The corners of Leleti’s mouth twitch upward. “Dumisa, my son, is that you?”

Dread washes over Zodwa. Her mother is clearly delirious, and who knows what a person in her state might have done.

“No. It’s me, Zodwa. Your daughter,” Zodwa says, shaking her gently. “Where is my baby, Mama?”

“Baby?” The ghost of a smile disappears.

“Yes, the baby. Don’t you remember? Where is he? Where is my son?”

Leleti’s eyes widen in what appears to be a moment of clarity. She opens her mouth to answer, and Zodwa strains forward to hear what her mother will say.

“I took . . . I took him . . .” She stumbles over the words.

“You took the baby?” Zodwa prompts, trying to keep her voice calm despite her rising panic. “You took him where?”

“He . . . he . . . is gone.”

“Gone? Gone where, Mama? What did you do with him?”

“I did it for . . . you,” Leleti answers. “And for him.”

“What? What did you do?”

Leleti seems to consider the question, but before she can answer, her eyes roll back as she begins convulsing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ruth

12 May 1994

New Beginnings Baby Sanctuary, Rustenburg, South Africa

There’s been no swaying Dee about the baby. She’s called the police and arranged a time for us to meet with social services to hand him over today.

“How dare you do that without discussing it with me first?” I’m on my hands and knees bent over the little plastic bath that’s placed in the tub. The baby is on the changing mattress on the floor next to me.

“For God’s sake, Ruth. You don’t even know what you’re doing. You shouldn’t be bathing him yet. Not until the umbilical cord falls off.”

“Oh really? And just how am I supposed to keep him clean?”

“By dipping cotton wool in warm water and running it over him.”

Oh.

I feel a bit stupid considering I have my elbow dipped in the bathwater trying to figure out if it’s the right temperature. Trying to save face, I say, “I knew that. I was planning to wrap his stomach in ClingWrap to keep the umbilical cord dry. Besides, babies love baths, everyone knows that. It reminds them of being back in the womb.”

She shakes her head and mutters, “All you’re doing is proving my point that you’re not equipped to care for this child.”

“It’s not like he’s come with an instruction manual,” I snap. “And I could learn, couldn’t I? I could get a book, or how’s this for a really crazy idea? Instead of you doing nothing but criticizing me all the time, you could actually help me look after Angus since you know so much about bloody babies!”

“Angus?”