Chapter 12 - Reclaimed

"Mommy, watch!"

I looked up from my sheet music to see Naledi, now five years old, attempting a cartwheel in the backyard. She landed in a heap, giggling.

"Beautiful form," I called out. "Very graceful."

"I'm practising for gymnastics!"

Themba came out onto the deck, carrying our son, Kamo, who was two and obsessed with trucks. "Naledi, be careful. You almost kicked your brother last time."

"Sorry, Daddy!"

I watched them — my family, my life — and felt overwhelming gratitude. I'd just been nominated for a South African Music Award. My latest album, Reclaimed, was a meditation on betrayal and healing and finding yourself again. It had resonated with people in a way I'd never expected.

I was also pregnant again. Three months along, not showing yet, but Themba and I had just told the kids. They were thrilled.

"You okay?" Themba asked, sitting down next to me.

"I'm perfect. Absolutely perfect."

He kissed me. "You are. You really are."

I thought about the woman I'd been five years ago — broken, betrayed, unsure if she'd ever trust again. If she'd ever feel whole.

I'd rebuilt myself. Reclaimed my career, my confidence, my capacity for love. And I'd found someone who cherished all of it. Who celebrated my success instead of feeling threatened by it. Who showed our children what real partnership looked like.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you too. Always."

Naledi ran over, demanding we watch her do another cartwheel. Kamo wanted to show us his new truck. The afternoon dissolved into laughter and play and the beautiful chaos of family life.

This was happiness. This was home.

And I'd never take it for granted.