SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER TEN

Months had passed since I’d left Sbanisethu and the weight of my old life behind. I could hardly recognize the woman I was before, the one tethered to expectations that weren’t her own. Now, even though the world around me had shifted in ways I hadn’t imagined, I felt… stronger. Free. And that freedom was worth everything.

My parents, however, hadn’t seen it that way. When Sbanisethu’s family withdrew their investment from my father’s business after I left, they made their disappointment abundantly clear. The day my father called to inform me of the decision, his voice was colder than I’d ever heard it.

“You’ve destroyed everything, Hlelolwenkosi,” he had said. “Your selfishness has cost this family its future. Don’t bother coming home.”

My mother’s silence had been the hardest to bear. She hadn’t even tried to argue with him, hadn’t offered a word of comfort. Just silence, as though I no longer existed.

I had always feared being disowned, feared what it would mean to lose the love of my family. But as the weeks turned into months, I realized something important. Their approval had been a chain, one I had spent my whole life trying to break free from. And now, I was no longer afraid. I had my own path, my own dreams. I didn’t need theirs.

Sbanisethu, on the other hand, had kept his distance. I hadn’t heard from him since our last confrontation, not a call, not a letter. But there was one thing he had refused to give me: a divorce.

Despite his relationship with Thandiwe—despite the fact that she was now pregnant with his child—he refused to let me go. It was as though, in his mind, I still belonged to him. Even if he wasn’t a part of my daily life anymore, that refusal hung over me like a shadow, a reminder that I wasn’t entirely free yet.

But I didn’t let it stop me.

I threw myself into my studies with a determination I hadn’t known I possessed. Returning to school felt like reclaiming a part of myself that had been buried under the weight of my marriage. The routine of classes, late-night study sessions, and endless cups of coffee became a balm for my soul, a reminder that I was capable of building something meaningful—something that was entirely my own.

It wasn’t easy. The whispers followed me, the way people would look at me in passing. Word had spread about my departure from Sbanisethu, and people had their opinions—some supportive, others judgmental. But I learned to tune them out. None of them knew what it was like to walk in my shoes.

And every time I felt like giving up, every time the weight of everything became too much, I reminded myself of why I was doing this. I reminded myself that I had dreams that had nothing to do with being someone’s wife or fulfilling someone else’s expectations. I had a future that I was building on my own terms.

There were days, of course, when the loneliness crept in. It was hard, knowing that my parents were out there but choosing not to speak to me. It was hard knowing that Sbanisethu still had a claim on my life, even as he built a new one with Thandiwe.

But each day I grew stronger, more determined. My small, one-bedroom apartment became my sanctuary—a space where I could think, dream, and plan for the life I wanted. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.

I even found a part-time job at a local bookstore. It didn’t pay much, but it was enough to cover my rent and keep me afloat. And I loved being surrounded by books—each one a world of possibilities, a reminder that there were stories far bigger than my own.

Still, there were times when I wondered what Sbanisethu was thinking. Did he ever regret how things had turned out? Did he ever wonder what might have been if he hadn’t tried to control me? Or was I just a forgotten chapter in his life, discarded now that Thandiwe had taken my place?

I heard through mutual acquaintances that their relationship was progressing quickly. They were living together now, and with Thandiwe’s pregnancy, it seemed as though they were building the family that Sbanisethu’s mother had always wanted. The thought stung, but only briefly. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. It was more the irony of it—how he had demanded so much from me, only to find everything he wanted in someone else.

But even as Thandiwe’s belly grew and their life moved forward, he still refused to grant me a divorce. He still clung to this legal bond that tied us together, even though our emotional bond had long since withered away.

I had contacted my lawyer several times, trying to push the process forward, but every time the answer was the same. Sbanisethu was stalling, dragging out the proceedings for reasons only he understood.

“He doesn’t want to let go,” my lawyer had said, frustration lacing her voice. “It’s not about love or reconciliation. It’s about control.”

I knew she was right. This wasn’t about us. It was about power, about Sbanisethu’s need to prove that he could still dictate the terms of my life, even from a distance.

But I wasn’t going to let him win.

As I sat in my apartment, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks, I thought about everything I had lost—and everything I had gained. I wasn’t the same woman who had walked away from that estate months ago. I was stronger now, more sure of myself.

And I wasn’t going to let anyone—Sbanisethu, my parents, or anyone else—dictate my future.

I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer again. “Let’s push forward with the divorce,” I said, my voice resolute. “I don’t care how long it takes or what he throws at us. I want my freedom.”

As I hung up the phone, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The road ahead might still be difficult, but I was no longer afraid of it. I had survived worse, and I knew I could survive this too.

Because no matter what, I was going to reclaim my life.

One step at a time.