Ndalo, my husband, once promised me the world. We met in Johannesburg, where I worked as a nurse. Charismatic and ambitious, Ndalo convinced me to quit my job, relocate to Mpumalanga, and start anew. "I'll provide," he'd say. "You focus on our children."
Initially, Ndalo kept his promises. He worked, provided, and cared for our family. But slowly, alcohol consumed him. Nights turned into binges; mornings, excuses. Our children suffered, witnessing his rage. I struggled, shouldering responsibilities alone.
One fateful evening, a mysterious stranger approached me. "Tired of suffering?" he whispered. "I'll guarantee prosperity, but demand sacrifice." Ndalo's uselessness enraged me. "What's the sacrifice?" I asked, knowing.
Moonlit night, isolated forest. The stranger led me to an altar. Ndalo, unconscious, lay beside me. "End his suffering," the stranger hissed. Tears streaming, I hesitated. "Think of your children's future," he whispered. With shaking hands, I made the unthinkable choice.
Ndalo vanished. No body, no explanation. Authorities searched; nothing. Suddenly, wealth flooded in – inheritances, investments, unexpected windfalls. Our children's future secured.
Darkness haunts me now. Ndalo's ghostly presence lurks. Whispers echo: "You killed me." Sleep eludes me. Paranoia grips. Are my children watching me differently? Do they sense my secret?
Tormented, I seek guidance. Sangomas, priests, anyone. How do I cleanse my conscience? Can I undo the damage? Help me find peace.
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