After days of arguments, tears, investigations, and revelations, Chumuka felt exhausted.
The woman who once taught others wisdom could barely think clearly.
Her appetite disappeared.
Sleep became impossible.
Even simple conversations felt difficult.
One afternoon she sat alone in the garden where she and Chanda had once planned their future.
The flowers were blooming.
Birds were singing.
The world looked normal.
Yet her entire life felt shattered.
She thought about her parents.
She thought about Luyando.
She thought about Kelvin.
She thought about every warning she had followed.
Every lesson she had trusted.
Every sacrifice she had made.
And still she had been deceived.
For the first time in decades, Chumuka laughed.
It was not a happy laugh.
It was the laugh of someone overwhelmed by the irony of life.
Tears followed.
Then anger.
Then silence.
Suddenly a sharp pain shot through her chest.
She grabbed the arm of the chair.
Her breathing became difficult.
The pain spread into her shoulder.
The garden blurred.
She tried to stand.
Her legs failed.
A gardener nearby saw her collapse and screamed for help.
Within minutes the family was rushing toward her.
Chanda reached her first.
For the first time in many years, fear completely erased his calm appearance.
"Chumuka!" he shouted.
Her eyes opened briefly.
She looked at him but said nothing.
The ambulance siren grew louder in the distance.
Choolwe arrived crying.
Mwansa called emergency services repeatedly.
Neighbors gathered outside the gate.
As paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher, Chumuka drifted in and out of consciousness.
The last thing she heard before the ambulance doors closed was Choolwe's voice calling her name.
Then darkness swallowed everything.