FORBIDDEN TIES

11.

Keeya Modise

It’s Monday morning, and the day feels like a blur as I groggily wake up to the sound of my alarm. I reach out to grab my phone from the nightstand, still half-asleep, hoping for some form of communication from Mlungisi. I quickly scroll through my notifications, but there’s nothing from him. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

The silence from his end feels like a knife to my chest, twisting deeper with each passing day. It’s been a few days since I saw him at the mall with his wife and kids, looking like the perfect family. I know he’s married. I knew that going into this, but seeing them together, so happy, so in love, was harder than I expected. I was naive to think that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that was as invested in us as I was.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it. Today is Monday, and I can’t afford to let my emotions cloud my judgment. I have a busy day ahead at the hospital, and I need to be at my best, both mentally and physically. After all, I’m not just any doctor. I’m the head of the pediatric unit, responsible for the performance and well-being of the doctors under me. I can’t let my personal life bleed into my work.

I get out of bed and begin my morning hygiene routine. A long shower usually helps clear my mind, but today, the water feels colder than usual, and I can’t shake off the heavy feeling in my chest. I step out of the shower, dry myself off, and slip into a pair of comfortable slacks and a blouse. The hospital dress code is formal, but I always try to find a balance between professionalism and comfort.

Before I head out, I check on Enzo, my little girl. She’s still sleeping soundly, her tiny body curled up under her pink blanket. I smile at her peaceful expression. At least I have her, I remind myself. She’s the light of my life, and no matter what happens with Mlungisi, Enzo will always be my priority.

I prepare breakfast—coffee and toast for myself, and cereal for Enzo, since she’s always in the mood for something sweet in the morning. By the time I’m done, Enzo is up and getting ready for kindergarten. We sit down for breakfast, and I help her with her cereal while she chatters away about the games she wants to play with her friends today. Her energy is contagious, and for a brief moment, I feel lighter.

After breakfast, we head out. I drop Enzo off at her kindergarten, kissing her goodbye and watching as she runs off to join her friends. She’s growing up so fast, and it makes me both proud and sad at the same time. It feels like just yesterday she was a baby in my arms, and now she’s this independent little girl with her own opinions and personality. I linger for a few moments, watching her from a distance before finally heading to work.

When I arrive at the hospital, the familiar smell of disinfectant and the sound of nurses bustling around the ward greet me. This place feels like my second home, and in many ways, it is. I’ve spent countless hours here, saving lives and guiding my team of doctors to be the best they can be. As the head of the pediatric department, I carry a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, but it’s a role I’m proud of.

The morning flies by as I make my rounds, checking in on patients, reviewing cases with the junior doctors, and ensuring everything is running smoothly. I’m in the zone, focused on my work, and for a few hours, I manage to push all thoughts of Mlungisi out of my mind.

At around 12:45, I head to the cafeteria for a quick lunch. The hospital cafeteria isn’t exactly known for its gourmet meals, but it’s convenient, and I need to recharge before diving into the afternoon workload. I grab a salad and sit down at one of the corner tables, enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

Just as I’m about to take a bite, my pager goes off. I sigh, knowing that lunch will have to wait. It’s a code blue—a child has been rushed into the emergency room, and they need me urgently. I abandon my meal and rush down to the ER, my mind already switching gears to full work mode.

As I enter the ER, the chaos is palpable. Nurses are running around, doctors are barking orders, and there’s a palpable sense of urgency in the air. I push my way through the crowd and make my way to the child’s bedside, preparing myself to take control of the situation.

But as soon as I see the child, my heart stops.

Lying there, pale and weak, is one of Mlungisi’s twins. The recognition hits me like a freight train, and for a split second, I’m frozen. My mind races as I try to process what’s happening. What are the odds? Out of all the children in the city, why did it have to be his?

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to focus. I’m a professional, and no matter how painful this is, I have a job to do. I quickly assess the child’s condition—severe dehydration and signs of a viral infection. His little body is fighting hard, but he’s stable for now. I instruct the nurses to administer fluids and order a series of tests to determine the exact cause of his symptoms.

Once I’m sure the child is in stable condition, I step away to speak with the parents. My heart pounds as I walk towards Mlungisi and his wife, who are standing at the edge of the room, looking worried and anxious.

As I approach them, I lock eyes with Mlungisi. For a moment, I hope that he’ll acknowledge me, that he’ll show some sign that he cares, that I’m more than just another doctor to him. But instead, he looks right past me, his face expressionless. It’s as if I don’t exist. The man I’ve shared so many intimate moments with, the man I thought I knew, acts like I’m a complete stranger.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I hold them back. I won’t break down here, not in front of him, not in front of his wife. I swallow the pain and deliver the news in a calm, professional tone, explaining what’s going on with their son and what the next steps will be.

Mlungisi listens intently, his attention fully on his son, not on me. His wife thanks me, her voice filled with gratitude, and I nod, forcing a smile. I can’t stay here any longer. The weight of the situation is too much, and I need to get away before I completely lose it.

I excuse myself and head to my office, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. As soon as I’m behind the closed door, the tears I’ve been holding back come rushing out. I sit at my desk, burying my face in my hands, and sob. The pain is unbearable. How could he do this to me? How could he stand there, acting like I’m nothing?

I replay our memories in my mind, the stolen moments, the laughter, the nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. I thought I meant something to him. I thought what we had was real. But now, standing here in this cold, sterile hospital, I realize just how foolish I’ve been.

After what feels like hours, I manage to compose myself. I wipe away my tears and take a deep breath. I need to be strong, not just for myself, but for my daughter. Enzo deserves a mother who isn’t broken by a man who was never truly hers.

I pick up the phone and call one of the other doctors, Banzi, asking him to take over the boy’s case. I explain that I’m not feeling well and need to head home early. Banzi agrees without question, and I’m grateful for his understanding.

I gather my things and leave the hospital, my heart heavy with the weight of everything that’s happened. The drive home is a blur, and by the time I walk through the door of my apartment, I feel completely drained.

I collapse onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. My phone buzzes with a message, but I don’t even bother to check it. I don’t have the energy to deal with anything right now. All I want is to curl up and disappear for a while.

But then I hear the sound of Enzo’s laughter from her playroom, and it pulls me out of my darkness. I may be heartbroken, but I still have my little girl. She’s my reason to keep going, my reason to be strong.

I stand up, wiping away the remnants of my tears, and walk over to her playroom. She’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys, her face lighting up when she sees me.

“Mama, come play with me!” she says, her voice filled with excitement.

I smile, feeling a glimmer of warmth in my chest. “Of course, baby girl.”

As I sit down next to her and join in her game, I realize that no matter what happens with Mlungisi, I’ll be okay. I have Enzo, and that’s all that matters.