SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sitting on the couch, I watched as Phiwokuhle wriggled in her little playpen, her tiny hands reaching up toward the colorful toys dangling above her. A soft smile crept across my face. My princess,  Intombazane yami encane( my little girl), was growing so fast. It felt like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital, and now she was already starting to explore the world around her. Every little movement, every new sound she made, reminded me of how much joy she had brought into our lives.

I glanced over at Hlelo, who was sitting nearby, her eyes locked on Okuhle with the same awe and love that I felt. We had both been through so much to get here, but seeing our daughter smile, hearing her soft coos, made everything worth it. Hlelo had taken to motherhood so naturally, even with all the doubts she sometimes shared with me late at night. I could see the love she had for our baby shining through in everything she did, and it made me fall for her even more.

“Kahle, mkami, let me take over,” I said, rising from the couch and heading over to the playpen. Hlelo smiled gratefully, passing me one of Phiwokuhle's toys. I picked her up carefully, cradling her against my chest. “Daddy’s girl, huh? You’re getting so big,” I whispered, feeling her tiny hands grasp my shirt. She looked up at me with those wide, curious eyes, and I felt my heart swell with pride.

It wasn’t easy, balancing everything. Between helping Hlelo with the baby and managing our lives with the two grannies in the house, it could get overwhelming. But the truth was, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Having both my mom and Hlelo’s mom around brought a unique sense of comfort. They made sure we were fed, helped with Phiwokuhle when we needed rest, and filled the house with laughter and stories from their own experiences as parents.

The two of them had been such a blessing, and while I loved the dynamic they brought, I also knew it was important for Hlelo and me to find our own rhythm as parents. I had learned so much from them both—my mother’s gentle but firm approach, and Hlelo’s mother’s more relaxed, joyful style. But I also wanted to be the kind of father that Phiwokuhle could always look up to, not just one who relied on the grandmothers for support.

“I’m going to take her for a walk,” I said, turning to Hlelo. “You should take some time for yourself, MaZulu wami”

Hlelo smiled, clearly grateful for the break. “Ngiyabonga,Babakhe. Don’t stay out too long though; you know how she loves her naps.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” I assured her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before heading out the door with Phiwokuhle.

The afternoon sun was warm on my skin as I walked through the quiet neighborhood. I could hear the soft hum of the city in the distance, but all I focused on was the gentle rise and fall of Phiwokuhle’s breathing. She was so content, so peaceful in my arms. It was moments like this that made everything feel real. I was a father—a protector, a teacher, someone she would one day look to for guidance.

I chuckled softly to myself, thinking about how different things had been not so long ago. Before Phiwokuhle, I thought I had everything figured out. I thought I knew what love was. But the love I felt for this little girl, my nkosazana (princess), was something else entirely. It was deeper, more intense, and it changed the way I saw everything. Every decision I made now had her in mind. Every step I took was about building a future for her.

As I rounded the corner, I thought about how lucky we were to have the support we did. The grandmothers had been instrumental, but I wanted to make sure Hlelo and I carved out our own space, our own way of doing things. I didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed by their presence or like she couldn’t handle it on her own. She was strong, and we were in this together.

We returned home after a short walk, the house filled with the familiar, comforting sounds of the grandmothers chatting away in the kitchen. I placed Phiwokuhle back into her playpen, and she cooed softly, reaching for her toys again. I smiled and turned to Hlelo, who had fallen asleep on the couch, finally getting a moment of rest.

I sat down beside her, watching her breathe softly. She was doing such an incredible job, and I needed to remind her of that more often. We were both learning, growing, and making mistakes, but at the end of the day, we had each other. And most importantly, we had Phiwokuhle.

“Ngiyanithanda, Zinkanyezi Zani (my stars),” I whispered softly, my words meant for both of them—Hlelo and our daughter.

As I sat there, surrounded by the love of my family and the laughter of the grandmothers echoing from the kitchen, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. We had a beautiful life, one that I would do everything to protect and cherish. Together, we would continue to grow as a family, supporting each other through every challenge and celebrating every joy.