The moment Kaweme stepped back into the house, she felt the pain all over her again.

The soft buzz of conversation in the living room was no longer the murmur of sympathy,  it had turned into an undercurrent of tension. People shifted uneasily on sofas, speaking in hushed tones. Family members who had once exchanged embraces now stood stiff, divided into small clumps. Something had shifted. Something ugly was brewing.

Aunty Ruth, her wrapper knotted tightly over her chest, pulled Kaweme aside the minute she walked in.

“Kaweme,” she whispered urgently. “There’s a problem.”

Kaweme blinked. “What is it now, Aunty?”

Aunty Ruth pressed her palm to her forehead like she was trying to push back a headache. “Your father’s brothers… they’re fighting. They say he must be buried in the village. Not here in Lusaka. Only your mother and sister can be buried at Leopards Hill.”

Kaweme stared at her, stunned. “But the arrangements, the service of songs, everyone knows he’s being buried here tomorrow!”

“I know.” Aunty Ruth’s voice cracked. “But they’re insisting. They said it’s tradition. That your father must rest with his ancestors.”

“But what about his wishes?” Kaweme gasped. “What about the will?”

“That’s why we’re calling the lawyer,” Aunty Ruth said, voice dropping lower. “Your Uncle Chanda, my husband says the will is clear. He’s bringing police officers in the morning. But for tonight… we need to stay calm.”

Across the room, Luyando spotted them and made his way over, his face dark with frustration. He had barely said a word since he got back from work. His usual easy smile was nowhere to be found.

He stopped in front of her. “Where did you go, Kaweme?”

There was no anger in his voice. Just confusion. Concern.

“I needed air,” Kaweme said quietly. “I went with Japheth. Just to clear my head.”

For a second, something flickered in Luyando’s eyes, surprise, maybe. But he said nothing, only nodded tightly.

Kaweme didn’t have the energy to explain further. She barely had the energy to stand.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. “After everything… now there’s drama over where my father should be buried?”

“We’ll sort it out,” Luyando said, glancing toward the heavy oak doors where muffled voices still argued. “Daddy is handling it. The lawyer will be here first thing tomorrow. Whatever is in the will, that’s final.”

“But I just want peace,” Kaweme whispered. “I’m so tired, Luyando.”

“I know.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll get through tomorrow. After that… we’ll figure the rest out.”

Just then, Aunty Ruth started crying again, the deep, gut-wrenching kind of weeping that tore through the house like a fresh wound.

“It’s them!” she wailed. “They killed him! They killed my sister’s husband with his family. They have always been jealous of him! Now they want to control even his death!”

Luyando turned to her quickly. “Mummy, please. Let’s not say things we can’t take back. We’ll pray. God is still in control.”

A few more family members were starting to gather, whispering heatedly. The tension in the air crackled like electricity.

Luyando leaned closer to Kaweme’s best friend, Malaika, who was hovering protectively nearby. “Please, take her upstairs. She needs to rest.”

Malaika nodded immediately.

As they climbed the staircase together, away from the chaos, Kaweme let her head fall slightly against Malaika’s shoulder.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

“I know,” Malaika said softly. “It’ll be over soon.”

They reached the landing, and for a moment, the noise downstairs faded.

Upstairs, near the landing, Malaika slowed her steps.

She glanced back at Kaweme, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Do you think we need to have our own reinforcements? Like… security? I could call someone. Set it up quietly.”

Kaweme shook her head, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“I’m sure Uncle Chanda has already handled it,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

Malaika frowned. “Still… it might be a good idea. Better safe than sorry.”

Kaweme let out a breath, long and exhausted.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”

Neither of them looked convinced.

Malaika reached out and squeezed her hand.

“One day at a time,” she said softly.

Kaweme nodded, fighting the fresh sting in her eyes.

One day at a time was the only thing that made sense anymore.

Without another word, they moved down the hallway toward Kaweme’s room, the sounds of distant voices and muffled grief trailing behind them like heavy smoke.

By the time Japheth pulled up to the compound the next morning, the air was already thick with confusion.

Reporters swarmed around the gates like flies, cameras flashing, mics extended, shouting over one another. Policemen stood guard at the entrance, trying and mostly failing to keep them at bay.

Japheth squeezed through, keeping his head low. His phone buzzed again in his pocket, another blog notification screaming about Family War at Telecom Mogul’s Burial.

He spotted Luyando near the garden, shoulders tense, hands buried deep in his pockets. Japheth walked over quickly and pulled him into a rough hug.

“How are you holding up brother?” he asked, voice low.

Luyando exhaled hard.

“It’s messy, man. Really messy.”

“Talk to me,” Japheth said.

Luyando rubbed the back of his neck.

“They’re letting us bury my Aunty and Musonda, but Uncle Obadiah,” he shook his head. “His brothers say he has to be buried in the village. They claim it was his last wish.”

Japheth sighed under his breath.

“How’s Kaweme holding up?”

At that, Luyando’s head snapped up.

“You seem to know more about her than me,” he said, half-joking but with an edge underneath. “You are so invested in her.”

Japheth blinked.

“Chill, man. We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Friends since when?” Luyando challenged. “Last I checked, you didn’t even want me to give her your number.”

Japheth lifted his hands in surrender.

“We’re friends. Nothing more.”

“I saw you yesterday, bro,” Luyando said, narrowing his eyes. “Driving off with her.”

“She needed a breather. I was just trying to help,” Japheth said, already feeling the heat rise under his collar.

Luyando stepped closer.

“She’s been through enough, Japheth. She’s a sweet girl. Every guy she’s trusted? They’ve left her broken. Used. I can’t watch that happen again.”

Japheth looked him dead in the eye.

“And you think that’s what I’m here to do? To use her?”

“The problem is I don’t know what you are doing. So, tell me, what are you trying to do?” Luyando shot back. “Just be straight with me.”

Japheth hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I haven’t let myself think about it.”

“It’s a yes or no question, bro,” Luyando said, voice softer now. “Do you like her?”

Japheth ran a hand over his face.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s… complicated right now. The tragedy, the pressure.” He shook his head. “I think it’s just compassion, but I hope you know that I come here everyday because of you as my main concern, if you think it’s because of an ulterior motive towards your cousin then you don’t know me at all .”

Luyando stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

“I know, man. I know. I just needed to hear it.”

Japheth clapped him lightly on the back.

“That’s why I’m here. For you.”

“And her,” Luyando added with a small, knowing smile.

Japheth didn’t answer.

Instead, Luyando jerked his head toward the main house.

“Come on. We need you. The police are still inside. No burial today, except the lawyers can provide proof. It’s a mess.”

Japheth’s stomach sank.

“No burial?”

“Nope. The uncles are dragging us to court. They won’t release Uncle’s body without a judge’s order. It’s insane.”

Japheth let out a long breath.

“What a disaster.”

Luyando nodded grimly.

“Which is why I need your help. We’re pulling Kalo and Kaweme out of here. It’s getting ugly. They shouldn’t be here for this madness.”

“You want me to take them?” Japheth asked.

“Yeah,” Luyando said. “Bodyguards and a second van will follow you. But I figured… they’d feel safer with a familiar face.”

Japheth smiled dryly.

“Me? A familiar face?”

“Better you than strange security agents,” Luyando said. Then he added quietly, “Just… be careful. Two broken people leaning on each other? Sometimes that’s how more damage happens.”

Japheth looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I’m not broken anymore,” he said.

Luyando didn’t argue. Just gave him a nod, a brother’s trust passing silently between them.

“Let me go find them,” Japheth said, already moving toward the house.

As he walked, the voices of reporters and the whisper of grief followed him like a shadow.

“I am not broken.”

Japheth whispered it again inside his heart as he drove through the silent streets of Lusaka.

Beside him, Kaweme sat stiffly, her face turned to the window. In the backseat, Kalo nestled against his nanny’s side, half-asleep, while Malaika sat upright, one hand protective on Kalo’s small shoulder.

Behind them, two black SUVs from the security detail trailed like shadows.

Japheth didn’t know where they were going anymore.

The plan had been to drive them to the Radisson Blu Lusaka, one of the city’s finest hotels.

But now everything had changed again.

He let out a deep, weary sigh.

Kaweme turned at the sound.

“Are you okay?”

Japheth forced a small smile.

“I’m fine.”

She studied him for a second longer than necessary, then turned back to the window, resting her forehead against the cold glass.

The phone buzzed.

Japheth answered quickly.

It was Luyando.

“Change of plans,” Luyando said. “Redirect. Burial’s happening today. Leopard’s Hill. Police are there already. Lawyers too. Uncle’s will is being enforced.”

Japheth exhaled in relief.

“Got it. On my way.”

He ended the call and glanced at Kaweme.

“The burial is on,” he said gently. “We’re going straight to Leopard’s Hill.”

Malaika leaned forward between the seats, irritation written all over her face.

“This back and forth is cruel,” she muttered. “How are they supposed to heal if there’s no peace?”

Japheth didn’t answer.

They pulled into the wide driveway of Radisson Blu just as the city was waking up.

He stopped the car, shifting into park.

“Do you want to freshen up?” he asked, tilting his head toward the grand lobby.

“Change? Maybe rest a bit before we go?”

Kaweme shook her head.

Her voice was empty, brittle.

“We’re already dressed in black. It’s enough.”

She turned to the backseat.

“Do you want to change?”

Malaika and the nanny shook their heads quickly.

Kalo remained silent, his small hands gripping the nanny’s sleeve. Japheth was grateful he had her. She was the one who had broken down in the kitchen the day the tragedy was announced, and he could discern that she genuinely cared.

Kalo’s little voice broke the quiet.

“Are we saying goodbye to Mummy, Daddy, and Musonda today?”

Kaweme turned fully to him.

She swallowed hard, then nodded once.

A fat tear slid down Kalo’s cheek.

The nanny gathered him close, murmuring reassurances that only seemed to make the boy cling tighter.

The weight in the car grew unbearable.

Japheth watched them in the rearview mirror, the ache in his chest deepening.

He reached for his phone out of instinct, and paused.

Another message from Shem.

I heard you came. It’s done, then. Goodbye, brother.

Pain stabbed him.

He typed quickly:

It’s never goodbye, Shem. It’s hello. We are still family.

Almost immediately, Shem’s reply flashed back.

In your wildest dreams. I’m not your enemy. But let’s not pretend we’re brothers.

Japheth dropped the phone with a sigh.

“Everything okay?” Kaweme asked softly.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

She gave a fragile smile, then turned back to stare at the world outside the window.

They pulled out of Radisson Blu’s gates, and headed for Leopard’s Hill.

The convoy trailed behind like loyal shadows.

Kaweme stayed silent, her face pressed against the window, the reflection of the world spinning past her.

Japheth fought the temptation to reach out and squeeze her hand. To say something that would fill the air between them. But he kept both hands on the wheel.

‘You are not here to fix her,’ he reminded himself. ‘You are here to stand beside her.’

As they drove, Japheth took in the plush interior of the car.

A brand new Mercedes-Benz GLE 450 SUV.

Smooth leather seats. Ambient lighting. Technology he couldn’t even pronounce.

He wondered absently how many years he would need to work before he could afford anything close to this.

Reality crashed against him again.

The distance between their worlds was not just emotional. It was physical, tangible.

Up ahead, the black gates of Leopard’s Hill Memorial Park loomed.

He heard Malaika murmur something in the back, maybe a prayer, maybe a curse. He couldn’t tell.

He tightened his hands on the wheel.

“Hold on,” he said quietly, “we’re almost there.”

And in the silence that followed, the weight of goodbye settled fully onto their shoulders.

The hugs had been endless.

Some warm.

Some hollow.

But the arms of Reverend Charles and his wife had held Kaweme with a different kind of assurance, solid, steady, real. It wasn’t the way most people hugged the daughter of Obadiah Muntanga, as if trying to touch a piece of history. It was simply human. Grieving with her. For her.

After the final shovel of dirt had covered the graves, after the last solemn prayer had been said, after the stunned silence had swallowed the mourners, life, cruelly, resumed.

The reception swelled with people. Men in black suits and solemn expressions. Women with tissues tucked into handbags. Voices low and reverent, yet already drifting toward business and speculation.

The performance of grief.

Japheth had slipped away earlier, taking Kalo, Malaika, and the nanny back to the hotel.

She saw him leave, standing discreetly at a distance like the silent security detail he had no business resembling. He hadn’t said goodbye. But somehow, his presence had been the comfort she needed.

Now Luyando sat beside her, alternating between holding his mother and checking on her.

The loyalty soothed her in small ways.

But it couldn’t stop the hollow echo in her chest.

“You know we’re here for you, right?” Reverend Charles said, sitting beside her once more, his kind face lined with earnestness. “If you don’t want to stay at the house… you and Kalo are welcome with us for as long as you need.”

Kaweme shook her head. “Thank you, Reverend. But… I’m going back to America.”

A beat of silence passed between them. She caught the quick glance he exchanged with his wife.

“Don’t rush anything,” Mrs. Charles said gently, squeezing Kaweme’s hand. “There’s a lot you need to process.”

“It’s not just grief,” Kaweme whispered, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. “The drama here… the fighting… it’s too much. Even today, we almost didn’t bury him.”

Mrs. Charles nodded solemnly. “You must do what gives you peace. But…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a softer register. “There’s responsibility here too. I know it’s unfair. I know it’s heavy. But you must think about what your father would want before you decide anything.”

Kaweme nodded, feeling the weight of that truth.

Duty. Always duty.

As more mourners approached, pressing their cards into her palm, offering hollow smiles, she felt herself unraveling.

Without excusing herself, she slipped away, threading through the hall until she found the nearest restroom.

Locking herself inside the last stall, she sat on the closed toilet seat, fighting the urge to scream.

Then the door creaked open.

Voices.

Two women entered, talking in hushed but careless tones.

“Let’s not continue this conversation here,” one whispered.

“There’s no one here,” the other said lightly. “Almost everyone’s outside.”

Their heels clicked against the tiles as they checked their reflections in the mirrors.

“I hear they’re already planning to rename the company,” one said. “It’s only been two months. Can you imagine?”

“People lose trust fast,” the other murmured. “They don’t want investors thinking the company’s unstable.”

“And just like that… poof. All those years. All that work.”

“It is what it is.”

They flushed toilets, washed their hands, and left.

Silence.

Then the dam broke.

Kaweme clutched her knees to her chest, sobbing into the silk folds of her mourning dress.

They hadn’t even let the dust settle over her father’s grave before erasing him.

Her phone buzzed against her thigh.

Luyando.

She wiped at her face hastily and answered.

“Hey,” his voice came, strained but trying for normal. “Are you ready to go? I’ll send the driver.”

“I’ve gone already,” she lied.

A pause.

“Alright… I’ll drop by the hotel later, okay?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She ended the call, pushed open the stall door, and stumbled out into the parking lot, calling for an Uber herself.

She needed to be alone.

Alone to mourn the man whose legacy was being buried faster than his body had been.

Japheth should have driven straight home after dropping off the others, but something pulled him back to the burial grounds. Maybe it was worry. Maybe it was guilt.

Maybe it was her.

He parked quietly at the far end, careful not to draw attention. There were still clusters of mourners lingering around, some talking in low voices, some simply standing and staring at the new graves as though hoping for answers.

He spotted Luyando near the entrance of the hall, looking drained but standing tall.

Japheth approached him, a cautious smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey… you holding up?”

Luyando exhaled. “It’s messy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “The uncles finally allowed the burial, but the drama almost killed my mum. I had to put her and my dad in a car and send them home before she fainted.”

Japheth patted his back. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t even imagine…”

Luyando shook his head. “You have no idea.” Then, noticing Japheth scanning the area, he frowned. “Are you looking for someone?”

Japheth tried to play it cool, but the guilt was already colouring his face. “Just wondering where Kaweme went.”

Luyando’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he gave a tight shrug. “She’s gone back to the hotel.”

“Oh. Good,” Japheth said quickly. “Being here’s… depressing.”

“You think?” Luyando half-laughed bitterly. “My head’s about to explode. I haven’t had a second to breathe.”

“Come home with me, let me take care of you.” Japheth offered. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Food?” Luyando looked vaguely horrified. “You want me to eat party rice? My mum warned me. She literally said none of us should touch anything here.”

Japheth chuckled. “I cooked yesterday. Made stew. I’ll boil some fresh rice. I promise it’s not poisoned.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Luyando muttered, dragging himself toward the car. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“We’re brothers,” Japheth said simply.

Luyando didn’t say anything else. He just reached out and hugged him briefly, squeezing hard.