Zodwa wants to cry. She knows now that she’s in the right place and this is where she will find her son because, of course, her mother left her dog behind to protect him.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the woman says, chasing down the stairs after the dog. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually much better behaved.”

“It’s fine,” Zodwa says, smiling as she rubs the dog behind the ears like Leleti used to do.

“Well, she certainly seems to like you.” The woman grabs the dog by the collar and marches it back inside, Zodwa trailing behind her.

Her mind reels, thinking of what she should say next, but it stubbornly remains blank. Zodwa curses herself for not coming up with a proper plan. Actually, she’d had a plan just to watch the property and see if she could catch sight of the woman or the child, but she’d abandoned that as soon as they’d arrived. Leleti had always accused her of being impulsive and she was right.

Once they reach the front door, the woman points to the back of the house. “To your basket, Jez.” She claps her hands for emphasis and the dog obeys.

As it slinks off, Zodwa’s able to look past it, deeper into the house, and what she sees takes her breath away.

A toddler sits on a couch and he’s the spitting image of Zodwa’s brother, Dumisa. More than that, it’s clear from his bulging eyes and the look of distress on his face that he’s choking on something. Zodwa doesn’t have time to think, she just acts on instinct, pushing the door inward and shouldering the woman out of the way.

“Hey!” the woman shouts, too shocked to block Zodwa’s way or to come after her.

Zodwa runs through what feels like mud, taking an eternity before she reaches the child. She’s dimly aware that the dog has returned, spurred to action by its owner’s cry. She hears other shouts too, but they sound distorted, as though they’re coming from a long way away.

When Zodwa finally reaches the boy, she bends down and picks him up, feeling the dog’s teeth sinking into her hand as she does so. She ignores the sharp pain and focuses on the child’s face instead. His mouth gapes open and his eyes and nose are streaming, his face a rictus of panic. He still isn’t breathing. She turns him upside down and rests him on her extended forearm, using the heel of her hand to smack him between his shoulder blades.

More shouting erupts from somewhere nearby and then the dog is quiet.

The boy is limp in her arms.

No. No. No. No.