After the funeral, things felt… lighter.
Not healed. Not perfect.
But better.
For the first time in a long while, I felt alive—and I noticed it. The heaviness that had lived in my chest for years loosened its grip, even if only slightly.
Every day, my phone buzzed with messages from the family group. Laughter, voice notes, prayers, old pictures, inside jokes I didn’t yet understand but was eager to learn. Even those who couldn’t make it to the funeral reached out privately, sending condolences, welcoming me home in their own way.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
Then one day, an unknown number called.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi,” the voice said warmly. “You’re speaking to your uncle from your father’s side.”
He paused.
“You are Tebelo, right?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good,” he said. “I’m your
