WHERE DO I CRY?

CHAPTER 10: THE CALL

The call came on a Tuesday, while Amanda was cleaning the room upstairs.

The small room with green door — where Sarah used to stay — where Fatima painted herself two years ago. It was dusty, window broken one side, floor with old newspaper stuck. But it was hers if she can pay R800. Bigger than store room. Real room, not curtain door.

She was on knees, scrubbing floor with old T-shirt, Noah tied on back, Ella at creche for three hours — R20 a day creche two doors down where teacher knows her name now.

Phone rang. Unknown number. 011 — Joburg.

Her heart jumped. She thought it's Sarah. Or Mama from Mbonambi.

She answered, "Hello?"

Woman voice, professional, cold: "Is this Amanda? Amanda Dlamini? Wife of Daniel Dlamini from Berea?"

Amanda's hand with T-shirt froze. Water dripped on floor.

"Yes... it's me."

"This is Mrs Khumalo, attorney for Mr Daniel Dlamini. I am calling regarding your marriage. My client wants to serve you with two options. Option one — you come back to Johannesburg, Berea flat, and be a family again, no divorce. He will forgive you for taking kids. Option two — he will serve you with divorce and apply for full custody of Ella and Noah on grounds of abandonment, mental instability, and inability to provide. You have 48 hours to choose."

Amanda sat on dirty floor. Noah on back started crying because her back stiffened.

"Full custody?" she whispered.

"Yes. My client says you left kids on Shoprite cardboard, you sleep in shop, you cannot provide. He has flat, job, mother to help. Court will give him kids if you fight. If you come back, he will not file."

The lawyer hung up after saying "48 hours."

Amanda stayed on floor. Phone in hand. Dirty water around knees.

She became emotional — not small cry like shower cry in Berea, or store room quiet cry. Big cry, body shaking, with kids here, life here, progress here.

She thought about all things Daniel used to treat her.

Beating — not everyday slap, but push against wall when she asked for grocery money. Blue shirt man saying "You are useless."

Cheating — vanilla perfume on blue shirt, phone always face down, saying "Plenty girls outside want me, you should be lucky I stay."

Controlling — "Block your family, they are toxic, they jealous. Don't go to Mbonambi. Don't wear that dress. Who are you texting?"

Rape — morning before work, 6am, no romance, forced, then going to work like nothing, leaving her there bleeding a little, kids watching cartoons.

Narcissist behaviour — telling his mother she is depressed, telling her sister she left for another man, telling everyone she is nothing without him.

And now — come back and be family again. Same pap plate covered. Same Berea flat cold wind. Same.

Or fight and lose kids?

She will not go back.

She wiped tears with same T-shirt she was cleaning with.

She chose to fight.