The ride back home felt long and heavy.
All I wanted was to see my father—to surprise him. I imagined the look on his face when he saw me walking again, imagined the pride, the disbelief, the quiet joy. I wanted to thank him in person, to tell him I knew now… about the support he had given my mother during my darkest days.
But I never even got to hear his voice.
Somewhere along the way, exhaustion pulled me under. I don’t remember falling asleep in the car. Mr Mabaso must have noticed—he let me rest the whole way, never waking me.
I only stirred when the car hit the gravel road near my street.
A few days later, my mother called me to the dining room.
“I can see you’re feeling a lot better since your visit to your father’s place,” she said gently.
“Oh… yeah,” I replied. “I am. And I’
