Chidura’s lips parted slowly, but no words came out.
She looked from her mother to Mandla… then to Sod.
None of them seemed concerned.
Not one.
It was as if the surgery had been some small inconvenience instead of the terrifying operation that had nearly cost her life.
“I can’t cook,” she whispered finally, her voice weak. “I can barely walk.”
Eunice clicked her tongue impatiently.
“You young people are dramatic,” she snapped. “When I was your age, I gave birth naturally and cooked the same evening.”
Mandla laughed lightly.
“Exactly. You’ve been lying down in hospital for days. Resting.”
Resting.
Chidura felt something crack quietly inside her chest.
Resting?
She remembered the nights in the hospital when pain kept her awake until morning.
She remembered vomiting from medication.
Remembered the fear on the nurse’s face when her blood pressure dropped after surgery.
But to them, it was “rest.”
Sod crossed her arms.
“Honestly, Chidura, everyone has responsibilities. We already invited guests. Don’t embarrass the family now.”
The room became painfully silent.
Chidura stared at them for several seconds.
Then slowly… carefully… she pushed herself off the couch.
Pain exploded through her abdomen instantly.
Her knees almost buckled.
Not one person moved to help her.
She held onto the wall tightly and forced herself toward the kitchen.
Behind her, she heard Eunice speaking proudly.
“That girl can cook for fifty people without complaining.”
Chidura lowered her eyes quietly.
For years, she had done everything for this family.
When Mandla lost his job, she paid his rent for eight months.
When Sod wanted a fancy wedding, Chidura emptied her savings to help.
When Eunice’s blood pressure medicine became expensive, Chidura covered every prescription.
And now?
Now she could barely stand after major surgery…
…and they still wanted her in the kitchen.
Hours passed slowly.
The kitchen became unbearably hot.
Steam rose from giant pots while pain stabbed through Chidura’s stomach every few minutes.
She chopped vegetables sitting down because standing too long made her dizzy.
Sweat soaked her clothes.
Twice, she nearly fainted.
But every time she slowed down, Eunice shouted from the dining room.
“Don’t burn the rice!”
“Did you season the chicken?”
“Move faster!”
By evening, Pastor Adewale’s family arrived.
The house filled with loud laughter and perfume and expensive shoes clicking against the floor.
Everyone praised the decorations.
Everyone praised the smell of the food.
No one praised Chidura.
She stayed hidden in the kitchen, breathing heavily while washing dishes between waves of pain.
Then suddenly—
A sharp tearing sensation ripped through her abdomen.
Chidura froze.
Her breath caught instantly.
Warm liquid began spreading beneath her clothes.
At first, she thought maybe it was sweat.
But then she looked down.
Blood.
Fresh blood.
Her stitches had reopened.
Panic flooded her chest.
She grabbed the edge of the sink as dizziness hit her hard.
The kitchen floor blurred beneath her feet.
Still… the voices in the dining room continued laughing.
No one noticed.
Chidura tried calling out.
“Mama…”
Her voice came out weak.
Nobody heard her.
Another wave of pain slammed into her body so violently that the plate in her hands slipped and shattered across the floor.
CRASH.
The entire dining room went silent.
Footsteps approached quickly.
Eunice entered first with anger already on her face.
“What now?!”
Then she saw the blood.
The color drained from her face instantly.
Chidura was trembling violently, one hand pressed against her stomach while blood slowly soaked through her bandages and onto the kitchen tiles.
Pastor Adewale’s wife gasped loudly.
“Oh my God…”
Mandla stared in horror.
Sod covered her mouth.
For the first time all day…
they looked afraid.
Chidura slowly lifted her exhausted eyes toward them.
“I told you,” she whispered painfully. “I wasn’t okay.”
Then her body collapsed.
Everything exploded into chaos.
“Call an ambulance!”
“Get towels!”
“Move!”
Mandla finally rushed forward, but Pastor Adewale stopped him sharply.
“No,” the pastor said coldly. “Don’t touch her.”
The entire room froze.
Pastor Adewale rarely raised his voice, but now disappointment burned across his face.
“She was discharged today after major surgery,” he said slowly. “And you made her cook?”
Nobody answered.
Even the guests looked disgusted.
Eunice began stammering nervously.
“We… we didn’t know it was this serious—”
“The doctor warned you,” Pastor Adewale interrupted.
Silence.
Heavy silence.
One of the church women hurried to support Chidura’s head while another pressed towels against the bleeding.
Mandla looked shaken now.
Truly shaken.
As the ambulance sirens approached outside, Chidura drifted in and out of consciousness.
But even through the pain…
she noticed something.
For the first time in her life—
her family looked ashamed.
At the hospital, doctors worked quickly to stop the bleeding.
One stitch had completely torn open internally.
Dr. Tumalo Kosa arrived furious after hearing what happened.
“You made her COOK?!” he shouted.
Eunice burst into tears immediately.
Mandla lowered his head like a child being scolded.
But the doctor wasn’t finished.
“She could have died tonight.”
Those words destroyed the room.
Could have died.
The reality finally hit them.
Not tired.
Not dramatic.
Not lazy.
Dead.
For hours, Chidura remained unconscious.
And during those long silent hours in the waiting room, something uncomfortable happened.
Nobody could avoid the truth anymore.
