Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCHI read Bhejane's messages four times.
Each time, the words became more frightening.
He knew what happened before my accident.
He knew about the hospital.
And somehow, he knew about my medication.
For five days, I had wondered why he disappeared without saying goodbye.
Now I was wondering whether disappearing had been the only way he could stay alive.
Dr. Naidoo noticed my expression.
“Is everything okay?”
I almost said yes.
It was becoming my favorite lie.
Instead, I turned the phone toward her.
She read the messages without touching the screen.
“Who is Bhejane?”
“My husband's cousin.”
“Do you trust him?”
The question should have been simple.
Bhejane had been kind to me.
He had made me laugh during those confusing first days after I woke up without my memories.
Unlike everyone else, he never became impatient when I asked the same question twice.
Sometimes I caught him looking at me with an expression I couldn't explain.
At the time, I thought it was pity.
Now I wondered if it had been guilt.
“I don't know,” I admitted.
Dr. Naidoo nodded.
“That's an acceptable answer.”
She stood.
“I'm going to ask our social worker to speak with you privately. You don't need to make decisions about going home tonight.”
Those words brought an unexpected rush of relief.
Not because I had decided Sphandla was dangerous.
I hadn't.
But for the first time since the accident, someone was allowing me not to know.
A nurse came in to check my IV.
Then the door opened again.
Sphandla walked inside.
He looked as though someone had dragged him through a storm.
His pale blue shirt was wrinkled, his hair disordered, and his eyes bloodshot.
The moment he saw me, his shoulders dropped.
“Thank God.”
He crossed the room.
“I've been going out of my mind.”
He reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
Part of me still responded automatically to his presence.
His touch was familiar in a way my memories weren't.
But familiarity wasn't proof of safety.
“What did the doctor say?” he asked.
I watched him carefully.
“There's bleeding in my stomach.”
His face drained.
“What?”
“They're treating it.”
“From what?”
“They don't know yet.”
He pushed a hand through his hair.
“Jesus, Ndoni.”
He bent and pressed his forehead against my fingers.
For a moment, he looked so genuinely terrified that my suspicions felt cruel.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me.
“Who fills my prescriptions?”
He lifted his head.
“What?”
“My medication. Who gets it?”
“I arranged your treatment after the accident. Why?”
“Do you personally collect the pills?”
“Sometimes. Judith has picked them up when I couldn't.”
“Has anyone else?”
He frowned.
“Why are you asking me this?”
I pulled my hand away.
“Because I want to know.”
His expression changed.
Not anger exactly.
Something closer to alarm.
“Ndoni, if there's a problem with your medication, we'll deal with it. You don't need to turn this into an interrogation.”
There it was.
That familiar maneuver.
A reasonable question transformed into evidence that I was being unreasonable.
I stared at him.
“I'm lying in a hospital bed because I'm bleeding internally. I think I'm entitled to ask questions.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
“You are. I'm sorry.”
He sat beside me.
“The prescriptions came through Dr. Maseko's clinic. Judith handled the most recent refill.”
“Did you check the bottle?”
“No. Why would I?”
Before I could answer, a nurse appeared.
“Mr. Zwide, the doctor needs to speak with your wife privately.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I'm her husband.”
“I understand.”
“Then whatever you need to tell her, you can tell me.”
The nurse didn't move.
“Your wife has requested privacy.”
I hadn't.
Not out loud.
But I was grateful that someone understood what I needed.
Sphandla looked at me.
“Ndoni?”
I swallowed.
“I'd like to speak with her alone.”
For a moment, he seemed hurt.
Then he stood.
“Of course.”
He kissed my forehead before leaving.
When the door closed, I finally released the breath I'd been holding.
The nurse checked that I was comfortable.
Then she handed me a small hospital phone.
“A social worker will join you shortly. You can also request that visitors be limited.”
I looked toward the door.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“Is it normal not to remember loving someone?”
She paused.
“Memory loss can affect many parts of a person's life, including emotional associations. But your feelings and your decisions still matter now.”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
It was beautiful.
A delicate diamond set between two narrow bands.
I had spent the past week studying it, trying to remember the day Sphandla placed it on my finger.
Nothing had come back.
Not the ceremony.
Not the promises.
Not even his face.
Only the feeling that something was missing.
After the nurse left, I called Bhejane.
The phone rang twice.
Then he answered.
“Ndoni?”
His voice was low.
“Bhejane, what is going on?”
A long silence followed.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“I'm in the hospital.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Karabo contacted me.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The girls had been trying to reach him.
“Why did you disappear?”
“I needed to find something.”
“What?”
“Proof.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Proof of what?”
He exhaled.
“Ndoni, there are things you need to know about the night of your accident. But you have to promise me something first.”
“What?”
“Don't tell Jason we spoke.”
I glanced toward the door.
“Why?”
“Because I don't know how much he knows.”
I felt sick again.
“Did my husband hurt me?”
Bhejane didn't answer immediately.
That silence nearly destroyed me.
“Bhejane!”
“I don't believe Jason caused your accident,” he finally said. “But I know he lied about what happened afterward.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I will. But I need you to hear it somewhere he can't control who comes in and out.”
I glanced at my wedding ring again.
“What kind of truth?”
His next words came slowly.
“The kind that made you leave him before the accident.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“What?”
“Ndoni, six weeks ago, you weren't living with Jason.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“That isn't possible.”
“You had moved out.”
“No.”
“You were preparing to file for divorce.”
My phone nearly slipped from my hand.
May you like
Then Bhejane said the words that shattered the life I thought I was recovering.
“Ndoni, the night you crashed your car, you were on your way to the police—with evidence against your husband's company.”
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