“When you told me, I didn’t know what to believe.” Thembeka’s tone is pleading, like she’s desperate for Zodwa to understand. “Mongezi said he never slept with you. That you were jealous of our relationship and that you were telling lies to break us up. I didn’t know who to believe.”

You should have believed me, Zodwa wants to shout. Me! Because I loved you more than anyone. I would never have hurt you. But the words won’t come.

“So, I was waiting outside the shack thinking that maybe I could talk to you,” Thembeka continues, “or see the baby. It had been festering for months and I was going mad with it . . . with not knowing the truth.” She looks away and then back at Zodwa. “I was standing there when your mother came outside. She was carrying plastic bags and a big kit bag. I was going to wait for her to leave and then try and see you, but as she walked past where I was standing, I heard a cry from inside the bag. A baby’s cry.”

Zodwa’s hands go to her mouth. Mama, what did you do?

“I couldn’t understand why Leleti would be doing that, so I followed her. It was so loud and busy that day. Everyone was celebrating Mandela. With all the noise, no one else seemed to hear the baby but I did again, ten minutes later when we were on the main road. That’s when I saw Leleti set the bag down, take the baby out, and strap it to her back with a blanket. She walked off in the direction of town with the dog following behind her.”

“And then what happened?”

“I couldn’t follow her anymore. Mongezi was expecting me and so I turned around and came back.”

“But why have you waited so long to tell me?” Zodwa wants to grab Thembeka and shake her.

“I had no idea what your mother did with the baby or if you’d even believe me. And then after Leleti died a few days later . . . I didn’t know what to do. I thought . . . if Leleti knew the baby was Mongezi’s . . . if she thought you were raped like you said you were . . . then she may have wanted to get rid of it so you could go back to school. I thought it was better to just keep quiet about what I saw until . . .”

“Until what?”

“Until I found out where your baby might be.”

Zodwa’s whole body begins to tremble. Her legs feel so weak that she has to lean against the shebeen fence to steady herself. “Wait . . . what?”

“There’s a farm about a fifteen-minute walk from here,” Thembeka is saying. “Two old white women live there. They have a black baby with them who is the exact age your baby would be. Apparently, they found it on their doorstep one night and they’ve kept him.”