Chapter 6: Shards in silence
987 Words
The morning crept in like an unwanted confession—soft, slow, and impossible to ignore.
Zanele sat at her dining table long after the sun had risen, a cup of untouched coffee cooling beside her, her phone face-down as if turning it away could silence the noise it might bring. She’d dressed that morning out of habit, not intention: crisp blouse, structured slacks, a subtle gold necklace Mandla once gifted her on her first court win.
She didn’t even realize she was wearing it until she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Her hand rose slowly, brushing the chain. She hadn’t taken it off in months.
With a sharp tug, she unclasped it and dropped it into the glass bowl by the door where they used to keep keys and loyalty cards. It clinked softly. Final.
She stood in the stillness of the room, her breath quiet, her thoughts too loud.
For days she’d focused on strategy—emails, investigations, silent coordination with Thami, redirecting power, tightening financial locks, pulling strings no one knew she still held. She’d been brilliant. Controlled. Calculating.
But not this morning.
This morning she felt something else clawing up from the depths, something she didn’t have a spreadsheet for. No court filing. No formal statement. No way to argue it down.
Hurt.
Not the dignified kind you could turn into strength. Not the poetic kind that made for good origin stories.
No.
This was the messy kind—the type that curled under your ribs and whispered, How could he? The type that rewrote memories. That turned laughter into evidence and kisses into false testimony. That made you doubt not just the man, but your own intelligence.
She had built Mandla.
She had fed him confidence like oxygen, shaped his voice, smoothed his rough edges. She had stood beside him in boardrooms, deflected egos, elevated his name.
And still, he betrayed her. With Kay.
Kay, who had once asked to shadow her for growth.
Zanele pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and exhaled hard.
“You’re not weak,” she whispered. “You’re human.”
The words didn’t comfort her, but they gave her permission—to feel, if only for a moment.
She slid to the floor, back against the cold marble wall, knees drawn to her chest. No tears fell this time. But her jaw clenched in fury at how close they came.
Because this wasn’t just a betrayal of love.
It was a theft of self.
The kind that tried to make you believe you misread every sign. That your instincts were wrong. That maybe the strength you thought you had was just proximity to someone else's ambition.
But Zanele knew better.
---
The phone rang, cutting through the silence. She blinked, disoriented.
Reception.
She picked up.
“Ms. Moyo, sorry to disturb—your nine o’clock with the Coltrane Energy team is waiting in Boardroom B. They just arrived.”
Zanele stood up fast, nearly knocking the chair back.
The meeting.
The R410 million infrastructure contract she’d worked on for three months. The one that could shift their public sector division into a new league.
She looked at the clock.
08:56.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said, her voice steady. “Start them on coffee and muffins. Make sure the slide deck’s queued on the main screen.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She ended the call and walked—no, marched—to her bedroom.
She wasn’t falling apart.
She was getting dressed.
Twenty-five minutes later, Zanele strode into the boardroom wearing a tailored charcoal suit, diamond studs, her signature matte lipstick, and a composure so clean it could slice marble.
“Apologies for the wait,” she said, voice calm and commanding. “Traffic and a last-minute contract clause I needed to squash.”
The Coltrane team, four men in sharp suits and a CFO with razor intellect, greeted her with respect—and a little awe. She was late, but she owned the room before she even sat down.
For the next ninety minutes, she walked them through the proposal with surgical precision. She answered questions before they were fully asked, turned complex regulation into accessible vision, and dismantled every legal loophole with poise.
At one point, she noticed Kay pass by the glass door, slowing just long enough to peek in.
Zanele didn’t flinch. Just smiled and continued.
When the meeting ended, the Coltrane team stood, nodding with firm satisfaction. The CFO leaned in and said, “That was masterful. You’ve got our confidence.”
“Good,” Zanele replied, standing. “Because you already had mine.”
They shook hands. One of them grinned. “Our legal lioness.”
The door closed behind them. Applause still echoed in their footsteps.
---
Minutes later, her office line buzzed again.
It was Mr. Themba Masondo, the board chairperson.
“Zanele,” he said, voice full of admiration, “I just wanted to say—you’ve outdone yourself. Coltrane was blown away. I watched the stream.”
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“You’ve had a tough few weeks. I don’t know the full story, but... I see how you're carrying the firm. That doesn’t go unnoticed.”
She blinked, swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “I appreciate that.”
When the call ended, she leaned back in her chair.
Her body still hummed with the pressure, the performance, the pain barely buried beneath the surface. But she exhaled, slow and certain.
She’d done it.
She’d shown up. Delivered. Executed.
Not because she had to prove anything to Mandla. Or Kay. Or even to the board.
But because she was still her.
Still the woman who made herself.
And as she looked out over the skyline once again, she whispered, almost like a prayer:
“You’re still standing. Damn it, Zanele—you’re still standing.”
- Writer
