Chapter 1
Nkululeko: Sbani sika mmawakhe – Season 2
(Nomzamo’s POV)
Seven years later.
The city no longer scared me.
Cape Town moved beneath my heels like something I had finally learned to survive.
The tall buildings.
The rushing traffic.
The sharp smell of expensive perfume and ambition inside corporate elevators.
The noise.
The pressure.
The hunger.
I survived all of it.
But this morning?
My hands were shaking.
Not because I was weak.
No.
Because today meant something bigger than fear.
Today—
Nomzamo Nxumalo was standing in court as lead attorney for the first time.
High Court.
Attempted murder case.
Media attention.
Public outrage.
And unfortunately for me—
The defense attorney standing opposite me was Advocate Jerome Daniels.
The man who almost never lost.
People feared him.
Judges respected him.
And young lawyers?
They avoided facing him completely.
Yet there I stood—
Inside one of the largest courtrooms in Cape Town—
Wearing a fitted black pantsuit worth more than the girl I used to be could imagine—
Trying to slow my breathing.
The courtroom buzzed with whispers.
Journalists sat in back row already typing headlines before judgment even began.
The victim’s family looked exhausted.
Broken.
And at the center of it all—
Sat Mrs. Buhle Buthelezi.
Thirty-four years old.
Beautiful woman.
Now permanently confined to wheelchair after her husband “accidentally” ran her over with his car three months ago.
Accident.
That was defense’s favorite word.
I looked toward the other side of courtroom.
Mr. Sibusiso Buthelezi sat calmly beside his legal team wearing expensive grey suit.
Clean shave.
Gold watch.
Soft smile.
The kind of man society trusted immediately.
But monsters rarely looked like monsters.
And I learned that lesson young.
“Breathe.”
That voice grounded me instantly.
Nkazimulo.
I turned slightly toward gallery seats where he sat beside Aunt Zandile and Uncle Siyabonga.
And Lord.
That man still knew how to calm storms inside me with one look.
Seven years later—
And Nkazimulo Dlamini still carried himself like danger wrapped inside expensive cologne.
Successful.
Respected.
Powerful.
His two companies—
Dlamini Articular Solutions and Dlamini Industrial Logistics—
Had turned him into one of youngest businessmen making serious noise in the construction and industrial engineering space.
But somehow—
Despite all success—
His eyes still softened only for me.
He adjusted cuff of his black suit slowly before giving me a small nod.
The nod.
The one that always said:
You survived worse.
And suddenly—
My breathing steadied slightly.
The courtroom doors opened.
Everybody stood immediately.
“All rise!”
Judge Pillay entered courtroom with intimidating authority.
Sharp eyes.
Controlled posture.
A woman known for fearing absolutely nobody.
We sat after permission was granted.
And immediately—
Tension swallowed room whole.
Advocate Daniels stood first.
Confident.
Smooth.
Experienced.
“My Lord…”
His voice echoed calmly through courtroom.
“This case has emotionally moved the public.”
Pause.
“But emotion cannot replace fact.”
He slowly approached center floor.
“The prosecution wants this court to believe my client intentionally harmed his wife.”
Another pause.
“Yet evidence clearly shows Mrs. Buthelezi acted irrationally during marital disagreement.”
I already hated where this was going.
“She jumped onto moving vehicle attempting to stop her husband from leaving property.”
Pause.
“A tragic accident followed.”
Mrs. Buthelezi lowered her eyes immediately.
Humiliation.
Pain.
Shame.
And suddenly—
Something inside me became angry.
Because abusive men always relied on same thing:
Making women sound unstable enough to deserve violence.
Advocate Daniels continued smoothly.
“There is no direct witness proving intent.”
Pause.
“No video footage.”
Another pause.
“No confession.”
He turned toward judge calmly.
“Only assumptions created from failed marriage.”
Murmurs filled courtroom softly.
Journalists typing aggressively now.
Daniels finally sat down confidently.
Too confidently.
Then—
All eyes turned toward me.
And suddenly—
I felt twenty again.
Broken girl.
Pregnant girl.
Scared girl.
But then—
I remembered something.
That girl survived anyway.
Slowly—
I stood.
Black heels echoing sharply against courtroom floor.
And immediately—
The room quieted.
“My Lord.”
My voice came out calm.
Thank God.
“With respect…”
I opened file slowly.
“The defense keeps calling this an accident.”
Pause.
Eyes lifting toward Sibusiso Buthelezi directly.
“But accidents do not leave patterns.”
Silence.
I walked slowly toward evidence table.
Heart beating violently against ribs.
“For three years…”
I lifted documents carefully.
“…Mrs. Buhle Buthelezi was admitted to hospital repeatedly.”
Pause.
“Broken wrist.”
Another page.
“Cracked rib.”
Another.
“Concussion.”
The courtroom shifted uneasily immediately.
I continued walking slowly.
Controlled.
Steady.
“And every single medical report…”
I lifted final file.
“…mentions signs consistent with domestic abuse.”
Advocate Daniels stood immediately.
“Objection!”
“On what grounds?” Judge Pillay asked sharply.
“These documents are being weaponized emotionally.”
I turned calmly toward him.
“No, Advocate.”
Pause.
“They are being contextualized.”
Tiny murmurs spread again.
Judge Pillay adjusted glasses carefully.
“Overruled.”
My pulse nearly exploded.
But outside?
I remained composed.
I approached Mrs. Buthelezi slowly.
“Mrs. Buthelezi…”
My voice softened.
“Did you jump in front of vehicle willingly?”
Her hands trembled immediately.
And suddenly—
The courtroom no longer felt like courtroom.
It felt like every woman trying to explain pain people refused seeing.
“No.”
Tiny voice.
Broken voice.
“What happened that evening?”
Tears filled her eyes instantly.
“He told me…”
Pause.
Voice shaking violently now.
“…that if I ever tried leaving him, he would make sure nobody else wanted me.”
Silence hit courtroom brutally.
I felt my own throat tighten.
Because I knew that kind of fear.
Not exactly.
But enough.
“He drove toward me.”
Tears fell harder now.
“And when I tried moving…”
Pause.
“…he accelerated.”
Gasps spread softly around courtroom.
Advocate Daniels immediately stood.
“My Lord, this is emotional manipulation.”
“No.”
I turned toward him sharply now.
Voice stronger.
Sharper.
“This is what survival sounds like.”
The courtroom froze instantly.
Even Judge Pillay looked at me differently now.
I inhaled deeply before continuing.
“Abuse is rarely one dramatic moment.”
Pause.
“It is patterns.”
Another pause.
“It is fear taught slowly.”
I looked toward Sibusiso Buthelezi.
Coldly.
“And men like the accused survive because society keeps asking women for perfect evidence while ignoring obvious suffering standing directly in front of them.”
Complete silence.
The dangerous kind.
The cinematic kind.
The kind where people stop breathing.
I turned toward judge finally.
“My Lord…”
Pause.
“The defense wants this court to believe Mrs. Buthelezi is dramatic.”
Another pause.
“But broken bones do not lie.”
I slowly placed medical records down carefully.
“And neither do terrified women.”
Silence swallowed courtroom whole.
Even Advocate Daniels stopped moving now.
Judge Pillay looked through documents carefully.
One page.
Then another.
Then another.
Meanwhile—
My heartbeat became unbearable.
Because this moment?
This was not just about winning.
This was about every version of myself I buried to stand here today.
The pregnant teenager.
The abandoned girl.
The girl people whispered about.
The girl nobody defended.
And suddenly—
I understood why this case mattered so much to me.
Because maybe—
Just maybe—
I became lawyer so women like Buhle Buthelezi never had to beg people to believe their pain again.
Judge Pillay finally lifted eyes slowly.
The courtroom held its breath.
Then—
The words came.
“After reviewing the evidence presented before this court…”
Pause.
“…this court finds sufficient proof of prolonged abuse and clear intent to cause grievous bodily harm.”
My chest stopped moving.
“Sibusiso Buthelezi is hereby found guilty.”
The courtroom exploded.
Gasps.
Crying.
Journalists standing immediately.
Mrs. Buthelezi sobbing openly.
And somewhere behind me—
I heard Nkazimulo clap first.
One clap.
Proud.
Certain.
Then another.
And another.
Until courtroom filled with applause despite legal professionalism trying to survive.
My vision blurred suddenly.
Not from weakness.
From emotion.
Because after everything life did to me—
I still rose.
And as cameras flashed wildly around courtroom—
One thought echoed loudly inside my chest:
The girl they tried to destroy became the woman who destroys silence instead.
