Chapter 7: The Unexpected Move
789 Words
Zanele was deep in review mode when her phone buzzed—Private Number.
She ignored it.
Then a w******p message lit up her screen from a number she hadn’t saved in years but couldn’t forget.
Mandla.
> “I’m downstairs. Please. Just ten minutes.”
She stared at it. The audacity. But curiosity—no, strategy—nudged her.
She texted back:
> “Five minutes.”
---
He stepped into her office like a man walking into court with no defense—nervous, shoulders slightly hunched, hands clinging to a brown paper bag like it could redeem him.
“Zee... Zanele. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Make it count.”
He placed the bag on her desk. “Your favourite—Mzanzi Deli. The chargrilled veg wrap, double salsa. Still your thing?”
She didn’t answer.
“I know I messed up,” he said, voice cracking. “I don’t even know where to begin. That document... what you saw... it was stupid. But it was nothing more than a conversation. A terrible one.”
Zanele stayed quiet.
“I was overwhelmed,” he went on. “The growth, the pressure. I felt like a passenger in something you built, something I couldn’t match. And Kay—she saw that. She played on it.”
Her brow lifted, barely. “You’re blaming her?”
“I’m blaming myself,” he said, stepping closer. “I let myself forget who held me up. Who built this firm—me. I let my ego make me think I deserved more than what you already gave me.”
She shook her head slightly, lips pressed tight.
“Zanele, I didn’t sign anything. Nothing moved. I swear it. I couldn’t go through with it.”
“But you tried,” she said calmly. “You planned it. That’s the betrayal, Mandla. Not the paperwork.”
He flinched, his voice lower. “I miss us. I miss you. I want to fix this.”
“You want forgiveness?” Her tone sharpened. “You want to stitch together the empire you tried to rob from me—with the woman you let into your bed and into my books?”
“It was one mistake—”
“No,” she cut in. “It was a series of choices. You don’t stumble into betrayal, Mandla. You walk into it. Step by step.”
His eyes glistened. “Is there really no way back?”
Zanele sighed and looked out the window. “There’s no way back to a bridge you set on fire.”
Silence.
She softened, barely. “I hope you get the help you need. But not at my expense.”
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”
“Leave the food,” she said, turning away.
“Can I at least... can I hug you goodbye?”
She didn’t look at him when she answered. “No.”
---
That night, the untouched meal sat on her granite kitchen counter, steaming quietly into the silence.
She curled up on the sofa in her silk robe, a book on her lap, eyes dry but heavy. The ache wasn’t just betrayal—it was absence. The sharp absence of a dream she once held like a future.
Her phone buzzed.
T.
> “I heard about the board meeting. You’re a force, Zanele.”
> “Thank you.”
A moment later, another message:
> “You okay?”
> “Getting there.”
Then:
> “Want to step out? Late dinner, maybe just air and silence. Could be good for your head.”
She stared at it. Her fingers hovered.
> “Tempting,” she replied.
Then, after a long pause:
> “But I’m still piecing my spine together. If I leave now, I might forget I’m still bleeding.”
> “I get it,” he wrote back. “But if the pain gets too quiet, call me. I’ll remind you how strong you already are.”
She smiled, despite herself.
Her thumb brushed the screen once more.
> “Thank you, T.”
She put the phone down, leaned back on the couch, and closed her eyes.
Sleep came quietly.
And in the fog of dreams, T’s hand brushed her cheek. Familiar, tender. His lips touched her collarbone like he was reading old promises still etched in her skin.
She stirred, startled awake.
Sat up.
“Focus, Zee,” she muttered. “This is no time to fall.”
She wasn’t ready to want again. But the longing—now it had a name.
She shook it off.
Tomorrow would bring war.
Tonight, she’d wear her strength like armour.
- Writer
