I wish I could tell her how blessed she is to have a man who loves her like this. He has made sure that she is well taken care of, no matter what may happen to him. 

He learned that he has cancer and he has refused to be released on medical parole or to take treatment. He wants to die in there and he wants Luthando to be well taken care of. He has even relieved me off the duty of looking after his money and making sure that his family is taken care of. He has left some money for Siya, but he will not be taken care of as Luthando and her children will. I see now that I need to make right with this woman. I have deprived my son of the truth all his life. His father is about to die and I cannot just put my son through that. I want him to have a relationship with his siblings and have some sort of connection to his father, especially after he has passes away. 

Luthando is reading the papers and crying at the same time. I feel for her. She doesn’t even know that her man has cancer. She thinks he just wants nothing to do with her. I see the tears in her eyes and I am taken back to a time when Mthunzi served me with these papers. The difference here is that George is leaving Luthando for cancer. His words to me were, “I don’t want her to be forced to mourn for me. I want her to move on with her life and I want her to be happy and not feel as if she is still my wife.” 

“What about me?” I asked him. 

“I do not have the time nor the capacity to take on the baggage of being concerned about you too.” He said to me. 

I fell apart in the car while I was driving here. I am losing him too and he doesn’t care how I feel or what losing him means to me. He cares about his precious Luthando and their legitimate kids. Yet I’m still the same person who is expected to deliver all news – good and bad. 

“I’m not signing these.” She says. 

“Why not?” I ask her. 

“Who are you?” She asks me. 

He told me to make sure that she signs, whatever it takes. 

“His fiancé and the mother of his son. So I’m sure you understand what the urgency is for you to sign those papers.”

“Excuse me?” 

She says as she looks at me as if I’m a bad smell that is stuck on her upper lip. The look she gives me is degrading on all levels and dare I say it, she thinks she’s better than me. She’s a bitch. She doesn’t even look hurt. She looks disrespected. If she could have her say, she would question how George could leave her for me. 

“I’m his fiancé and the mother of his son. We have been keeping this from you for eleven years now. My son wants to stop being a secret. I think we’ve givenyou and your kids enough time to shine under the Maluleke name, wouldn’t you say? He has left you everything. All four of you have enough to sustain you for a lifetime. George would like to build with my son and I now. We need you to sign those papers.” 

“Is this a prank? Like uGeorge seriously sent his whore to serve me with divorce papers so that he can give attention to his little bastard? Ngeke!” She says and stands up. 

I see her walking towards a man that I have seen once or twice before during our sex parties. He has also paid me a few times to sexually entertain him. But ke, asikho lapho. 

I watch them chat away and discuss the papers that Luthando has in her hands. She is not going to sign those papers. You can just see it. She is the “angiyi ndawo noma kunjani” type of woman. Sydney and I are supposed to be doing this together – ensuring that Luthando signs the papers and let’s George go. I don’t care if Sydney has to have sex with her to convince her that George is an ass-whole. He must just make it happen. I need to go home and cry myself to sleep, take care of myself and just do what’s best for me. I am losing Georgetoo. 

While I appreciate that no one cares about me and I have earned not being cared about, I at least need to pay attention to myself and make sure that I heal because my son is going to need me from the day that George dies. 

I see Luthando running off and Sydney running after her. I’m not sure what to do. Do I just sit here? Do I follow them? Okay, I follow them. 

They are driving towards Daveyton. They park in front of one hell of a house for a township. I run in after them and make it into the house. There are three kids doing their homework in the dining area. I’m assuming these are her children. They look exactly like my son. 

“Mah?” One of the girls grabs her mother into a hug. Luthando falls apart. The other daughter hugs her too, seeming to be extremely worried about the mother. 

“Mom, what’s going on? Is it dad?” The daughter that looks older enquires. She also looks like she wants to cry as well. Sydney looks heart broken. 

“Uncle Sydney, what’s going on?” The younger looking daughter enquires. 

If Luthando is crying like this for a divorce, what is she going to be like when she has to bury him?

“Who are you?” A boy asks me. I feel like I’m staring at my son. 

Everyone looks at me, including Luthando. 

Listen, I have strict instructions to bring these papers back signed. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here. 

“What the hell are you doing here? Have you come to tell my kids yourself that you are and the bastard you birthed for my husband are the reason that I am being served divorce papers?!” 

Brah! This bitch needs to calm down. How can she speak like that in front of her kids? Honestly, this is so unnecessary. Who still gets mad at being cheated on and left?

“What?!” The older looking daughter says. 

Am I about to be beaten up by a mother and her daughters? 

“You are not welcome here. Just because we shared a penis, it doesn’t mean that we are friends. I’m not signing these divorce papers. You can tell that to your fiancé the next time you see him. And wena, you will never see yourself become Mrs Maluleke. If I need a lawyer to make sure that you burn in hell instead, I will. Get out!” 

Luthando is crazy. All this drama is unnecessary. This is not a movie. 

“Are you deaf?” The daughter says to me. 

“Excuse me?” 

“My mother told you to leave. Why are you still here?” The daughter. She is taking steps towards me. This girl is going to beat me up. I cannot leave. Georgewants these papers signed. 

“I can’t leave without the papers”. I say. I’m even stuttering. 

“Which ones? These ones?” The other daughter takes the envelope from her mother and holds the papers up at me. 

“I need them signed.” I say. 

The daughter tares them up. What in the actual fuck? She takes the pieces and throws them at my face saying, “Go! Or else we will tare you up next.” 

I look at Sydney. He shrugs his shoulders at me. 

I leave the house. I get into my car and drive back to my home. Now that we are back here in DK, I drive a bit far because the East Rand might as well be in Mpumalanga, honestly. I phone George. 

“Hey.”

“She didn’t sign the papers.” 

“I thought I made myself clear.”

“She won’t do it, George. She won’t sign the papers. Your daughters tore the papers up and threw them at me. Had I not left when I did, they would have beaten me up.” 

“My daughters? How are my daughters involved in this?” 

I take a deep breath.

“I asked you a question! Why were you around my daughters?!” He shouts. 

“George, I – 

“Come see me! Now!” He hangs up. 

I hit the steering wheel. What the hell? Shit! 

I am met with a punch in my eye when I enter George’s cell. 

“You told my wife that we are engaged and we have a son? You stupid bitch!” This comes with some kicks in my stomach. 

“My kids are pissed off! Pissed and hurt! Why did you have to do that? Why?” He is still kicking me. 

I am crying and asking him to stop. He is not hearing me. 

He finally sits down on his bed. I get up from the floor and try to clean myself up. Every part of me is in pain. 

“You said I should do whatever it takes to make sure that she signs the papers.” I say after a long pause. 

“I don’t want my wife having this kind of memory of me. I don’t want my wife thinking and believing that I cheated on her and wanted to leave her for another woman – especially a woman like you.” 

This cuts me. What does that even fucken mean? 

“That’s my wife, Sindi. My wife!” He says. 

I walk to the door and knock on it so I could be let out. The door opens. I step out. Before the door closes, I tell him: “Then tell her truth. She’s not signing those papers. Just tell her you are dying. She will deal with it. She’s a bigger bitch than you think. She will be fine.” 

“Don’t call my wife a bitch!” He yells.

I leave before my face and/or body meet more fists.

…

Today, I have planned for the wellness team to come and talk to the team about wellness and well-being. No one seems interested in this, but this team requires a lot of education on the matter. People are calling me Looney-Bin to my face and behind my back. I know that they mean no harm, but it is sensitive for me and I do get hurt. 

But we had to push the session to next week because Mr Ramaru is still not back from Venda and all the executives are swamped. I want all of them there. 

I feel for him. He left to go and get married and he is returning a widower. Thando has been in Venda with him since Mrs Ramaru passed away. If it wasn’t so fresh after Lydia Ramaru’s death, I would be looking at Thando some type of way. 

We are busy with filing and putting stuff together for Mr Msomi. He is also preparing to get married in a few weeks’ time, so his attention is slightly split. I believe there will be travelling involved. We were supposed to all travel to some island in Zanzibar for the wedding because Mrs Msomi is just glamorous and dramatic like that. But with everything happening in the world, keeping things simple and at home is the way to go. So, the wedding will be in Stellenbosch on some wine farm. 

I know Mr Msomi cannot wait for this wedding to be over. He keeps saying that he and Mrs Msomi are already married; what is the point of all the drama of an entire expensive wedding. 

Zinzi is here, but she tries to include herself in stuff. I think she is close to being out of a job. Thando has appointed herself as a much more worthy PA for Mr Ramaru. The executive men in this company are not as vocal as the women in this company. A woman can tell you that you do not know your work and you are a crappy employee. The men are…

Mr Ramaru needs a PA like Thando. She is prepared to work above and beyond the call of 8am to 5pm. Thando is that. Thando is the kind of PA that will be bury dead bodies for you and she will take those secrets with her to the grave. Pearl groomed her well. She is even a bull-fighter on behalf of the boss. 

Zinzi is the pretty PA that comes to work and does what her job description says she has to do. Anything more than that, she does not involve herself. Lydia never held back when reminding her how useless she was and how she never understood how she got hired. Lydia always reminded her that she is on borrowed time in this company. 

So, now it seems Thando has taken Lydia’s stance, so Zinzi nje is on her way out. She must involve HR. HR will help her. HR helped me a lot and had I not spoken to them, I’d be out of a job right now. 

“Zinzi, you must talk to Jeff.” 

I’m known in this office for having HR on speed dial and the looks I’m getting as I’m saying this confirm that people hold back from speaking their minds with me because they know I’ll report them. 

“What will HR do for me?” 

Why do people undermine HR so much? That’s why they are all losing their jobs or are unhappy at work without any justification. 

“Just talk to Jeff”. I say. 

“Can we all plan to stay at the same accommodation in Stellenbosch?” Sandra says. 

“Aren’t people going there with their plus ones?” Zinzi. 

“Do you have a plus one?” 

“Yes darling. I’m taking Mayor with me.” 

This is what Zinzi is good at. She is good at men and being with men who can sponsor her weaves. She dates people who are friends with her boss. She loves talking about them and how they all travel together. Her work on the other hand…

“Is everyone bringing a date?” Sandra asks us. 

“I’m not going.” I say. 

“Oh!” Everyone says simultaneously. 

I’m not even responding to that. I am boring. So what? They must just get used to it. Honestly. I’m here to work. Nothing else. 

I look up and see Unawe standing at the door, waiting to be buzzed in. How did she even get up here without reception giving us a heads up? 

I go to open the door for her. 

“Sawubona mah”, she greets me. 

“Portia”, Mr Msomi says as he sees us standing in the passage. 

“Hi Mr Msomi. This is my daughter, Unawe. Unawe, this is my boss.” 

Unawe nods her head at him. 

“Perhaps you should use my boardroom. I’d let you go home, but we need you here.” Mr Msomi says. 

“No sir, it’s okay. She’s headed home.” I then face Unawe and say, “Unawe, phone Minenhle to come and pick you up. Here’s fifty rands, get lunch while you wait. I’ll see you when I get home.” 

Unawe takes the money and leaves. I get back to work. But I cannot help but be nervous. My daughter and I are about to talk.