Chapter 14: The Woman Who Doesn’t Know How to Say Yes
809 Words
The sky was low and grey, the kind that made even morning feel like dusk. Dodo had just come back from a grocery run, her body still recovering from the flu, her mind craving quiet. Portia was at a school debate and Henry at soccer practice. She had looked forward to an empty house, hot tea, and silence.
Instead, she opened the door to find Phumlani seated on her couch.
“I used the key under the mat,” he said.
“You know that was for emergencies.”
“I think this is one.”
She sighed, dropped the paper bags on the kitchen counter. “What now?”
Phumlani stood. His shirt was ironed within an inch of its life. His shoes polished. He looked like he came ready for war disguised as romance.
“I’m tired, Phumlani.”
“I know you are,” he said, stepping closer. “But I need you to stop running.”
She crossed her arms. “Running?”
“Yes. From this. From me. From us.”
“There is no us.”
“There could be.” His voice softened. “Dodo, I love you. I love your kids. I’ve been patient. I’ve shown up. I’ve stayed when I could’ve walked. I want to marry you.”
Her heart stuttered.
Not because it was unexpected. But because it wasn’t. Because she had felt this moment approaching like a slow tide and hadn’t known how to stop it without drowning in guilt.
She said nothing.
He stepped forward. “Say yes.”
And just like that, something inside her snapped. Not loud. Not violent. Just sharp enough to bleed.
“You want a yes?” she asked, her voice trembled.
He nodded.
She laughed, but it wasn’t joy. “You always want a yes. Men like you always do. You court and push, you wear us down with good behaviour, and when we’re finally worn thin enough, you swoop in for the win. I’m not your trophy.”
His brows pulled together. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is you showing up and calling it love when what you really want is control.”
His mouth dropped open. “Control?”
“Yes! You want me soft. You want me impressed. You want me grateful. And I’m tired. I don’t want to be managed into saying yes.”
Phumlani’s voice rose. “So I’m the enemy now? For wanting to build a life with you?”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she fired back. “You decided. You made up this fantasy and now you’re upset I won’t live in it.”
“You’re scared. That’s what this is.”
“I am scared. But not of love. Of you. Of what I become when I let myself need you.”
A silence.
Ugly. Bitter. Honest.
Then he turned, jaw clenched, and left without another word.
---
Later that night, after the kids were asleep and the flat had returned to its normal rhythm, Dodo opened her laptop.
The screen blinked back at her, blank and expectant.
She began to type.
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Blog Entry: When No is a Full Sentence
There’s a kind of man who believes love is a deal. He brings consistency, decency, effort—and in return, expects your submission. He expects your “yes.”
But what if you’re the kind of woman who has only ever said yes to survive? Who has said yes to be liked, to be kept, to be chosen?
What if you’ve finally found peace—not the lonely kind, but the rooted kind? The kind that comes from finally living your life without performing?
Then that “yes” starts to taste bitter. Like betrayal. Like losing yourself again.
Phumlani is a good man. Kind. Reliable. Safe. But he disturbed my peace. Not with chaos, but with expectations.
And that, too, is violence.
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She pressed publish.
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The next morning, Dodo met her friend Thuli for coffee. They sat outside a small café in Glenwood, the sun finally out, the air brisk.
“You finally told him off?” Thuli asked, sipping her cappuccino.
Dodo nodded.
Thuli whistled. “Eish. I liked him.”
“I did too,” Dodo admitted. “But I don’t like who I become when I feel I owe someone happiness.”
Thuli studied her for a long moment, then smiled gently. “You’re not broken, you know.”
“I feel like it.”
“No. You’re just a woman who knows the cost of saying yes when you’re not ready.”
Dodo nodded slowly, her fingers warm around her cup. “Maybe someday I’ll say yes.”
“And it’ll be on your terms.”
“Yes,” Dodo said, softly this time. “My peace comes first.”
- Writer
