The man at the gate looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he should step inside or run back the way he came.
He held his cap in his hands, turning it nervously between his fingers.
When I got closer, I finally recognized him.
It was Khulile — Joyce’s uncle.
A man who always treated me with a bit of distance, never rude, but never warm either. The type who observes quietly, never forgetting anything.
I swallowed, feeling my throat tighten.
“Afternoon, bhuti,” I said.
He nodded slowly. His eyes scanned my face, lingering especially on my hand — the stiffness, the tremor I couldn’t hide.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
For him to ask that… I already knew something was wrong.
Rebecca appeared behind me, as if she sensed the shift in the air. She didn’t speak, just stood there quietly,
