The Crocodile Tears

Chapter 2 : The announcement

The card was still on the kitchen counter when Nomvula came down the next morning. It hadn’t moved. It was propped exactly where she had left it the day before, leaning against the ceramic fruit bowl, the gold lettering catching the early light.

_Bushbuck Ridge Private Reserve. Two weeks. To remember us._

She picked it up and ran her thumb over the embossing. Siyabonga’s name was at the bottom, neat and formal, like everything he did. Two weeks. Just the two of them. In the bush. The thought made her chest tighten, but she told herself it was hope. Maybe this was what they needed. Maybe this was how they found their way back to each other.

On Sunday, Siya called for a family dinner. It was the first time in months that all three children had been asked to come on the same night.

Sanele arrived straight from Milpark, his scrubs swapped for a plain shirt but with the exhaustion of a 12-hour shift still sitting under his eyes. Zinhle drove down from Pretoria and walked in still wearing her red suit, her heels clicking against the marble. Lihle came from Soweto with a warm container of vetkoek, because she said no family dinner was complete without something homemade.

They sat at the long dining table. Twelve chairs, polished wood, crystal glasses that had not been used in years. Five people around it. The silence felt heavier than usual.

Siya stood at the head of the table. He did not fidget. He never did. But Nomvula saw the way his fingers rested against the edge of his wine glass, not lifting it.

“Your mother and I are going away,” he said. His voice was calm, measured. “Bushbuck Ridge. Private Reserve. For two weeks.”

Zinhle set her fork down. “A holiday?”

“To work on us,” Siya said. He looked at Nomvula when he said it. “To remember why we got married. To have time without distractions.”

Lihle’s face lit up immediately. She gasped and brought both hands to her chest. “Oh, Ma. Dad. That’s beautiful. You two really deserve that. Time together, just the two of you.”

Sanele nodded slowly. He took a sip of water, watching both of his parents. “It’s a good idea,” he said. “You haven’t had real time together in years. Not with the foundation, not with us, not with anything else pulling at you.”

Nomvula kept her eyes on her plate. She could feel all of them looking at her. “We thought it would be good for us,” she said quietly. “A chance to... talk. Properly.”

Zinhle leaned back in her chair. She studied her father for a long time. The tightness in his jaw. The way he avoided her mother’s eyes. The way he had planned this without mentioning it to any of them until now. A knot formed under her ribs, the same one she got before walking into a difficult cross-examination.

Maybe I’m being delusional, she thought. Maybe I’ve spent too long looking for lies in people. It’s a romantic trip. That’s all it is. People do this.

“Two weeks is a long time,” Zinhle said carefully. “But if it’s what you both want... then I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you, baby,” Nomvula said. Her voice was soft.

After dinner the children helped clear the table. It felt almost normal. Lihle washed, Sanele dried, Zinhle put everything away. Siya sat in the lounge and read the news on his tablet.

“Will you have signal there?” Zinhle asked as she stacked the last plate.

Siya shook his head without looking up. “No. That’s part of it. No phones. No emails. Just the bush. Just us.”

Zinhle wanted to say something else. She wanted to ask why now, why so far, why no contact. But Lihle was already talking about the animals they might see, and Sanele was nodding like this was the best news he’d heard all month. So Zinhle swallowed it.

Friday morning came too quickly.

The black SUV was waiting at the gate just before sunrise. Two suitcases were loaded into the back. Siya’s briefcase went on the front seat.

All three children stood on the driveway to see them off.

Lihle hugged her mother first and held on. “Have the best time,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of your roses. And I’ll pray for you both.”

Sanele shook his father’s hand. “Take care of her, Dad,” he said. Simple. Sincere.

Zinhle hugged her mother last. She held on one second longer than usual. “Be safe,” she murmured into her mother’s hair.

“We will,” Nomvula promised. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Siya got into the driver’s seat. He gave a single wave out the window. The gates slid open, and then closed behind them.

The three of them stood there until the taillights disappeared down the street.

Lihle let out a long breath. “I think this is exactly what they needed,” she said.

Zinhle didn’t answer right away. She stared at the empty road. No signal for two weeks. Alone in the bush. The thought sat wrong in her stomach.

She told herself she was being delusional.

Inside the car, Nomvula watched Johannesburg fall away. Towers turned to trees. Noise turned to quiet.

Siya kept his eyes on the road.

“To remember us,” he said.

Nomvula nodded.