Chapter 28: Home Friction

 

The silence in our house had grown sharp, like a blade waiting to cut. Sandile and I no longer spoke freely; our conversations were reduced to corrections, critiques, and unfinished sentences. Even when words were exchanged, they were measured, cautious, almost rehearsed. It was at the dinner table where his new habit showed itself most clearly subtle, quiet stabs hidden under the cover of casual talk, disguised as advice or concern.

I served the children first, my hands steady despite the tension curling in my chest, then finally placed my plate in front of me.

Sandile: “I noticed you were in the office late again today. Trying to finish everything before Lerato swoops in?”

I froze mid-bite.

Nomusa: “I was finishing reports for the team, Sandile. You know my work isn’t about showing up for someone else’s approval.”

He chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that made your blood run cold.

Sandile: “Sure, sure. But it’s funny, isn’t it? Watching you hustle while she just… glides through. You think experience counts, but apparently charm wins the day.”

My fingers tightened around the fork.

Nomusa: “Charm doesn’t build anything. You know that. You’ve always known it.”

Sandile (smirking): “I know? Do I? Sometimes I wonder if you realize how little people actually see your so-called genius anymore. Everyone at the office is talking about Lerato. Even your team your precious team listens to her first.”

I set my fork down, meeting his eyes evenly.

Nomusa: “She doesn’t lead construction, Sandile. I do. And you know it. You’ve never doubted my ability to solve a problem on site, so don’t pretend experience doesn’t matter just because someone polished her resume.”

He shook his head slowly, the smirk never leaving his face.

Sandile: “Oh, Nomusa… always so serious. Maybe that’s the problem. You think being serious is enough. But life isn’t about being serious it’s about being seen. About being wanted in the room. That’s where she wins, not on paper or in calculations.”

My chest tightened.

Nomusa: “And that’s all you see now? Not what I built this company with you? The nights, the tenders, the hours you brag about? You only see someone trying to keep up with a suit and heels?”

He leaned forward, voice low and teasing.

Sandile: “Keep up? I’m not sure you realize how amusing it is sometimes. Watching you explain structural integrity while she smiles and everyone claps. It’s… almost tragic.”

I slammed my hand lightly on the table.

Nomusa: “Amusing? Tragic? I built this empire with you, Sandile. Don’t reduce my work to a joke because you’ve decided to play favourites now. I might not have her degree, or her charm, but I know every beam, every wall, every failure before it happens. That’s what keeps this company alive!”

He leaned back, shrugging casually, as if I had said nothing at all.

Sandile: “Relax, Nomusa. I’m just saying… maybe it’s time you realised the game has changed. Your methods are fine, but the world doesn’t reward fine anymore. It rewards presentation. Image. Visibility. Maybe you’re too… in the shadows to notice it.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay calm, though the heat in my chest flared.

Nomusa: “I’m not in the shadows, Sandile. I am the foundation. And foundations don’t need applause. They need respect. Something you seem to have forgotten.”

He smiled, slow and infuriating.

Sandile: “Respect? Don’t be so dramatic. I respect you, Nomusa. But I also see when someone else is making the room light up. Maybe it stings a little. Admit it.”

Nomusa (leaning forward): “It stings because you’ve forgotten who got you here. Who built the bridges between your ambition and reality. I don’t need to make the room light up for you to notice me, Sandile. You’ve just… stopped noticing everything that matters.”

The children picked at their plates quietly, sensing the tension, the quiet storm raging between us. I reached for my water, letting the cold glass steady me, keeping my face neutral.

The table was a battlefield, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing I felt the cuts.

But inside, I whispered, over and over: He doesn’t see me anymore. He only sees what he thinks I lack. He’s forgotten everything we built together. And somehow, that’s enough for him to look down on me, to mock me, to prefer someone else’s smile over my work. I would not let it break me. Not here. Not now.