SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

It had been a week since my parents and I had gone to the hospital, desperately searching for my mother’s pregnancy history. The search yielded no results, leaving me feeling more confused than ever. My mother had given birth over 30 years ago, yet here I was, grappling with questions about a past I barely knew. I looked at my baby daughter, Phiwokuhle, and couldn't help but think about the implications of my family's hidden history.

After our initial visit to the hospital, my father and I agreed that we could not give up. The weight of our search loomed over us like a dark cloud, compelling us to dig deeper. I could see the determination etched on my father’s face as he made calls to old contacts, seeking leads and insights that might illuminate the mystery surrounding my mother’s pregnancy. It was a desperate attempt to understand how I could have a twin brother, someone I never knew existed, and why my mother had never mentioned him.

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of phone calls and meetings. My father’s relentless pursuit of the truth inspired me, but it also filled me with dread. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever we were about to uncover might shatter the fragile sense of normalcy we had in our family. I thought about Hlelolwenkosi and how she had been so supportive through all this turmoil. I couldn’t let this affect our relationship, especially with a newborn baby to care for.

On a quiet Wednesday afternoon, my father and I sat in his study, a room filled with the scent of old leather and the weight of family history. The walls were adorned with photos of generations past—smiling faces frozen in time, each holding their secrets. I couldn’t help but feel that behind every photograph lay untold stories, perhaps similar to my own.

"Have you reached out to Dr. Ndaba?" I asked, breaking the silence. Dr. Ndaba was one of the few doctors who had been involved in my mother’s case during her pregnancy.

"Yes, but he’s been reluctant to share much," my father replied, his voice laced with frustration. "He insists that patient confidentiality prevents him from discussing anything without your mother’s consent."

"But Mom has been more than willing to help with this investigation," I countered, feeling the heat of anger rising within me. "What kind of confidentiality is this? If it were my case, wouldn’t they just share everything?"

"That’s the thing, my boy. She’s not the patient anymore; she’s just a memory to them." My father sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "But I won’t give up. I have a few other contacts I can reach out to—maybe a former nurse or someone who was around back then."

As my father continued making calls, I found myself lost in thought. The possibilities of what we might uncover both excited and terrified me. What if my twin brother had been raised in a different family? What if he had experienced a life so different from mine? I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, even for a brother I had never met.

A few days later, I received a call from my father. His voice was charged with energy, almost electric. "Sbani, we’ve made some progress. I spoke to one of the nurses who worked at the hospital during the time your mother gave birth."

My heart raced as I listened intently. "What did she say?"

"She confirmed that your mother experienced what’s called vanishing twin syndrome," my father explained. "She thought she was carrying one baby, but there were actually two. The other baby absorbed into your mother’s body during the early stages of her pregnancy."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and dense. I felt a chill run down my spine. "So, I really had a twin brother?"

"Yes, and there’s more," my father continued. "The nurse mentioned that the doctors had concerns during the pregnancy. She implied that some ethical decisions were made about what to do with the surviving twin. It’s possible that the hospital staff may have taken the other twin for their own purposes."