Bab 19: 18
A FACE IN THE CROWD
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I stood frozen, hands cuffed behind me, as the police officer recited my rights.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to legal representation..."
Prestige's words echoed in my mind: " she said she will make sure you pay for what you did."
Grievous bodily harm and assault – the charges stung.
My first visit to the police station, and it was as a suspect.
Neighbors swarmed outside, cameras recording my humiliation.
I felt ashamed, exposed.
Tears streamed down my face as I was led away.
At the station, I begged to make a call.
Katlego's number was the only one I knew by heart.
"Katlego, please... help me," I sobbed into the phone.
"Where are you, Presh? What's happening?" Katlego's voice was laced with concern.
"I've been arrested... Princess reported me... GBH and assault," I stammered.
Katlego's tone turned resolute.
"I'm coming, baby. Stay strong. Don't say anything else."
Tshepo's face flashed in my mind, but I didn't have his contact information.
Our chats were my only connection to him.
Katlego promised to arrive soon.
I collapsed onto the cold bench, tears flowing uncontrollably.
How could Princess do this to her own sister?
Betrayal and shock wrestled within me.
The police station's sterile air suffocated me.
I just wanted Katlego's comforting presence.
Time ticked by, each minute an eternity.
My thoughts swirled, fear and uncertainty gripping me tight.
.
.
An hour passed, and the police lady led me out of the station. I blinked in the bright sunlight, my eyes scanning the crowd. Katlego's family waited for me, their faces etched with concern.
Baba Tshepo, Refilwe, Thabo, and Kago – all his brothers – surrounded me, offering words of consolation and warm hugs.
"I'm so sorry, Presh," Katlego whispered, holding me close.
Tears streamed down my face as Baba Tshepo approached the police officer.
After a brief conversation, the officer nodded.
"Case dismissed," she said.
Katlego showed me the pictures of my shattered room on his phone.
"I took them when the first time I dropped by," he explained.
I was stunned.
Baba Tshepo invited me to move in with them for some time, but I declined.
"I need to visit my dad at the hospital," I said, determination rising within me.
Despite being the hated child, I wanted to prove I cared.
After a refreshing bath and dressing, I headed to the family hospital.
As I left the house, Princess stood frozen in the doorway.
"What?? Why are... you... out... you're supposed to be arrested... at the station," she stuttered.
Her shock was palpable.
I ignored her wicked gaze and walked away.
At the hospital, nurses directed me to Dad's ward.
My heart pounded as I approached his room.
What would he say?
Would he even acknowledge me?
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
"Dad?" I called softly, my voice trembling.
His eyes, weak but familiar, met mine.
A mix of emotions swirled within me – guilt, love, and longing.
I approached his bedside, taking his frail hand in mine.
"Hi, Dad," I whispered, tears welling up.
His gaze softened.
"Precious?" he whispered back.
In that moment, forgiveness and reconciliation seemed possible.
"Dad, I'm so sorry," I whispered, tears streaming down my face as I held his frail hands.
"Precious, my child," he replied, his voice weak but warm.
I glanced around the hospital room, noticing the changes in him.
"Dad, where's Mom? She's supposed to be by your side."
"She went to meet the doctor," he said, coughing painfully.
"A terrible cough," he added, struggling to breathe.
"Sorry, Dad. Do you want water?" I asked, concern etched on my face.
He nodded, and I handed him the water bottle.
I held it up for him as he sipped through the straw.
"Dad, what did the doctor diagnose?" I asked, sitting beside him.
"Your mom went to get the results," he replied. "She'll be back soon."
"Is the food here good? Do you want any edibles from outside?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful.
"I can't stomach anything," he said, coughing again.
This was our longest conversation as father and daughter.
Just then, Mom entered the room.
"Precious, you're here?" she asked, surprise and discomfort written on her face.
"Yes, what did the doctor say?" I pressed, my heart racing.
Mom's eyes welled up with tears.
"Precious, let's talk outside," she said, her voice trembling.
"Dad, I'll be right back," I reassured him, squeezing his hand.
As I followed Mom out of the room, my anxiety grew.
"What is it, Mom? Tell me," I insisted.
Mom took a deep breath.
"The doctor said... your dad's condition is critical," she whispered.
My world crumbled.
"What does that mean?" I asked, desperation creeping in.
"It means... we need to prepare ourselves," Mom said, tears streaming down her face.
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
"No, Mom. There must be something we can do," I pleaded.
"We're trying everything," Mom said. "But we need to be strong for your dad."
.
.
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I finally sat across from the doctor, anxiety coursing through my veins.
"Doctor, please explain my dad's diagnosis," I requested.
Dr. Moyo, a kind-eyed woman, nodded sympathetically.
"Your father has Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, COPD," she began.
I scribbled notes, trying to process.
"It's at stage IV," she continued. "The disease has progressed significantly."
My heart sank.
"What are the options?" I asked, desperation creeping in.
Dr. Moyo hesitated.
"To be honest, a lung transplant is the only viable option," she said gently.
I felt like I'd been punched.
"A transplant? That's a huge decision," I stammered.
"I know," Dr. Moyo said. "But we need to act quickly. Your father's condition is critical."
I thought back to our strained relationship.
I hadn't noticed any symptoms.
Had he been hiding it?
"Dad worked on a farm," I mentioned.
Dr. Moyo nodded.
"Exposure to lung irritants, like dust and chemicals, likely contributed to his condition."
Regret washed over me.
Why hadn't I been more involved in his life?
"How long...?" I trailed off.
Dr. Moyo's expression softened.
"His survival time is limited," she said gently.
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
"What can I do?" I asked.
"Support your father's decision regarding the transplant," Dr. Moyo advised.
I nodded resolutely.
"I'll be there for him."
As I left the doctor's office, the weight of responsibility settled upon me.
I would make sure Dad received the best care possible.
No matter what.
I rushed back to Dad's hospital room, determined to make the most of our remaining time together.
"Dad," I said, taking his frail hand.
He opened his eyes, weakly smiling.
"I'm here," I whispered.
And I would stay, no matter what lay ahead.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone