SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Two weeks had passed since the whirlwind of media attention surrounding Phiwokuhle. The noise had died down, but the tension it had caused between Hlelo and me still lingered. Every day, I could feel the strain on our relationship. She was distant, and it broke my heart to see her pulling away, even if she was doing it silently. Injabulo yami and Phiwo didn’t deserve this mess.

Today, though, would bring some answers—at least I hoped so. I had arranged to meet my PI at the Netcare Clinic, the same place where we first saw that little boy. A strange coincidence, perhaps, but this location now felt symbolic. As I pulled into the parking lot, my stomach churned with a mixture of dread and curiosity. What could the investigator have found?

Walking inside, I spotted the PI sitting in a corner of the waiting area, a manila folder in hand. His expression was unreadable, which only heightened my anxiety. I made my way over and sat down beside him, nodding in greeting.

“Mr. Khumalo,” he began, sliding the folder across the table. “I have the information you requested.”

I took a deep breath before picking up the file. “Let’s get this over with,” I muttered.

The investigator nodded, waiting as I opened the folder. Inside were a few documents and a photo of the boy. My eyes skimmed the pages, my heart pounding faster with each line I read. The boy wasn’t mine—he belonged to… my twin brother?

I frowned, confusion gripping me tightly. “This can’t be right,” I said, my voice low. “I don’t have a twin brother. I have one sibling—Sthandile, my sister. That’s it.”

The investigator looked at me carefully. “The records show otherwise, Mr. Khumalo. It appears there was another child, a boy, born shortly after you. He lived with a family in Cape Town. His name is… Sibusiso.”

The name sent a shockwave through me. How could this be true? I had never heard anything about a twin. My parents never mentioned it, and Sthandile certainly never said anything. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I murmured, closing the file. “Why wouldn’t I know about this?”

The PI shifted in his seat. “I can’t answer that, sir. But all the documentation checks out. Sibusiso Dlamini lived in Cape Town his whole life. The boy you saw is his son.”

I leaned back, running a hand over my face. My mind was spinning, trying to process the revelation. A twin brother? A nephew I didn’t know about? None of this felt real, but the evidence was staring me in the face.

“Thank you,” I muttered, standing up and shaking the PI’s hand. “I’ll… I’ll take it from here.”

As I walked out of the clinic, my thoughts swirled with confusion and frustration. This new information changed everything. But what did it mean for my family now? Hlelo had already been so stressed, and this would only add to the burden. How would she react to this? And why did my parents keep this from me?

I arrived home later that evening, feeling more lost than ever. Hlelo was in the living room with Phiwokuhle, cradling her gently while humming a soft tune. For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, watching them. The sight of my sthandwa sami and Phiwo was the only thing that brought me peace these days.

Hlelo looked up, sensing my presence. “Mbulazi,” she greeted, a small smile on her lips, though the distance between us still lingered in her eyes.

“Mkami, we need to talk,” I said, my voice heavy with the weight of what I had learned.

She frowned, concern flashing across her face as she stood up and placed Phiwokuhle in her crib. “What is it, BabakaPhiwo? You’ve been so tense lately. Is it about the boy?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Mkami, it’s more complicated than I thought. The boy… he’s not mine. He’s the child of my twin brother.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Twin brother? Mbulazi, you don’t have a twin.”

“I didn’t think so either,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “But apparently, I do. Or did. His name was Sibusiso, and he lived in Cape Town his whole life. I never knew about him.”

Hlelo stared at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Why didn’t your family tell you?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice tight with frustration. “But I need to find out.”