I WAS JUST A SERVANT

Nokwanda was sitting beneath the fig tree when she felt the shift in the air — a shadow, a familiar presence.

She didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Thuli," she said without turning.

The woman stepped into view, dressed in a fitted blazer, her makeup flawless, her smile sharp as ever.

"I see you're still reading books under trees like some village girl."

Nokwanda exhaled slowly, her eyes locked on the garden ahead. "What do you want?"

Thuli tilted her head. "Just wanted to see how far you've fallen. A servant now? Taking care of broken women?"

"I take care of someone who has more heart than you ever had."

Thuli laughed. "Is that what this is? You playing hero to someone in a wheelchair so you can feel useful?"

Nokwanda stood up, her eyes cold.

"You're not here for conversation. You're here because you lost control. I left you. I healed. And now you're trying to punish me for it."

Thuli's smile faltered.

"You're pathetic," Nokwanda added. "Still married. Still hiding. Still destroying people behind fake smiles."

Thuli took a step forward. "You think she'll keep you once she knows what kind of woman you really are?"

Nokwanda didn't flinch.

"She already knows."

And with that, she turned and walked away — leaving Thuli standing in the garden alone, bitter, and exposed.

Later that afternoon, Zenande rolled out into the garden, her body still weak but her posture stronger than ever.

She stopped beside Nokwanda, who sat quietly on the bench.

"I read your letter," she said softly.

Nokwanda nodded, unsure if she was allowed to hope yet.

Zenande placed her hand gently on hers.

"I don't want perfection. I want honesty. I want the real you."

Nokwanda looked up slowly, emotion rushing behind her eyes. "Even if I've made mistakes?"

Zenande smiled. "Especially then."

That evening, Mrs. Mthembu held a small dinner with a few elite guests — old family friends who often came with sharp eyes and soft insults.

Zenande hadn't attended one in months.

But tonight, she appeared.

In a silk gown, her hair tied neatly back, wheeling herself to the head of the table — with Nokwanda right behind her.

Gasps whispered around the room.

One woman leaned in to another, "Isn't that the servant?"

Zenande cleared her throat.

"I'd like to introduce Nokwanda," she said. "She's not just the woman who helped me walk again. She's the woman who reminded me I was still alive."

Silence.

Dead, stunned silence.

Then Mrs. Mthembu stood, wine glass in hand.

"I agree."

And raised her glass.

"To new beginnings."

Hours later, Zenande returned to her room, heart racing — not from nerves, but from freedom.

"I was scared," she admitted as Nokwanda helped her change for bed. "But it felt right."

Nokwanda kissed her forehead. "You were brave."

They sat in quiet affection, hands intertwined.

Until Zenande spoke again.

"There's something I've never told you."

Nokwanda tensed. "What is it?"

Zenande's eyes dimmed.

"My accident… it wasn't just a car crash. Someone ran me off the road."

Nokwanda froze. "What?"

"I was driving home from a charity gala. I'd just had a fight with my ex-husband. He wanted more control. Over my money. Over my life. When I said no… that night, a black SUV followed me."

"Did you see who it was?"

Zenande shook her head. "The police said it was a hit-and-run. But I've always believed it was intentional."

Nokwanda whispered, "Do you think it was… Thuli?"

Zenande looked up slowly. "Or someone working with her."

Back in the guest room, Thuli paced, phone pressed to her ear.

"She's getting closer," she said. "The girl is still in. The mother backed her. We need to move now."

The voice on the other end replied.

Thuli's next words came like venom.

"Then finish what we started… before they get to the truth."