THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

Chapter 47

 

MANGALISO 

 

"What is happening here?" Mangaliso asks, wiping his eyes as if trying to clear his vision.

"Your 'lover' is here to see you," Ayakha says, stepping aside and leaving Mangaliso and Phindile standing at the doorway.

"How?" Mangaliso whispers, his gaze locked on Phindile. 

"How are you alive? You... you're supposed to be dead," he says, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Phindile shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, Mangi, you're the one who's supposed to be dead. How are you alive?”

Mangaliso swallows hard, his mind racing. How could this be? He distinctly remembers seeing her lifeless body at the mortuary. He was there, parked in his car, watching as her funeral unfolded. He hadn't been able to bring himself to get out. And yet, here she is, standing in front of him, alive and breathing. How is this possible?

"I am alive? You are alive?" Phindile says, tears streaming down her face.

"I was lied to all these years!" Mangaliso says, his voice heavy with emotion.

 "I only found out last year that you are actually alive and well." He blinks away his own tears and steps inside the house. Phindile follows closely behind, her heart racing.

"I saw the video of your funeral, Mangi! I saw it!" she exclaims, her voice breaking.

Mangaliso stops and turns to her, pain etched across his face.

 “I also saw your funeral with my own eyes. I saw your body in the mortuary.”

Phindile lets out a bitter chuckle, wiping her tears. “I mourned you, Mangaliso. For nothing?”

He stares at her, his voice raw. “I mourned you too, Phindile. How could this happen?”

She shrugs, her sorrow mirroring his. They both believed they had lost each other forever.

"How did you survive?" he asks, his desperation for answers clear.

Phindile takes a deep breath before speaking. 

"That day, when the accident happened, I don’t know exactly what occurred. But I woke up a week later, asking for you, desperate to see you. That’s when they told me you are dead. I didn’t want to believe it, but then Mzwandile showed me a video of your funeral. It looked so real, Mangi. I had no choice but to accept it." Her voice shakes as she finishes, fresh pain surfacing.

Mangaliso chuckles bitterly, shaking his head as realization sets in. This is all Mzwandile’s doing. That accident—it’s him…

"Where have you been all this time?" he asks, his voice calm but curious.

"In Cape Town," she replies. “I've been staying there .”

He nods, his eyes fixed on her. She’s still as beautiful as he remembers, her features unchanged by time.

“How did you find me? How did you know where I live?”

"One day, I had Mzwandile's phone with me," she begins, her tone thoughtful. 

“I don’t know what came over me, but I started going through it. Just like that, I found something—something that led me to you. After that, I started searching until I finally found you.”

He nods again, absorbing her words. Silence settles between them, heavy and unresolved.

"It’s been a long time," she says softly.

"But my love for you hasn’t changed, Mangi," she continues, her eyes locking onto his. 

“After I found out you were alive, all those feelings came rushing back. I still love you.”

Mangaliso shakes his head slowly, his expression pained. 

"I’ve moved on, Phindi," he says, his voice steady but firm.

 “After years of grieving you and giving up on love, I finally found someone. I met a woman, and I fell for her.”

Phindile frowns, her emotions churning. She wants to argue, to lash out, but she forces herself to stay calm. There’s no way Mangaliso is deeply involved with that girl, she thinks. She’s nothing compared to me. Two years of a relationship can’t hold a candle to what they had for so many years.

Phindile crosses her arms, her composure starting to crack.

 “Two years, Mangi? Two years doesn’t erase what we had. Do you honestly think she could love you the way I did?”

Mangaliso exhales deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Phindi, it’s not about comparing the past to the present. I’ve built something new, something real. You were gone—I thought I lost you forever.”

Her voice rises, her frustration bubbling over. 

“You didn’t lose me! I was alive, Mangaliso. Alive and still loving you. I would have found my way back to you sooner if I’d known the truth.”

"And yet, you didn’t," he says quietly, his words hitting her like a blow. “You didn’t know. Just like I didn’t. And in that time, life moved on. I moved on.”

Phindile’s breath catches, and for a moment, she’s speechless. Then she steps closer, her voice trembling.

 “Do you really love her? Or are you just trying to convince yourself because you think it’s too late for us?”

Mangaliso looks away, the question slicing through his resolve. "I do love her," he says eventually, though his voice wavers.

Phindile shakes her head, her heart breaking all over again. “No, Mangi. What we had doesn’t just disappear. You know it. I know it. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll see it too.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his silence louder than any words. Finally, he says, 

“Phindi, I can’t hurt her. She’s a part of me now”

"And what about me?" she snaps, tears brimming in her eyes.

 “I’ve loved you through everything, even when I thought you were gone. Do I not matter anymore?”

Mangaliso sighs, his shoulders sagging under the weight of their history. 

“You matter, Phindi. You always will. But life has changed. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

"And neither am I," she whispers, her voice cracking. 

“But some things don’t change, Mangi. Not love like ours.”

The room falls into an uneasy silence, the air between them thick with unresolved emotions. Neither of them knows what to say next, the enormity of their situation hanging heavily over them.

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RILEY

 

She stands at the top of the stairs, her heart pounding as she listens to every word. Their voices drift up to her, each sentence cutting deeper than the last. She doesn’t know how she feels—or how she should feel. Her stomach is in knots, heat rising in waves through her body.

Tears streak her face as she hears her fiancé tell his long-lost love—the woman he thought was dead—that “she matters. She always will.”

Her hand trembles as she wipes her cheeks, but the words echo relentlessly in her mind. From her vantage point, she can see them in the dining area. The way he looks at her, the soft, almost wistful expression on his face—it’s undeniable. He loved that woman. Maybe he still does.

The thought claws at her chest, leaving her breathless. How could he say those words? How could he allow her to feel this small, this unseen? Her tears flow anew, but she stays rooted to the spot, unwilling to interrupt, yet unable to walk away. She needs to know where this will lead, even if it shatters her completely.

She takes a long look at the woman. She’s beautiful—delicate, almost like a doll. Who wouldn’t love her? The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over her.

What if Mangaliso decides to be with her again?

The question looms heavy in her mind, suffocating her. What if he leaves me? After all, this is the woman he once loved deeply—the one he believed was gone forever. And now she’s back.

Her thoughts spiral. He had proposed to her just two weeks ago. Two years they’ve been together, building something steady and real. But two years feels so fragile compared to what he shared with her. That history, that bond—how can she compete?

Her chest tightens as the painful truth settles in: sometimes the present isn’t strong enough to withstand the pull of the past.

Her heart pounds furiously as she watches Phindile inch closer to Mangaliso, their connection undeniable. The way Phindile looks at him—with longing, with familiarity—twists the knife deeper.

She grips the railing tightly, her knuckles white, as she forces herself to keep watching. She knows she should turn away, leave the scene, and spare herself this torment—but she can’t.

Phindile places a hand on Mangaliso’s arm, her touch light but lingering. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he looks down at her, his expression conflicted, as if he’s fighting an internal battle.

Her heart sinks. Why isn’t he pulling away?

Tears threaten to spill again, but she clenches her jaw, refusing to let them fall. I deserve answers, she thinks. I need to know where I stand in his heart.

Phindile’s voice drifts up, soft but clear.

 “Do you remember when we used to talk about our future, Mangi? The plans we made together?”

Mangaliso doesn’t respond right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and heavy with emotion.

 “I remember everything, Phindi.”

That’s it. She can’t stay silent anymore. She descends the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the tense air. Both Mangaliso and Phindile turn to look at her, surprise flashing across their faces.

"I think I’ve heard enough," she says, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. She fixes her gaze on Mangaliso, ignoring the lump in her throat. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I start guessing?”

Mangaliso steps back, looking caught off guard. "It’s not what it looks like," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Really? Because from up there, it looks a lot like you’re trying to decide between your past and your future." Her voice cracks slightly, but she doesn’t falter.

Phindile crosses her arms, her expression unreadable. She watches silently, as though waiting for the drama to unfold further.

Mangaliso runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just needed closure, that’s all.”

"Closure?" she repeats, her voice rising. 

“This doesn’t look like closure, Mangaliso. This looks like something else entirely.”

The room falls silent, the tension thick and suffocating. All three of them stand frozen, caught in the tangled mess of their emotions.Phindile breaks the silence, her voice calm but pointed. "Maybe I should leave the two of you to talk." She steps back, but her eyes linger on Mangaliso. 

“Clearly, there’s a lot to unpack here.”

"No," She says sharply, her voice firm. “You don’t get to walk away now, not after everything I’ve just heard. You wanted to come back into his life? Fine. But I deserve to hear where I stand in all of this.”

Phindile tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

 “You’re his fiancée, aren’t you? What more do you need to hear?”

The words sting, but she doesn’t back down. 

"I need to hear it from him. Not you." She turns to Mangaliso, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions. 

“So tell me, Mangaliso. Do you still love her?”

Mangaliso hesitates, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the question. He glances at Phindile, then back at his fiancée. "This isn’t about love," he says finally, his voice low. “It’s about closure, about trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.”

"That’s not an answer," she says, her voice trembling with frustration. 

“You’re dodging the question. Do you still love her?”

Phindile takes a step forward, her calm demeanor starting to crack. “He doesn’t have to answer that. I think we both know the truth, don’t we?”

"Stop," Mangaliso says firmly, raising a hand. "This isn’t fair to anyone. Phindi, you showing up like this—bringing the past back—it’s complicated things I wasn’t prepared for. And you," he turns to his fiancée, “you have every right to feel hurt, but I need time to process all of this.”

She stares at him, her chest tightening. 

“Time? You’re asking for time after proposing to me two weeks ago? What am I supposed to do while you decide if you want me or her?”

"I’m not saying I want her," Mangaliso says quickly, but the hesitation in his voice betrays him.

Phindile smirks faintly, though pain flickers in her eyes. “You don’t have to say it, Mangi. It’s written all over your face.”

His fiancée steps back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as tears threaten to spill again.

 “Maybe you do need time, Mangaliso. But don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out who you want to be with. I deserve better than that.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, leaving Mangaliso standing there, torn between the two women who represent his past and his present.

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