Blood and Promise
by Luntu Sipuka

The machines beep in rhythm with my son's shallow breaths. Beep. Breathe. Beep. Breathe. I've counted them for twenty-one days. Three weeks of watching Lubabalo's chest rise and fall because a machine forces it. Three weeks of not knowing if my daughter-in-law is alive or dead. Three weeks of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Dear God," I whisper, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the hospital window, "I know I'm a sinner. I've done unspeakable things in this lifetime, and I'm sorry for every life I took without a second thought. But don't punish my son for my wrongdoings. Take me instead. Please let my Lubabalo live. I promise to do better. I'll be a better mother-in-law to Zama. I know now what she means to him. Restore my family, please dear Lord. Amen."

"If God listened to sinners like us, I'd be hopeful."

I don't turn around. I don't need to. That voice deep, husky, still capable of rendering me weak after forty years belongs to only one man.

"Thembelani." I finally face him, and there he stands. Seventy years old and still power personified. Still my kryptonite. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't come. Gerald will be livid seeing you here. How did you get past security?"

"You mean my security?" He tilts his head, that familiar smirk playing at his lips. "Pearl my love, you of all people should know me better. What possessed you to think I'd agree to your ludicrous demands?" He clicks his tongue. Pssst.

I straighten my spine. "First, let's get things straight. Lubabalo is my son. Not yours. You were just one night of a bad decision."

Even as the words leave my mouth, we both know they're lies. There was nothing bad about that night. There was everything right about it, which is precisely why it was so dangerous.

"Let me get things straight." His voice drops lower, deadly calm. "You hid my son's identity from me for forty years, and now you expect me to pretend I don't know that nguMadiba lo? Pearl, that boy is my son. You stole my chance to raise him, and for that, I can never forgive you."

He moves closer. I should step back. I don't.

"Now here's what will happen," he continues. "I will be here next to my son until he wakes from that coma. You, my darling, will just have to live with that. Gerald is not Lubabalo's father. I am. And he needs to know the truth about his lineage."

His eyes bore into mine. "Have you learned nothing from Luyolo? Our boy would be alive if he'd known who he was. oMadiba would have protected him."

Luyolo. My beautiful baby boy, gone too soon. The name hits me like a fist to the chest, and I turn away, walking toward the window. Behind me, Thembelani moves to stand over our son — our son — and the sight breaks something open in my chest.

He has no idea who Lubabalo has become. No idea that this revelation won't bring them closer — it will destroy everything.

I face him again. "Madiba, Lubabalo is different from all your other children. This will only fuel his anger and make him want nothing to do with you or me." I pause, letting the weight of my next words settle. "Do you remember when we came back from our trip to Mexico?"

He nods.

"He asked if there was anything between us. When I said no — just friendship — he looked me dead in the eye and said if there was anything, he'd personally kill you. And no one would be the wiser. His father deserves better."

Thembelani's expression shifts. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looks pleased.

"Pearl my darling, I wouldn't expect anything less from a man carrying my DNA." Pride colors his voice. "He's a Kani. I'll give you time to break the news to him. I've lost too much time already. You robbed me. He would've been my firstborn son. Mashenge, you're cruel. Just like your mother."

"Leave my mother out of this. She's dead."

"You're right, MaBhuthelezi. We can't undo the past." He steps closer, and now he's right in front of me, close enough that I can smell his earthy cologne. "Just like I would've married you had I known you were carrying my child. I would've raised Sizwe as mine."

"How would that have worked with Nobubele also pregnant? With Khwezi?"

In his eyes, I see the ghost of what could've been. The two of us, ruling the underworld together. Would we have survived it? Or would our enemies have obliterated us both?

"Mashenge," he murmurs, and the old nickname — the one only he uses — slides under my skin. "You doubt I would've stood by you and our son? Remember, sthandwa sami, you're the one who has my heart and soul. I would've made it work somehow."

For a moment — just a moment — I let myself believe him. Silly, for a sixty-five-year-old woman who's seen it all.

"Thembelani." I step back, creating distance. "Let's not do this. It won't help either of us. We made our decisions. Now we live with them. I'm with Gerald. I love him. I've built a wonderful life with him. My kids are happy — spoiled, yes, but happy. And you have a great life with Nobubele. She loves you more than you can imagine. Look at how she embraced Brian and Alex. You have successful kids who, unlike mine, seem to have embraced who we are. They're building on what my father started. So the way I see it, you and I are blessed."

He studies me for a long moment. "Blessed. Cursed. They're the same thing, really." His gaze drifts to Lubabalo. "Look at what happened to our son. Confined to this bed with machines all over. I have a granddaughter who's four years old, and I still haven't found her. We were attacked at our son's wedding. Our daughter-in-law is missing. Whoever took her planned this for a long time." He looks back at me. "So to me, my love, blessing and curse are the same."

I feel the familiar fire ignite in my chest. "Well, Charles and Afie might have this round. But as soon as my son wakes up, they'll regret the day they thought they could take me on and live to see another."

He moves closer still. "I know you're baying for blood. But rule out Charles. I have it on good authority that the man is incapacitated. He had a stroke. He has enough troubles in-house to deal with."

"What do you mean?"

He weighs his response. "His stroke was caused by the immorality happening right under his nose. Bola and Alma. Apparently, that psycho son of his has been sleeping with his sister, and Afie knew. Allowed it. Since they lost the deal with the Russians, they want what was promised to them. There's no way Charles ordered the attack. Plus, he stands to lose too much with you gone."

He's right. With all his legitimate companies, I own a huge stake. Killing me would mean Lubabalo inherits both my shares and Thembelani's. Charles couldn't get rid of him that easily.

"Thembelani, I want whoever did…"

A knock. One of the guards posted outside.

"Ma'am, sorry to disturb you. But Mr. Mayiza is on his way up now. I thought you'd want to know."

I nod. The door closes.

Thembelani and I move apart, but the damage is done. Gerald will walk in, see us together, and the fragile peace we've maintained will shatter.

"What a bloody reunion this is." Gerald's voice cuts through the room as he appears in the doorway. "If it's not my wife the cheater and my friend who slept with my wife."

He looks terrible. Thinner. Older. The move to Cape Town hasn't been kind to him.

"Tshezi." I use his clan name, hoping to soften him. "Jalamba. When did you get here?"

He scoffs, walking past us both to sit beside Lubabalo's bed. He takes our son's hand and my heart cracks.

"Just as our God said to His son at baptism: 'This is my son, whom I am proud of.' Lubabalo Mayiza is my son, whom I am proud of." Gerald's voice shakes with emotion. "I raised him. I stayed up with him as a baby when you were too tired. Who was there when he lost his first tooth? When he came home crying because kids called his mother a mafia queen? Were you at his school functions? When he had to be initiated as a man? After he lost his wife and almost lost his mind?"

He stands, facing us both. "Were either of you there after he came home from a mission he almost died in? No. But I was. So you might have given birth to him, but you only know how to throw money at problems. You never nurtured them. Well, he's the exception, right? Your secret love child. You gave him everything while the rest of our kids got leftovers. You might have slept with my wife and given me this gift, but you would've raised him to be a savage. Just like your sons. So he is my son. And I am proud of how he's turned out."

"Gerald!!!"

"Thula wena!" He rounds on me, and I've never seen this fire in his eyes. Never. "Just shut up, you Jezebel. This is all your fault. From him meeting Zama to him losing her. What will you tell your grandkids? If the two of you had just done what law-abiding citizens do, this wouldn't have happened to my family."

His laugh is bitter, hollow. "Imagine an umfundisi with a wife tied to the underworld. Oh yes, my darling, nothing stays hidden forever. Every Sunday I stand and preach about honor, purity, love, and not living a life of sin while my own wife, the First Lady, fills drugs in every town across Africa. With the help of your lover and my friend here."

He's not wrong. He's never asked. Never wanted to know. And I let him live in his willful ignorance.

"How long did you think you could hide this? I forgave you about Luyolo. I tried to understand — I wasn't home, spreading the gospel made you lonely, and Thembelani was there. I accepted that as God's lesson to focus on my family too. But this?"

The roar in his voice tells me how deep the wound goes.

"I have one question."

We both nod, silenced by his pain.

"Did the business deals come from your drug trafficking influence?"

Thembelani scratches his head and turns to the window.

"Thembelani, leave us," Gerald commands.

"No." I step forward. "I'm going nowhere. If anyone should leave, it's you."

"Fine. Have it your way."

Thembelani turns, and when he faces us, the room fills with his presence. His power. His jaw tightens, his voice drops to ice.

"Gerald, I'll allow you just this once to speak to me in that tone. Now I want you to know this: Lubabalo might have your surname, but the blood coursing through his veins is mine. Had you not connived with his grandmother and slept with Pearl, impregnating her, she would've been the woman I married. Out of respect for her father's memory, I kept my distance."

He steps closer to Gerald, and for a moment, I'm afraid of what might happen.

"When you started your church and neglected her, who do you think kept her warm on those long nights? When you forced your faith on her, who do you think listened to her cry? Who held her when she felt judged and unworthy?"

He's in Gerald's space now, voice low and deadly.

"See, the problem with you, my friend, is that you've always been small-minded. If you talk about Jesus, then it's all good to you. But you were blessed with a woman who sees the big picture. Thabo and I are loyal soldiers who bought into it because we knew our children and their children would never want for anything. Their last names will always open doors."

He leans in. "Now you have the audacity to ask this nonsense? Are you Deputy Jesus? Of course your deals come from our connections. All these years, when each sitting president made you his spiritual advisor, did you ask why? No. You enjoyed every moment. Being in parliament, harvesting the fruit we planted with our blood, sweat, and intellect. Oh, and let's not forget the lavish parties you throw for her each year. You think that fifteen-year mineral deal came to you through rigorous prayer?"

He lets the question hang.

"No, my dear friend. That was me. Looking out for you. So you can be as mad as you want, but you now have a seat at the table."

"That's enough, Thembelani." My voice cuts through the tension. "Please leave. You've said more than enough."

A pained groan slices through the room.

We all freeze.

Then rush to the bedside.

"He's awake!" Gerald's voice breaks. "Son, you're awake! Thank you, Jesus! Oh, thank you, Lord!"

Lubabalo's eyes flutter open. Disoriented. Confused. Alive.

Gerald calls for the doctor while I grip my son's hand, tears streaming down my face. Three weeks. Three weeks of hell, and finally.

But even as relief floods through me, dread pools in my stomach. The first words out of his mouth will be for Zama. And we still don't know where she is. Three weeks, and none of our contacts have found anything. No clue who attacked us. No clue where they took her.

Lord, please let him not have heard the argument. Please let him have been too deep in his coma to hear his fathers — both of them — tear each other apart.

The doctor sweeps in with his entourage. "Mrs. Mayiza, can I have the room please while we check on the patient?"

"No. Whatever you need to check, you'll do with me right here. I'm not leaving my baby." I glance at the two men. "Perhaps you can ask them to leave."

The doctor stands firm. "Everyone. Please."

Gerald squeezes my shoulder. "Come, my Nubian queen. He's awake now. Let the doctor do what we so generously pay him for. We'll come back."

He emphasizes son when he looks at Thembelani, and I know it's his way of staking his claim. Thembelani might be the father by blood, but Gerald is Lubabalo's dad in every way that matters.

I follow my husband out. Thembelani whispers something to the doctor before joining us.

The waiting room is suffocating. The entire floor is on lockdown, but right now, I'd give anything for the distraction of nurses and hospital staff going about their business. The silence between the three of us is deadly.

Mangaliso and Sizwe appear like answered prayers.

"Yhu, I know you guys aren't somber over Lubabalo." Mangaliso walks in with his usual lack of filter. "The guy has nine lives. Mah, what's up with the two grandpas?"

My son missed the verbal etiquette class entirely despite his academic excellence. God, since you're in the mood to answer prayers, please find a decent girl for this one to marry.

"Dad, when did you get here?" Sizwe asks Gerald. "I thought you were still in Cape Town."

I study Sizwe as he speaks to his father — their father — and for the first time, I see the resemblance clearly. The child conceived through my mother's scheming. I wonder, not for the first time, what life would've been like if things had been different. Would I have been like Nobubele? At home, raising children, catering to a husband's needs?

My eyes drift to Thembelani. He's lost in thought too. I'd bet anything he's wondering the same thing.

His phone rings. He steps away, takes the call, and returns moments later with something like hope on his face.

"They have a lead on Zama. Traced her to a warehouse downtown Johannesburg. Khwezi and Brian are heading there now. Let's hope this nightmare ends tonight."

I straighten my spine, and when I speak, my voice is steel wrapped in velvet.

"No. This nightmare ends when I have the head of the man who attacked my family on ice for all my enemies to see. I want their families lined up and executed for the shit they've put me through."

Gerald's shock is palpable. Beside him, Thembelani's smile is devious, knowing.

I've tried to keep my hands clean since Luyolo died. Tried to be the woman Gerald deserves, the mother my children need.

But I need to remind the underworld exactly who the fuck I am.

And when I'm done, no one — no one — will ever touch my family again.