FORBIDDEN TIES

15.

Mrs Modise

My name is Ntokozo Modise, and at fifty-six years old, I have lived through many seasons—some joyful, others filled with more pain than I could ever put into words. I have learned over the years that life rarely gives us what we expect, but it does give us what we need. My greatest blessings have been my daughters, Sibusiwe and Keeya Modise, even though neither of them came from my own womb. That never mattered to me. From the moment they entered my life, I have loved them as fiercely as any mother could. But today, I sit here with a heavy heart, knowing that the truth I’ve kept hidden for so long is on the brink of being revealed. And I fear that once Keeya knows, she might never speak to me again.

It’s a chilly Saturday morning as I sit in a restaurant in Midrand, waiting for my lunch companion. My granddaughter, Enzo, sits beside me, her tiny hands busy with the crayons and coloring book I brought to keep her entertained. She’s a beautiful child, full of life and energy, just like her mother was at that age. Keeya adopted her, and seeing the bond they share fills me with pride. But the irony is not lost on me: Keeya, too, was adopted, though she doesn’t know the full story of how she came to be my daughter. And today, I have to face the truth. Today, I meet with Makhosazana Zulu, my best friend and the woman who entrusted me with Keeya all those years ago.

Makhosazana walks into the restaurant, her presence as commanding as ever. Despite her age, she carries herself with the grace and authority of someone who has lived a life of power and control. She is, after all, the second wife of Mr. Sibongiseni Zulu, the infamous Mafia King. But beneath that formidable exterior, I know a woman who has been through unimaginable pain, and it was that pain that led her to ask me to take in her daughter all those years ago. A favor between friends—one that changed both our lives forever.

As we greet each other and sit down, I feel the weight of what’s about to happen. The time for secrets is over. I know that, and so does Makhosazana.

“How are you, Ntokozo?” she asks, her voice soft yet firm. She always had that way about her, a calmness that belied the storm beneath.

“I’ve been well,” I respond, though the tremble in my voice betrays the truth. “But you know why we’re here.”

She nods, glancing at Enzo, who is now fully engrossed in her coloring. “Keeya deserves to know,” she says, not unkindly, but with the resolve of someone who has already accepted the inevitable.

I let out a long sigh, staring down at my hands. “She’s going to hate me, Khosi. I’ve raised her as my own, and now… now she’ll feel like her whole life has been a lie.”

Makhosazana reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. “She won’t hate you. You saved her. You gave her a life, Ntokozo, a life she wouldn’t have had if she’d stayed with me.”

Her words are meant to comfort, but they only deepen the ache in my chest. She’s right, of course. When Keeya was born, her life was in danger from the start. Being the child of Sibongiseni Zulu is not a privilege—it’s a curse. His first wife, Zandile, was never able to have children after the tragic kidnapping that left her wounded. When Sibongiseni had a child with Khosi—Nkosenye—Zandile’s jealousy nearly destroyed their family. But when Khosi became pregnant with Keeya, the situation became even more dangerous.

I remember the day Khosi called me, her voice trembling with fear. She knew that Zandile would never accept another child, especially a girl. Keeya’s life was at risk, and Khosi was desperate. She begged me to take her, to raise her as my own, and as a friend, I couldn’t refuse. I had always wanted more children, and at the time, my heart was open to the idea. I agreed, and from that moment on, Keeya became my daughter.

I named her Keeya because I wanted her to be the flower of my garden—the joy that would bloom in a life full of trials. I gave her everything I had, and in return, she brought light into my world. Watching her grow up, watching her become the strong, independent woman she is today, has been my greatest joy. But that joy has always been tempered by the knowledge that one day, the truth would come out.

“How do I even begin to tell her?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Makhosazana takes a deep breath, her gaze steady. “We start with the truth. She deserves to know where she came from. She deserves to know who her father is.”

Her words send a chill down my spine. Sibongiseni Zulu. The name alone is enough to strike fear into the hearts of many, and for good reason. He’s not just a man—he’s a force of nature, a dangerous one at that. His empire is built on power and control, and anyone who threatens that power doesn’t live to tell the tale. Keeya has no idea who her father is, and once she knows, her life will change forever. I fear what that knowledge will do to her, how it will affect her sense of self.

As I sit there, lost in thought, Enzo tugs at my sleeve, pulling me back to the present. “Granny, look!” she says, holding up her coloring. “I made a rainbow.”

I smile, brushing a hand over her soft curls. “It’s beautiful, my love.”

Makhosazana watches the interaction, her eyes softening. “She’s a good mother, you know. You raised her well.”

“She’s more than I ever could have hoped for,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to lose her.”

“You won’t,” Makhosazana assures me. “Keeya’s strong. She’ll understand why you did what you did.”

I want to believe her, but deep down, I’m terrified. Terrified that Keeya will see me as a liar, as someone who took her away from her real family. Terrified that she’ll turn her back on me, on everything we’ve built together.

Makhosazana and I spend the rest of the lunch discussing how to approach Keeya, how to break the news in a way that won’t completely shatter her world. By the time we leave the restaurant, I feel slightly more prepared, but the anxiety still lingers.

That night, as I sit in my living room, sipping a cup of tea, I think back to the day Keeya came into my life. She was just a baby, barely two years old, with big brown eyes and the softest curls. From the moment I held her in my arms, I knew that she was mine, no matter what. The bond we share is unbreakable—or at least, I hope it is.

But tomorrow, everything will change. Tomorrow, I will sit Keeya down and tell her the truth about her father, about her mother, about the life she never knew she had. And when the dust settles, I can only pray that she will still see me as her mother, the woman who loved her, protected her, and raised her into the remarkable woman she is today.

I look down at Enzo, who is curled up beside me, fast asleep. I brush a hand over her cheek, marveling at how much she looks like Keeya. Tomorrow, our lives will change, but for tonight, I hold onto this moment.

For tonight, we are still a family.