I listened to Joshua, my adopted brother, speaking softly,
“Bhuti… I never showed up. Mom came last week… Onnie and Sibongiseni never told her you were helping us since she’s been gone. So I didn’t know what to say.”
I stared at him,
my mind racing,
the familiar ache of frustration mixing with relief.
Relief — because they were safe.
Frustration — because my mother’s pride had blocked the truth for too long.
And underneath it all — the exhaustion of always carrying the weight of responsibility that wasn’t fully mine.
I knew the day would come when my mother would find out.
She would see the way I had been there for my brothers…
the meals I had cooked,
the money I had stretched,
the nights I had stayed awake to make sure everyone was okay.
And I also knew — deep in my chest —
