SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sbanisethu's Point of View

The house felt emptier than it ever had before. Hlelolwenkosi's absence was like a hole I couldn't fill, no matter how much I distracted myself. I sat in my study, the walls closing in on me as her words echoed in my mind.

"I want a divorce."

Those words played on repeat, tormenting me. How could she leave? After everything, how could she just walk away? My fist slammed down on the desk, rattling the glass of whiskey beside me. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

I had given her everything—status, wealth, protection. Yet, it hadn’t been enough. Nothing I had done was enough to keep her. And now she was gone, disappeared into the night like a ghost, leaving me with nothing but the memories of our shattered marriage.

The silence in the estate was unbearable. I had tried to bury myself in work, pretending that it didn’t bother me. I had tried to ignore the emptiness, but I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—Hlelolwenkosi, her sharp eyes filled with defiance, her voice steady as she told me she was leaving. The one woman I thought I had control over was the one who had slipped through my fingers.

I rose from my desk and stormed to the window, looking out at the grand estate. It felt cold, lifeless. What was the point of any of it without her here? She had brought something to this place, something I hadn’t even realized I needed until it was gone. And now I was left to live in the ruins of what I had built.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, not bothering to turn around.

MaDlamini stepped into the room, her face tight with worry. “Any news, sir?” she asked, though we both knew the answer.

I turned to face her, the frustration building in my chest. “No,” I snapped, more harshly than I intended. “No one knows where she is. It’s like she vanished.”

Days had passed since Hlelolwenkosi left, and every lead had gone cold. I had people searching everywhere—the city, her old neighborhood, anywhere she might have gone to seek refuge. But she had covered her tracks too well. I knew Mthandeni had a hand in this, and the thought of him helping her escape only fueled my anger. He had betrayed me.

“I can’t lose her, MaDlamini,” I admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “She’s mine.”

MaDlamini’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. “She’s a strong woman, Sbanisethu. She left for a reason. Have you thought about—”

“I’ve thought about everything!” I interrupted. “But none of it matters if she’s not here.”

I knew MaDlamini meant well, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. Hlelolwenkosi wasn’t just another woman. She wasn’t like Thandiwe or the others who had fallen in line, content with the wealth and power that came with being tied to my family. Hlelolwenkosi had a fire in her, a stubbornness that both frustrated and fascinated me. I hadn’t expected her to leave, to walk away from everything I could offer her.

She was different, and I hated that I loved her for it.

After MaDlamini left the room, I found myself staring at the wedding photo on my desk. I picked it up, tracing her face with my finger. She had looked so beautiful that day, so full of life. She was supposed to be my partner, the mother of my children, the one to continue our legacy.

But somewhere along the way, I had lost her. No—I had pushed her away.

I threw the picture down in frustration, the glass cracking as it hit the desk. This was my fault, wasn’t it? I had been too focused on my family’s expectations, on what I wanted, that I hadn’t bothered to ask her what she needed. I had assumed that once she married me, she would fall into place like everyone else. But Hlelolwenkosi had never fit into the mold. She had been suffocated by it.

And now she was gone.

Days passed, each one stretching longer than the last. Every time a lead came back empty, my frustration grew. I had people combing through records, watching her friends, even keeping an eye on her family. But still—nothing.

It wasn’t until late one evening that I got a call. A shaky voice on the other end, one of my informants, whispered into the phone.

“We found her. She’s in a safe house outside the city.”

Relief surged through me, followed quickly by anger. A safe house? From what? From me? I clenched my jaw, trying to control the emotions swirling inside me. She was hiding, afraid of what I might do. But she didn’t understand. She didn’t see the bigger picture, didn’t see that I had always been doing what was best for both of us.

I had to make her understand. I had to show her that she belonged with me.

I wasted no time. I left that night, driving into the outskirts of the city, my heart pounding as I neared the location my informant had given me.

As I approached the small, nondescript house, a flood of emotions overwhelmed me—anger, fear, regret. I had come here to bring her back, but deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about control anymore. It was about more than that.

I parked the car and got out, my chest tight as I walked toward the door. With a steadying breath, I knocked.

The door opened slowly, revealing Mthandeni standing in the doorway, his face a mask of calm.

“Mthandeni,” I growled, “step aside.”

“She doesn’t want to see you, sir,” he said firmly, standing his ground.

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to force my way through. “Let her speak for herself,” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.

For a moment, Mthandeni hesitated, then turned his head slightly. “Miss Hlelolwenkosi… he’s here.”

I waited, my heart pounding in my chest. After what felt like an eternity, I heard her soft voice from within.

“Let him in.”

Mthandeni stepped aside, and I entered the small living room. There she was, standing near the window, her back to me. The sight of her, so close yet so distant, sent a jolt of something unfamiliar through me.

“Hlelolwenkosi,” I began, my voice breaking through the silence. “I’ve been looking for you. I… I need to talk to you.”

She turned slowly, her eyes meeting mine. There was no anger there, only exhaustion.

“What do you want, Sbanisethu?” she asked quietly.

“I want… I want you to come home,” I said, stepping closer. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve taken you for granted, and I see that now.”

She shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “It’s too late for that.”

“No,” I insisted, my voice rising with desperation. “It’s not too late. I love you, Hlelolwenkosi. I didn’t know how to show it before, but I do. I want to make things right. Please—just give me a chance.”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a sigh, she looked at me, her gaze steady.

“Sbanisethu… I loved you too. But love isn’t enough when respect and freedom are missing. I can’t be the woman you want me to be. I need to be me, and you… you need to let me go.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I couldn’t deny their truth. I had tried to mold her into someone she wasn’t, and in doing so, I had lost her.

“Hlelolwenkosi,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about what you can’t undo.”

And with that, I knew. I had already lost her.