Wounded warrior

The Woman Who Prayed For Me

Evening settled over the neighbourhood, the kind of calm that comes after a heavy day. The smell of Rebecca’s cooking still lingered in the room, and my body was finally relaxing after the long walk.

Then we heard a soft knock on the door. Not urgent. Not aggressive. A respectful knock.

Rebecca looked at me, her eyes widening slightly.

“It’s my mom,” she whispered.

Before she could even reach the door, Lungelwa stepped inside— a tall woman with a presence that commanded attention without raising her voice.

Behind her came Tessa, Rebecca’s younger sister— bright-eyed, shy, carrying a plastic bag of fruit and juice in her arms.

The moment they saw me, their faces transformed— shock, relief, gratitude all mixing into one expression.

Tessa gasped softly.

“Hawu… bhuti, you really walked here?” Her voice was full of disbelief and admiration.

Rebecca held my shoulder proudly.

“He did. Slowly… but he did.”

Lungelwa moved closer, her eyes filling with tears as she studied me— the stiffness in my legs, the scars on my head, the weakness in my right hand.

But there was no judgement. No anger. Just pure relief.

She placed her warm hand gently on my cheek.

“My son… let’s thank God you’re still alive.”

Her voice carried the tone of a mother who had prayed in the dark, prayed through fear, prayed through uncertainty.

Rebecca guided me to sit properly, and Tessa placed the fruit on the table before kneeling beside me, studying my face carefully.

“We heard you couldn’t talk… but you’re trying. That alone is enough.”

I swallowed hard. My throat tightened painfully as I tried to speak.

“Ma… mh… ma…”

The word failed halfway, but Lungelwa squeezed my hand gently.

“It’s okay, my child. You don’t need to talk. We understand. You being here—alive—is enough.”

Rebecca stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders, and I could feel her relief seeing her family accept me again.

Lungelwa continued softly:

“Rebecca told us you defended her… even when you couldn’t speak properly. That alone shows the kind of man you are.”

My eyes burned with emotion. Tears threatened to fall.

Tessa wiped her own eyes.

“We worried about you. We prayed day and night. Even when people pointed fingers at my sister… we knew the truth would come out. We knew your heart.”

Rebecca sat next to me, her hand finding mine, fingers intertwining gently.

Her mother looked at us both, smiling through tears.

“This child you two are expecting… she’s already surrounded by love. She’s blessed.”

The room filled with warmth, not the heat of the stove but the warmth of acceptance, family, and prayer that had carried us through the darkest days.

For the first time since the incident, I didn’t feel like a burden… or a victim… or a half-broken man.

In that room, with those women, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time:

Belonging.

The warmth in the room… the acceptance… the prayers… everything paused in one second when my phone vibrated on the table.

Rebecca was still sitting beside me, her hand in mine, her mother and Tessa chatting softly about the baby clothes.

I reached for the phone slowly, my fingers still stiff, my eyes heavy.

I unlocked the screen—

And there it was.

Joyce.

The message hit me harder than the fall I survived:

My heart dropped so fast it felt like the room tilted.

I stared at the message over and over, each line cutting deeper than the last.

Rebecca noticed my face change instantly.

“Baby… what’s wrong?”

I handed her the phone, my hand trembling slightly.

She read it quietly, her lips pressing into a thin line, her chest rising with a slow breath.

Tessa leaned closer, confused.

“What’s happening?”

Rebecca’s mother watched me with those calm, knowing eyes— the eyes of a woman who had seen storms before.

Rebecca looked up from the phone, her voice soft but sharp:

“She thinks you came back to me… and that you planned it.”

I closed my eyes, the pain burning deep.

Joyce’s words replayed in my head— not just the anger, but the accusation… the betrayal… the assumption that I would abandon my own daughter.

Rebecca turned to me again.

“Did you tell them you were coming to see me… or explain why?”

I struggled to speak— my voice still healing.

“N… no. No… jus’… walk… here.”

The room fell silent.

Even Lungelwa leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but firm:

“My son, do they know your condition… your pain… your weakness? Do they know you almost died?”

I shook my head slowly.

Rebecca sighed, placing her hand on her forehead.

“She thinks you ran back to me out of choice. But you walked here because you had nowhere else to go. You could barely even speak. You could have collapsed.”

Tessa looked at me with wide, sad eyes.

“Shame man… they don’t understand. They're reacting from hurt.”

Rebecca’s mother reached for my hand again.

“Listen, Tebelo. This is not your fault. People who don’t see your struggle will judge you by assumptions. Right now she’s scared… she’s angry… and she feels betrayed. But the truth will reveal itself.”

I swallowed hard, feeling my chest tighten— not from anger, but from helplessness.

All I wanted was peace. Healing. A moment to breathe.

Yet here I was— caught between two women, two families, two worlds.

Rebecca looked at me gently.

“Do you want to reply?”

I stared at her and shook my head.

Not because I didn’t care. But because I couldn’t form the words. Because even if I tried, Joyce wouldn’t believe me in that moment.

Rebecca placed her hand on my back.

“Let her calm down. Right now, anything you say will sound like a lie in her ears. Just focus on resting.”

Lungelwa nodded in agreement.

“You’re still fighting for your health. Everything else will come into its time.”

But deep inside, I felt something break—

Not my heart… but the last little strength I had left.

The fear of losing access to Angela stabbed deeper than anything else.

I leaned forward, hands on my face, breathing heavy.

Rebecca rubbed my back soothingly.

And in a shaky whisper, with the little voice I could manage, I finally said:

“I… don’ want to lose… my baby.”