Amahle's Diary 1

Chapter 12

Well, I said a guest because the other one is more of a... what's the word... a pain in the ass and never participates in anything!

The atmosphere in the room was cozy and family-like. I walked in, commenting, "This looks cozy and family-like. When did you get here?"

Dad replied, "About an hour ago. Come on, come give your old man a hug," opening his arms for me and drawing me into his embrace. It felt good being in his arms, a nostalgic moment of being a daddy's little girl for 10 seconds. His strength and familiar scent brought back memories of the close bond we used to share when we were a real family.

"Why didn't you tell me you guys were coming when I called you?" I asked.

Anathi, my sister, joined the conversation, "And ruin the surprise? No ways, sis." I stepped out of my dad's embrace to greet her.

"Oh, hi," I greeted her.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah. So, Dad, what did you bring me?" I inquired with a playful tone.

Bomi, a family member, remarked, "Does he have to bring a gift every time he comes here?"

"Duh! Ain't it obvious? Perks of being the last born," I responded with a playful smile.

Dad chuckled, "Hahaha, Bomi, let my daughter be, hawu."

Anathi interjected, "You never visit him, kodwa you have the nerve to demand gifts... mh, must be nice." Her comment instantly angered me, knowing she had no idea about the reasons I left PE.

"Anathi, hayi!" Dad reprimanded her.

I rushed upstairs and went straight to my room, slamming the door. I buried my face in the covers, feeling hurt and angry. After a while, I heard a soft knock on my door.

"Go away," I mumbled.

The door opened, and it was Mom. "It's mommy, sweetie," she said softly. I didn't respond, but she climbed onto my bed, laying next to me as I cried. She didn't say a word, just cuddled me to her chest and let me cry while rubbing my back. We might have fallen asleep like that because when I woke up, we were covered in a fleece and a throw. The curtains were closed, and it was around 8:30 pm.

After a brief moment, I went to pee, washed my hands, and noticed my puffy eyes. I sighed, went back to my room, switched on my phone, and headed downstairs. As I approached the kitchen, I heard commotion – Mom and Anathi were arguing.

"This is my house, and I will not tolerate that attitude, miss," Mom asserted.

Anathi retorted, "Your house? Oh please. We both know you got this with dad's divorce money."

Mom responded firmly, "Jonga apha, ntombazana. Andingo tatakho mna ozokuyeka uthethe noba kukanjani naye siyevana!" (Look here, girl. I'm not your father who lets you speak anyhow to him. Are we clear?)

Anathi tried to continue, but Mom slapped her, saying, "You will never talk to me like that ever again! I've given you enough time to heal. I raised you as my own. I will not be disrespected by you. Not under my roof. You will go to your sister and apologize for what you said to her earlier, and as of today, you will respect me and call me Mom. Are we clear?"

Anathi reluctantly replied, "Yes, Mom."

Mom approached, and I walked in, pretending I hadn't heard any of it. Despite the complicated emotions, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction that Mom had finally asserted herself, setting Anathi straight. She deserved it!

The atmosphere at home was subdued when I walked in, and Mom, concerned, asked, "Hey, u-right?"

"Yeah, I just need water, that's all," I responded.