and placed it in his trembling hand. “Good luck, Nate,” he said hollowly. “I hope this works out for you—and those twins.”

She watched him walk away before driving off, her hands shaking on the steering wheel.

When she pulled into her mother’s driveway, her world was strangely quiet. The maroon Mercedes-Benz V250 Sakhile had hired gleamed in the sunlight. Her family was already packed and waiting.

She sat there for a moment, staring ahead, trying to catch her breath. Then she reached for her purse, opening the coin pocket. No coins—just the red diamond ring Sakhile had given her all those years ago. She slipped it onto her finger and twisted it slowly, lost in thought.

A soft knock on the window startled her. Sakhile.

“You good?” he asked gently.

Ayanda nodded.

“How did it go?”

“He asked for his ring back,” she said, a faint, sad smile curling her lips.

Sakhile chuckled quietly, eyes full of empathy. “Are you sure about this, Sax?” she asked.

“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life, my Yanda.”

He noticed the red ring glinting on her finger. “You kept it?” he asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I married you in my heart,” she replied softly.

Something shifted in his expression—vulnerability, relief, desire. “May I put it back on?”

“Not yet,” she teased. “If everything goes well this weekend, you can put it back on Sunday night when we get back from Mgungundlovu.”

He leaned in and kissed her. The world went silent.

“Deal,” he murmured, lips brushing hers.

“By the way,” he added, “your mom’s sister is coming with us. She’ll drive down too. I said it was fine.”

Ayanda groaned, laughing despite herself. “You do realize Mamkhulu turns every trip into a soap opera, right?”

They both laughed, the tension dissolving for a brief, precious second.

Ayanda parked her car, took a deep breath, and climbed into the van. The long road to Mgungundlovu awaited them—where old wounds, unfinished love stories, and family truths were waiting to unravel.

⸻

Throwback: Yanda and Sax

“I’m so exhausted, Sax. This is s*****y. Your mom could get arrested for treating me like this.”

Ayanda’s voice echoed from the kitchen of the Yeni home in Mgungundlovu. It was a week after her lobola had been paid, and Mam’Sibongile, Sakhile’s formidable mother, was “teaching” her how to be a proper Yeni bride.

“Baby, you’ve made it to Friday,” Sakhile said, trying to soothe her. “Just two more sleeps, and we’re heading back to Johannesburg.”

Ayanda turned, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Look at me, Sax! My nails are broken, my hair itches from this ridiculous doek, and my back feels like it’s about to break. Your mom has me scrubbing floors, washing windows twice a week, and cooking Christmas meals on a random Tuesday! Who eats dombolo and turkey on a Thursday, Sakhile?”

He couldn’t help laughing.

“She loves you, babe. She talks about you all the time to her friends.”

Ayanda glared. “Then she’s got a funny way of showing it. I swear, she’s doing this because that witch Thimna told her I’m not domestic enough.”

Before he could respond, Mam’Sibongile’s commanding voice rang through the house. “Makoti! You need to start baking that chocolate cake for dessert! It’s almost 4 p.m.—when are you starting dinner?”

Ayanda muttered under her breath, “Chocolate cake, Sax. For dessert. On a Friday. Who does this?”

Sakhile chuckled again. “Relax, Yanda.”

She forced a smile and called back, “Ngiyeza, Mama!”

As she mixed the cake batter, Mam’Sibongile entered the kitchen, regal in her headwrap and wisdom. “You look tired,” she observed.

Ayanda managed a polite smile. “A little, Mama.”

Mam’Sibongile nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll come with me to the night service later. A bride must pray for her marriage.”

Ayanda blinked. “Mah?”

“Umendo, sthandwa sami,” she said softly, “isn’t sustained only in the kitchen or the bedroom. It’s sustained by prayer. I want you to be the kind of makoti my son will never regret marrying. You’re the one, Ayanda. God chose you.”

Ayanda sighed, her exhaustion giving way to quiet respect. “Mah, maybe I can go next time? I’m really tired tonight. I’ll pray in my heart before I sleep.”

Mam’Sibongile gave her a sharp look. “And when trouble comes to your marriage, should God wait until He’s not tired to answer you? No, Ayanda. You pray when you’re tired. You pray when you’re hurt. You pray even when you think you can’t. That’s how you build something that lasts.”

Ayanda swallowed the lump in her throat. There was something deeply human beneath the older woman’s sternness.

“Yanda,” Mam’Sibongile continued, “God is the only one who can protect you from the troubles you see—and the ones you don’t. Learn to pray for your husband, for your home, and for yourself. We leave at ten. Tell Sakhile to get ready too.”

Ayanda chuckled softly once Mam’Sibongile left the room. “Praying at ten p.m.? This ought to be fun,” she whispered.

Sakhile peeked in from the living room, grinning. “Did I just hear you being volunteered for night prayers?”

“Your mother’s trying to turn me into a saint,” Ayanda groaned. “Good luck living with me after this weekend, Mr. Yeni.”

He walked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “Saint or not,” he murmured against her neck, “you’ll always be mine.”

She turned, met his eyes, and for a moment, the world stilled—the laughter, the chaos, the future—all suspended between them.