It was late in the afternoon when I noticed two missed calls from Angela's grandmother.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen — her name glowing softly in the list of recent calls.
It had been days since we last spoke. Lately, we hadn't been talking as often, not out of anger, but life had just… moved on in its quiet ways.
Still, seeing those missed calls stirred something inside me.
I felt a mix of concern and longing.
Was everything okay with Angela?
Was Joyce trying to reach out, or did she just want to check on me?
I took a deep breath, walking to the corner of the yard where the evening breeze felt cool against my face. I could hear Manessah laughing inside with Rebecca.
Holding the phone tighter, I thought of all the times I had prayed for strength — for healing, for my family, for the people I loved who drifted away and came back.
Now it felt like maybe this was one of those moments when God was nudging me gently — reminding me not to stay silent when love still had a voice.
I whispered to myself,
"Maybe it's time I call her back…"
---
When I finally gathered the courage to call back, her voice was sharp and cold, nothing like the gentle tone I was used to.
"How could Joyce suffer that much?" she asked, not even greeting me. "You promised to keep her safe there in Johannesburg! All this time, you never told me that Rebecca was bullying Joyce — verbally!"
Her words hit me like stones — heavy, fast, and painful.
I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, to tell her that I didn't even know what she was talking about — but before I could say a word, the line went dead.
She had hung up.
For a long moment, I just stood there, the phone pressed to my ear, hearing nothing but the dull beep of disconnection.
My heart sank.
It was clear that Joyce had told her everything — or at least, her version of everything.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the ground.
So many thoughts rushed through my head.
Was Joyce really suffering?
Had I missed something? Or was someone twisting the story again — just like before?
The ache in my chest returned, that same familiar sting of being misunderstood.
And the worst part? I didn't even know how to defend myself anymore.
---
That night felt endless.
I sat outside on the small bench by the garden, staring at the stars. The sky was clear, quiet — yet my mind was storming.
Joyce's mother's words echoed over and over in my head:
"Rebecca was bullying Joyce verbally..."
I couldn't understand.
Rebecca had never said a bad word about Joyce — at least, not in front of me. In fact, she was the one who often told me to call, to check on Angela, even when Joyce ignored my calls.
Could there have been something I didn't see?
Or was this another twist of fate — another rumor meant to destroy what little peace I had left?
My hands trembled slightly. I thought of calling back, but my heart said no.
Not tonight.
Rebecca walked out a few minutes later, wearing her night gown, her face soft and worried.
"Why aren't you in bed?" she asked.
I hesitated, then whispered, "They said you were bullying Joyce…"
She froze.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Me? What? Who said that?"
When I told her, she shook her head, tears already forming. "That's not fair," she said quietly. "I never spoke to her. I only wanted you to have peace — that's all."
We sat in silence.
The only sound was the wind brushing against the trees.
Inside, I felt torn apart. I didn't know who to believe anymore — but I knew one thing for sure:
I was tired of fighting battles I never started.
Before heading back to bed, I whispered a prayer.
"God, please, if there's truth in these words, reveal it. But if it's just another lie, protect my peace. Protect my daughters."
---
The next morning, I woke up early, still bothered by what Joyce's mother had said.
Rebecca was in the kitchen, humming softly while preparing tea. The sound usually calmed me — but that day, it only made my thoughts louder.
I walked in quietly and sat down at the small table. She turned, smiled faintly, and asked,
"Tea with sugar or without?"
"Without," I said, then paused. "Rebecca, can I ask you something... and I need you to be honest with me."
Her smile faded. "Of course," she said softly, putting the kettle down.
I looked straight at her. "Have you ever talked to Joyce? Or maybe called her phone... without me knowing?"
She froze, staring at me as if she couldn't believe what she just heard. For a long moment, she didn't say a word — then slowly shook her head.
"No," she said finally, her voice calm but hurt. "Why would I, Tebelo? I've never had her number, never spoken to her. I wouldn't go behind your back."
I studied her face, searching for any sign of a lie — but all I saw was pain. The kind that comes from being accused of something you didn't do.
She sat across from me and reached for my hand.
"People will always talk," she whispered. "And I can't stop that. But you know me — you've lived with me. You've seen the way I treat you, the way I love your child as my own. Would I risk that?"
Her words hit deep.
I nodded slowly, guilt washing over me for even doubting her.
"I just needed to hear it from you," I said quietly. "It's been hard believing anything lately."
Rebecca squeezed my hand gently. "Then believe me when I say — I'm not your enemy, Tebelo. I'm part of your healing."
The kettle whistled behind her, and for the first time that morning, I felt the tension lift slightly — replaced by a quiet sense of truth.
---
Rebecca looked down for a moment, silent.
Then, as if gathering courage, she said quietly,
"There's something I didn't tell you before."
My chest tightened. "What is it?"
She took a deep breath.
"It was years ago, before everything happened… before you got hurt. I met Joyce once — only that one time. We didn't even talk long."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"I was angry, Tebelo. I told her things I shouldn't have. I said she was wasting her time on you, that you and her would never last. I was still hurt that you left me for her."
Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't look away.
"I didn't mean it the way it came out. I was bitter, and I thought I'd moved on. But I see now that words can travel far, and maybe this is all coming back to me."
For a while, I couldn't speak. The air between us grew heavy.
So many things made sense now — the rumors, Joyce's sudden anger, the silence from her side.
"You should've told me," I said softly. "Maybe we could've fixed this sooner."
"I know," she whispered. "I was ashamed. I didn't want to bring that past back between us. I was afraid you'd think I still held something against her."
I looked at her, torn between frustration and understanding. But deep inside, I knew — Rebecca had carried her share of pain too.
She wiped her tears and reached for my hand.
"I'm sorry, Tebelo. I truly am. I never meant for my words to hurt anyone. Especially not you."
I sighed, nodding slowly. "It's not easy hearing that, but thank you for being honest. I guess we both have wounds we're still healing."
We sat there in silence — not as enemies, but as two people learning that forgiveness doesn't erase the past; it only makes the future lighter.
---
That evening, after Rebecca's confession, I sat alone outside beneath the dim porch light. The night breeze was cool, brushing gently against my skin — but inside, I was burning.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled through the contacts, and stopped at her name.
Joyce.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
I hesitated — then pressed it anyway.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then silence.
I tried again.
And again.
Each time, my heart thumped harder, hoping she'd finally pick up. But she never did.
The calls went straight to voicemail.
I wanted to send a message, to explain what Rebecca had told me — to tell her the truth, that there was no bad blood anymore. But the words wouldn't come. Everything I typed, I erased.
I couldn't bring myself to call Angela's grandmother either.
Not after the way she spoke to me last time. Her words still echoed in my head, heavy with blame and disappointment.
So, I just sat there, phone in hand, listening to the night sounds — the faint barking of dogs, a baby crying in the distance, the slow ticking of time.
Rebecca came to the door, holding Manessah in her arms.
"She still didn't answer?" she asked softly.
I shook my head. "No. Maybe she's done with me for good."
Rebecca didn't reply. She just came closer and placed her hand on my shoulder.
"Then let her heal her way," she said. "You've done what you could. For now… focus on the ones who are still here."
I nodded slowly, looking at little Manessah smiling in her mother's arms.
Maybe Rebecca was right. Maybe some things had to be left in God's hands.
Still, a small voice inside me whispered — I just hope Angela knows I never stopped trying.