Novels by Tholanez

  Mapaseka Qwabe became a powerhouse in the business world. With Thulani and Naledi by her side, her company expanded into new markets. She was no longer just a businesswoman—she was a mentor, a leader, and an inspiration to young women who wanted to follow in her footsteps. She spoke at conferences, wrote articles, and was featured in business magazines. But her greatest pride was her family. Sbani grew into a curious, energetic boy with his father's smile and his mother's determination. He loved cars, just like his father, and would spend hours in the workshop, handing Qondanisa tools and asking endless questions. But Sbani was not an only child for long. Over the years, Mapaseka and Qondanisa were blessed with two more children—a boy named Lwandle and a girl named Amanda. Lwandle, the quieter of the two, had his mother's thoughtful eyes and a deep love for books. He would sit for hours under the tree in the yard, reading stories and dreaming of faraway places. Amanda, on...

  The ninth month of my pregnancy was the longest and most difficult. The hyperemesis had finally eased, but I was exhausted, swollen, and ready to meet my baby. The doctor had scheduled a C-section. The baby was positioned awkwardly, and a natural birth would be too risky. "I am scared," I admitted to Qondanisa the night before the surgery. "What if something goes wrong?" He took my hands, his eyes full of love and reassurance. "Nothing is going to go wrong. The doctor is the best. You are strong. And I will be right there with you. Every step of the way." "Promise?" I whispered. "I promise," he said, kissing my forehead. "I will never leave your side." The day of the birth was a blur of nervous anticipation. The hospital room was bright and sterile, but Qondanisa's hand in mine made everything feel warm and safe. The nurses prepped me for the surgery, and soon the doctor came in. "Are you ready to meet your baby?...

  A few weeks after our white wedding, I finally went to see a doctor. The nausea had not stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse. I could barely keep any food down, and I was exhausted all the time. Qondanisa came with me to the appointment. He held my hand as the doctor examined me, his face full of concern. "Congratulations," the doctor said, smiling. "You are three months pregnant." I felt a rush of joy, but it was quickly followed by worry. "Three months? But I have been so sick. Is that normal?" The doctor's smile faded slightly. "Your pregnancy is not the easiest, Mapaseka. You have what we call hyperemesis gravidarum—severe nausea and vomiting. It can be very draining. You will need to rest a lot, stay hydrated, and take your medication." I felt my heart sink. "Will the baby be okay?" "The baby is fine," the doctor assured me. "But you need to take care of yourself. No stress and overworking. You need to res...

  A month after our traditional wedding, Qondanisa and I returned to Johannesburg to prepare for our white wedding. This was the ceremony I had dreamed of since I was a little girl—the white dress, the church, the vows, the celebration with all our loved ones. We had chosen an expensive venue, a beautiful estate with lush gardens and a sparkling fountain. The church was elegant, with stained glass windows and wooden pews. Everything was perfect. MaKhumalo had flown from Durban to attend. She was glowing with pride, her face beaming as she watched her son prepare to marry the woman he loved. "My son is getting married," she said, hugging Qondanisa tightly. "I never thought I would see this day." "Neither did I, Mama," Qondanisa said, laughing. "But here we are." The morning of the wedding was chaotic but beautiful. Relato helped me into my dress—a stunning white gown with lace details and a long train. My hair was styled elegantly, and my makeup w...

  The wedding celebrations were over, but my journey as a new wife was just beginning. After the traditional ceremony, I was expected to remain at my husband's family home for a month. This was part of the tradition known as ukukotiza—a period during which a new bride settles into her new home, learns the customs of her husband's family, and embraces her responsibilities as a makoti. Relato, my umakotshana—my bridesmaid and companion—stayed with me for the first two days to help me adjust before returning to Johannesburg. I wore my pinafore and doek, the simple attire of a newly married woman. It was a humbling experience, a reminder that I was no longer just Mapaseka Mokoena. I was now Mapaseka Qwabe, a daughter-in-law of the Qwabe clan. "I cannot believe you are married," Relato said, shaking her head. "My best friend is a married woman." "I cannot believe it either," I laughed. "It still feels like a dream." "It is not a dream,...