Part 3: The Arrival of Mable
Thandiwe had not seen her sister in over a year.
Her name was Mable, barely twenty, the last born in a family of five. While Thandiwe had taken the path of marriage and moved to the city, Mable remained in the village, vibrant, curious, and full of life. She was known for her quick wit, her wide smile, and her habit of singing to herself as she worked in the fields.
When Thandiwe wrote the letter inviting her to town, she said little.
“Come, my sister. I miss you. I need your company. We have space here, and I could use the help.”
There was no mention of the real reason.
Mable arrived one bright afternoon, her small bag tucked beneath her arm and her eyes wide with wonder at the noise and rush of town life. Thandiwe welcomed her with open arms, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall, not from joy, but from guilt.
She made Mable a bed in the corner of their room, shared what little they had, and treated her like a guest of honor. For the first few days, the house was filled with new energy. Mable would wake early, help sweep the yard, cook meals, and ask endless questions about the city.
Mwansa was distant at first, barely acknowledging her presence. He seemed uncomfortable, stiff. But over time, that changed. Slowly.
Thandiwe began to notice it, the glances.
At first, they were subtle. A little too long. A little too curious. Then came the small compliments.
“You’ve grown, Mable,” Mwansa said one morning, sipping tea. “The village has treated you well.”
Mable would laugh, shyly. “It’s just fresh air and hard work, brother.”
Brother.
Thandiwe’s stomach twisted every time she heard her sister call him that.
She knew she had planted a dangerous seed. One that, if left unchecked, could grow into something she could not control.
Days turned to weeks.
And finally, one night, when Mable was asleep, Thandiwe and Mwansa sat down under the dim light of a flickering bulb.
“She doesn’t know why she’s here,” Thandiwe said, her voice low.
Mwansa looked at her. “Then tell her.”
Thandiwe’s hands were cold. “It’s not easy. She trusts me. She’s young. What we’re asking… it’s not small.”
“She’s old enough to decide for herself,” Mwansa said, his tone flat.
“But what if she refuses?” Thandiwe asked.
“Then we know,” he replied, “and we move on.”
Thandiwe wanted to scream. Move on? To what? Another woman? A second wife? Divorce?
But instead, she nodded. Because somewhere deep inside, she was afraid that if she didn’t at least try this plan, she would lose everything.
The next morning, Thandiwe took her sister for a walk.
They walked past the noisy market, down to a quiet stretch of dusty road shaded by mango trees.
There, she stopped.
“Mable,” she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “There’s something I need to ask you. Something serious.”
Her sister turned, concerned. “Is everything alright?”
Thandiwe hesitated.
Then she said it, carefully, slowly, like placing stones on water, hoping they wouldn’t sink.
“You know Mwansa and I have been trying to have a baby. For years. But… it hasn’t worked. The doctors say I’m fine, but still… nothing.”
Mable nodded, not sure where this was going.
“And now,” Thandiwe continued, “Mwansa is growing tired. He talks about finding another woman. I’m scared he might leave me.”
Mable’s face tightened. “He would leave you? But you’ve been so good to him.”
Thandiwe looked at her sister, heart pounding.
“I thought… maybe… there’s a way to keep him. And still have a child.”
Mable frowned. “How?”
And then Thandiwe said the words she had been dreading to say.
“What if… what if you could help me? Help us? By… by having his child.”
Silence.
Mable blinked. Once. Twice.
The birds in the trees chirped like they were mocking the moment. The air grew still.
“You mean…” Mable whispered. “You want me to… to sleep with your husband?”
Thandiwe looked away, shame washing over her. “Just once. You wouldn’t be a wife to him. Just… the mother of his child. I would raise the baby as mine. No one back home would have to know.”
Mable stepped back, her breath quickening.
“Tandi… I came here because I missed you. Because you asked me to. And now… this?”
Thandiwe reached for her. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I don’t know what else to do.”
But Mable didn’t answer.
She turned and walked away, tears starting to form in her eyes. She didn’t run, didn’t shout. But her silence spoke volumes.
Thandiwe stood beneath the mango tree, alone, her heart heavy with fear.
The plan she had pinned all her hopes on… might break her in the end.
Watch out for Part 4.
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