Chapter 19: Returning to work

 

When the triplets turned one, life had begun to settle into a rhythm  if you could call chasing three curious toddlers around the house “settling.” Each day felt like a whirlwind of tiny footsteps, laughter, and cries, a constant dance between exhaustion and joy. They were walking now, their little legs unsteady but determined, their voices babbling in a language only they seemed to understand. And in those moments when they tumbled into my arms or clapped proudly at their own small victories they tested every ounce of my patience, every drop of my strength, and every corner of my love.

Yet, as their first birthday candles flickered out, the soft glow reflecting on their bright eyes, a quiet realisation settled deep in my spirit: it was time. Time to return to work. Time to reconnect with the part of myself that thrived in the world of Nkosi Construction. The mother in me hesitated, but the woman in me longed to rise again.

The morning of my first day back arrived with the weight of mixed emotions. I sat on the edge of our bed, buttoning my blouse with trembling fingers, each button fastening not just fabric, but also courage. The familiar sounds of laughter floated down the hallway Sandile’s deep chuckle mingling with the squeals of our babies. He had taken over breakfast duty that morning, his silly sounds and playful antics filling the kitchen. For a moment, I just listened, letting the sound anchor me, steady me.

Then he appeared at the doorway, grinning, a baby balanced on each hip and another tugging insistently at his trouser leg. His presence, so strong and steady, calmed the storm in my chest.

Sandile: “Look at you, boss lady. Back in action.”

I managed a smile, though my stomach twisted into knots.

Nomusa: “I don’t know, Sandile… what if I’ve forgotten how to do this? What if they need me and I’m not here?”

He stepped closer, shifting the babies with the practiced ease of a man who had learned fatherhood in the trenches of sleepless nights and endless nappies. His eyes met mine, steady and full of quiet confidence.

Sandile: “You haven’t forgotten a thing. You ran a company from this house while raising triplets. If that isn’t proof, I don’t know what is. And as for them…”

He kissed the top of Langa’s head. 

Sandile: “…they’ll be just fine. We’ve got your mom, the babysitter, and me. You go and shine.”

His words rooted me, reminded me of the truth I had buried under doubt. At the office, I was greeted with open arms and warm smiles. Familiar faces lit up when they saw me, their laughter filling the space that had once felt so much like mine. 

The hum of keyboards, the steady ring of phones, the shuffle of papers it was like stepping into another version of myself. Nervousness clung to me at first, but beneath it was a pulse of exhilaration. My desk, untouched for so long, felt both foreign and familiar. Yet, as I opened my laptop, scrolled through reports, and signed my first contract again, I felt that old fire ignite  the part of me that was more than a mother, the part that had built and dreamed and fought alongside Sandile for Nkosi Construction’s future.

At lunchtime, I couldn’t resist calling home. My mother answered, her voice warm and steady.

Mom: “Your little ones are fine, Nomusa. Eat your lunch. They’ve just gone down for their nap.”

My voice betrayed me, trembling with worry.

Nomusa: “Mama, are you sure? Are they okay? Did they cry when I left?”

She chuckled softly, her calm a soothing balm.

Mom: “They cried for a minute, then Sandile distracted them with a song. Now they’re full and sleeping. Focus on your work, my child.”

Her words reassured me, but the ache in my chest remained. I missed the weight of their little hands tugging at me, the sound of their giggles echoing in the corners of our home. It was strange to be whole in one place and yet feel a part of me tugging elsewhere.

That evening, when I finally walked through the front door, three little faces lit up like lanterns. They toddled toward me, arms outstretched, their squeals of joy filling every corner of the room. Tears blurred my vision as I bent down, scooping them into my arms, their warmth pressing against me in a tangle of tiny limbs.

Nomusa: “Oh, my babies… Mama’s home.”

Sandile wrapped his arm around me, pressing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

Sandile: “See? They survived. More than survived they’re thriving. And so are you.”

We settled on the couch, the triplets climbing over us with boundless energy, their laughter bubbling like music. In that moment, I realised something profound. Returning to work didn’t mean leaving my children behind. It meant showing them another version of their mother strong, capable, determined, and unafraid to step back into herself.

And with Sandile by my side, I knew we could balance it all: family, love, and the dream we had built together.