Chapter 24: The Stung Ego

 

I couldn’t shake the sting from the last meeting. Sandile’s words that casual, dismissive remark had dug into me deeper than I cared to admit. I kept replaying it in my mind, each repetition sharpening the ache of humiliation and betrayal.

Nomusa (whispering): “Did he mean to humiliate me? Or was he… just careless?” 

I muttered to myself, pacing across the room.

Nomusa (whispering): “Careless? No. No, Sandile knew exactly what he was doing.”

His voice echoed in my head, mocking me.

“ We’ll let the experts handle this, Nomusa.” Experts. As if I wasn’t the one who had birthed the entire vision. As if I hadn’t sat with him through nights so long that dawn felt like a punishment.

Nomusa (thinking): “How can someone I built everything with, someone who once hung on my every idea, now treat me like I’m invisible?” 

My chest tightened as the words spilled out.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to storm back into that boardroom, slam my hands on the polished table, and remind them, remind him that every brick, every contract, every client came through me. Through my vision, my strategy, my sleepless nights.

I had sat there frozen, my pride burning like fire. My voice had been trapped behind clenched teeth while they all looked on, oblivious. Sandile leaning back, confident, untouchable. And me  silent.

Nomusa (whispering): “Why didn’t you say something, Nomusa?”

I scolded myself aloud, gripping the edge of the table now.

Nomusa (whispering): “Why did you just sit there? You should have spoken. You should have reminded him who you are!”

Frustration swirled inside me, a storm of questions with no answers. 

Nomusa (whispering): “Who am I without this company?”

I asked the empty room. 

Nomusa (whispering): “Have I become nothing more than the shadow behind his shine? Or worse  am I letting him convince me that I don’t matter?”

I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of my nails pressing into my palms. 

Nomusa (whispering): “I matter, I know I do. But why do I feel so small?”

Anger rose, sharp and bitter. Anger at him for dismissing me, stripping away my place, my voice. But anger, too, at myself for allowing it, for swallowing the humiliation when I should have spat it back in his face.

Yet beneath the fury was something softer, more dangerous. A confusion that unsettled me. A longing. I could still see him as he once was leaning across the table, eyes burning with belief in me, saying, ‘ Nomusa, you’re the reason we’ll win this tender. You’re the one who sees what I can’t.’

My throat tightened. Where was that man? The one who trusted me, who loved me not just as his wife but as his partner, his equal, his anchor.

But I knew the truth. That man was gone. In his place stood someone blinded by power, deaf to reason, drunk on the sweet lies of others who only clapped because he signed their cheques. Too intoxicated with admiration to see that the empire was already cracking beneath his feet.

And here I was, standing at the edge of my own silence, torn between pride and pain.

Nomusa: “Nomusa, you are not his shadow. You are the light. Don’t forget that. Not ever.”

I whispered to myself, steadying my breath,