SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

As I sat in the backseat of the car, watching the world go by, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last few months. Phiwokuhle was already three months old, and the whirlwind of motherhood had consumed me entirely. But no matter how much joy she brought into my life, the internet saga still lingered like a dark cloud over our heads. The thought of my baby girl’s face plastered all over social media for strangers to see made my heart ache.

I glanced over at Sbani, who was focused on the road, his jaw clenched in that way it always did when he was deep in thought. He had been working so hard to shield us from the media, but I could see the toll it was taking on him.

“Mnyeni wami,” I said softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We’re going to be okay.”

He looked over at me, his expression softening as he intertwined his fingers with mine. “Mkami, I just want to keep you and Phiwokuhle safe. This world… it’s not kind to people like us, especially not to her.”

I nodded, understanding his concern. “I know, BabakaPhiwo. But we’re strong. We’ll get through this.”

He gave me a small smile, but I could still see the worry etched on his face. I squeezed his hand again before turning my attention back to our daughter, who was fast asleep in her car seat. She had grown so much already—her tiny fingers, her chubby cheeks, the way she giggled when I talked to her. It was hard to believe she was already three months old. Every milestone felt like a miracle, a reminder of how precious life was.

We were on our way to Phiwokuhle’s doctor’s appointment. Even though I knew she was perfectly healthy, a mother’s heart is never fully at ease. I wanted to hear it from the doctor’s mouth, to see her growing strong with every checkup.

When we arrived at the clinic, Sbani parked the car and turned to me. “Njabulo yami, let’s get this done and get home. I don’t want to be out here longer than necessary.”

I nodded in agreement, understanding his need for privacy more than ever these days. As we entered the clinic, we were greeted by the receptionist, and a few heads turned in recognition. It was becoming harder and harder to go anywhere without people noticing us. I pulled my scarf a little tighter around me, hoping to keep a low profile.

The doctor’s appointment went smoothly, as expected. Phiwokuhle had grown, and the doctor was pleased with her progress. “She’s thriving,” the doctor said with a smile. “You’re doing a great job, both of you.”

I smiled proudly, exchanging a look with Sbani, who beamed at our daughter with pride. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head as we left the consultation room.

As we made our way to the reception area to check out, something caught my eye. A young boy, no more than three years old, was playing with a toy car near the reception desk. He had the same dark, curly hair as Sbani, the same determined brow. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the child, who could easily have been a miniature version of my husband.

“Mbulazi…” I whispered, tugging on his arm. “Look.”

Sbani followed my gaze, and I saw the shock register in his eyes. The boy looked so much like him, it was uncanny. He stood there, frozen for a moment, before turning to me with a bewildered expression. “Sthandwa sami, do you see what I’m seeing?”

I nodded, my heart racing. “BabakaPhiwo, he looks exactly like you…”

The boy’s mother appeared then, picking him up with a smile, completely unaware of the tension in the room. She didn’t seem to recognize us, which was a relief, but I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach.

As we walked out of the clinic, the image of that little boy stayed with me. I glanced at Sbani, who seemed just as unsettled.

“Mkami, what do you think that was?” he asked quietly as we got into the car.

“I don’t know, Mbulazi,” I replied, still trying to process what I had seen. “But it felt… strange.”

He nodded, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. “Let’s just get home,” he muttered, his mind clearly racing. As much as I wanted to focus on Phiwokuhle and the joy she brought into our lives, it was hard to ignore the sudden appearance of that boy—his uncanny resemblance to Sbani, the way he seemed to mirror our lives in such an unexpected way.

But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside. I had to focus on my family—on Phiwokuhle’s growth, on the love we had for one another. That was all that mattered.