Bound by Legacy, Chosen by Love

A Safe Place To Fall

Genesis POV

It took three cups of sugar water to calm me down.

That—and my grandfather promising to shoot whoever had the audacity to make me cry.

While my tears ran down uncontrollably, my grandfather was on the phone with my father, threatening him with death for allowing me to leave the house with tears streaming down my face.

I didn’t even pay attention to their conversation. I knew exactly what had happened the moment my grandmother switched to her native tongue.

Dad had told them everything.

My grandfather now had the impossible task of comforting both my grandmother and me at the same time, while demanding that my father return home immediately.

“I sometimes feel like your grandmother is pulling my son by the nose,” my grandmother snapped mid-rant. “How can he agree to such nonsense? There’s agreeing with your in-laws, and then there’s being bewitched!”

“No child of mine will ever enter an arranged marriage,” she continued. “If I wanted that nonsense, I wouldn’t have married your grandfather!”

She was in her mid-eighties but looked no older than sixty, calmly embroidering my grandfather’s handkerchief as if she wasn’t declaring war.

“I told you, Thapelo,” she said, placing the needle down and peering at him over her glasses, “we should have taken this child and never allowed her parents to raise her.”

“That old hag has never respected us—let alone our son,” she continued. “From the moment Mothusi started dating her daughter, she believed our son was beneath her child. As if our farms made us peasants before her!”

She didn’t stop there.

Unlike my maternal family, who run a bakery business, my paternal family is known as the livestock breeders. The HeadBush legacy has lived through generations. Over time, they invested in antiques and innovation—turning ideas into reality.

The HeadBush line is private, reserved. Their wealth isn’t measured by a single thing, but by many.

My grandfather is the only son, with four sisters. Whenever he tells the story of how he met my grandmother, you can hear it in his voice—it was love at first sight.

My great-grandfather, who was a village chief, once took my grandfather along to a chief’s meeting so he could learn how leadership worked.

That day, when they arrived on Khoisan land—my grandmother’s homeland, known for pure royal blood—he saw her for the first time.

And that was it.

Love.

When negotiations between the elders failed and war threatened between the Batswana and Khoisan tribes, it turned out their children had already promised themselves to one another.

That promise nearly caused bloodshed.

My grandfather had been arranged to marry the village headmaster’s daughter, while my grandmother was promised to the western region as part of a peace treaty.

But love won.

That, however, is a story for another day.

“What time did they say they would get here?” my grandmother asked suddenly, throwing daggers at my grandfather.

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied, his jaw tightening. “That’s when I lost my temper and told him not to set foot on my land.”

My grandparents were opposites.

He was calm.

She was the storm.

But one thing about my grandfather—he defended justice above all else.

And right now, justice had a name.

Mine.

____________________________________________

Just as the clock struck six in the morning, the sound of cars pulling into my grandparents’ yard woke me.

Almost immediately, I heard my grandmother’s voice outside. She and my grandfather still wake up early to begin their day, but I was surprised they hadn’t woken me sooner.

The door to my bedroom opened, and my grandmother stepped in.

“My little leaf, are you awake?” she asked gently. “We didn’t want to disturb your rest, but the Wright family and your parents are here.”

She paused, studying my face.

“Do you want to come and attend the meeting… or?”

Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” my grandmother asked.

I sat up on the bed—well, more like my father’s old bed. Whenever I’m home, I always sleep in his childhood room.

“Ke nna, Mma,” my mother’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Oh, come in,” my grandmother said.

My mother opened the door and stepped inside. One look at her puffy eyes told me she’d been crying too.

My grandmother rose from the corner of the bed and wrapped her daughter-in-law in a hug.

“Let me go and check if the tea is ready,” she said softly, excusing herself once she released her.

“Genesis…” my mother called my name, her voice fragile—broken in a way I wasn’t used to hearing.

“I’m sorry, my baby,” she began. “Every day, I wish I were strong enough to protect you and your siblings from my family’s pressure. I wish I could let you live your own life.”

Her voice cracked.

“I wish I were as strong as your rakgadi,” she continued. “They let their children live carefree lives, while mine have to walk on eggshells.”

“Mom,” I said, wiping away a fresh wave of tears, “you don’t have to apologise to me. I know the kind of pressure you’re under.”

She sat beside me and pulled me into a tight hug.

“I don’t want you to hate me—or my family—because of this,” she whispered, crying into my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a while, until the weight between us softened. When we finally pulled apart, she wiped her face and looked at me.

“Are you joining the meeting?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said firmly. “I’ve had enough shock for one lifetime. This meeting can miss me.”

She smiled weakly and nodded.

“Alright then,” she said, glancing around the room. “Get out of bed and start doing your usual chores while you’re here.”

And just like that, reality knocked again.