FORBIDDEN TIES

3.

Keeya Modise

It’s been a full week since little Enzokuhle Khumalo was admitted to the hospital. I’ve spent every waking moment piecing together the puzzle of her short and tragic life. At first, I had no idea who the woman that brought her in was. She had claimed to be Enzo’s aunt, but something about her demeanor was off. She was too eager to leave, too evasive when I pressed for more information. Now I know why. That woman wasn’t her aunt at all—she was her stepmother. And the truth of what she’s done to Enzokuhle still makes my blood boil.

The woman, who claimed to care for her, was actually the source of Enzo’s suffering. She had been abusing this innocent child for months, maybe longer. I discovered through one of our social workers that Enzo’s parents were both gone. Her father, a man named Sibusiso Khumalo, had been poisoned by the very woman who now pretended to be her guardian. All for the sake of money—his life taken away, leaving Enzo an orphan. Her mother, tragically, had passed away shortly after giving birth to her. It’s hard to imagine a more heartbreaking start to life.

Enzokuhle is only two years old. Two years old and already she has faced more than most people do in a lifetime. When she was admitted, her body was ice cold, her skin a pale gray that frightened even the nurses. She was so malnourished that I initially suspected a severe metabolic disorder or perhaps an undiagnosed illness. But no—what she had endured wasn’t a matter of medical mystery. It was neglect. Starvation. Abuse. The woman posing as her aunt had not been feeding her properly, likely withholding food for days at a time, if not longer.

I’ve worked in pediatrics long enough to know that children in such situations sometimes lose the will to fight. But Enzo, despite everything, is a fighter. That first night, when I held her tiny hand and tried to reassure her, she clung to me with surprising strength for someone so weak. That moment broke my heart and opened it all at once. I’ve always had a soft spot for my young patients, but there’s something about Enzokuhle. I can’t stop thinking about her, and I can’t stop wanting to protect her.

As the days passed, I’ve found myself spending more and more time by her bedside. Even when my shifts ended, I would sit with her, telling her stories, playing music, anything to soothe the sadness I could see in her eyes. And it wasn’t just me. The entire pediatric team had grown fond of her. Nurses brought her toys, the head nurse even found a soft blanket to keep her warm.

And then there was my sister, Sibusisiwe. A few days ago, she surprised me by dropping in during lunch, only to find me in Enzokuhle’s hospital bed, cuddling her while she slept. I remember the look on Sibusisiwe’s face—part amusement, part something deeper, something maternal. She sat down quietly and watched us for a while before finally speaking.

“Keeya, this little one has really gotten to you, hasn’t she?” Sibusisiwe had said, smiling softly as she set the lunchbox on the bedside table.

I had nodded, not trusting myself to speak at that moment. There was a tightness in my throat, an emotion I wasn’t ready to confront.

Since that day, Sibusisiwe has been coming to the hospital almost every visiting hour, making an effort to bond with Enzo in her own way. It warms my heart to see them together. Sibusisiwe has always been good with children, and Enzo seemed to sense her kindness immediately. She would reach out for her, hold her hand, and sometimes even fall asleep in her arms. Watching them interact, I couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for this little girl. She had lost so much—her parents, her health, her safety. But here she was, still capable of trusting, still capable of love.

Every night when I get home, I find myself lying awake, thinking about her. I think about the life she should have had—the parents who should have been there to love her, to keep her safe. And I think about the woman who had betrayed her, who had tried to extinguish her light for the sake of greed. I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I want to make sure that Enzokuhle never has to suffer again.

The more time I spend with her, the more my love for her grows. I’ve cared for hundreds of children during my career, but this is different. This isn’t just about treating her medical condition. This is about giving her a chance to heal from the wounds that can’t be seen on an X-ray or in a blood test.

A few days ago, I found myself seriously contemplating what it would mean to take her home with me. At first, it seemed like a far-off fantasy, something too big, too complicated to even consider. But now, it feels like the only option that makes sense. She needs a home, a real home. She needs stability and love—two things I can give her.

I spoke with the social worker handling Enzo’s case, and she confirmed what I already knew: there are no immediate family members to take her in. The stepmother, of course, is nowhere to be found. She vanished the day after Enzo was admitted, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and an empty promise of return. The authorities are searching for her, but I have no faith that they’ll find her anytime soon.

In the meantime, Enzokuhle is alone, except for the hospital staff who have become her temporary family. And me. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

Today, after Sibusisiwe’s visit, we had a long talk about Enzo’s future. I told her how I felt, about the growing bond I’ve developed with the little girl. Sibusisiwe didn’t look surprised. She simply nodded, listening quietly as I poured out everything that had been building up inside me.

“She’s already a part of your life, Keeya,” Sibusisiwe said softly, taking my hand. “You don’t need to ask for permission to love her. You just need to decide what’s next.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much I had been waiting for someone to give me permission to feel what I already felt. I’ve always been so careful, so measured in my decisions. But with Enzokuhle, none of that seems to matter. She’s already part of me, part of my life. And now, I need to make sure she’s safe and loved for the rest of hers.

The next step is clear, even if it terrifies me. I have to start the process of becoming her guardian. It won’t be easy, and I know there will be obstacles. But I also know that I can’t imagine my life without her in it. Not anymore.

As I sit by her bedside tonight, watching her sleep peacefully, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. This is the right decision. This is what I’m meant to do. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know one thing: Enzokuhle will never be alone again. She has me, and she has Sibusisiwe. We’re her family now. And we will fight for her, protect her, and love her the way she deserves.

The next steps will be hard, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. I gently brush a strand of hair from her face, smiling softly as she stirs in her sleep. My little fighter. We’ve only just begun this journey, but already, I can feel that it’s going to change both our lives forever.

And I’m ready. Ready to give her the love and the life she should have had from the very beginning.