đź“– Chapter 10: The Shedding
(Ukuxhobuka kwesikhumba)
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Oyena didn’t cry this time.
Not when she lit the candle.
Not when she took out the old shoebox filled with memories of “Aurora.”
She pulled out:
A silver ballet medal.
Her old private school blazer.
A birthday card from her dads that read “To our golden girl — our light.”
She stared at it for a long time.
And then she picked up her pen.
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The Letter (To Who I Was A Year Ago)
> Dear Aurora,
You tried.
You tried to be small enough, white enough, calm enough, sweet enough.
You learned their jokes, played their game, softened your tongue so they wouldn’t flinch when you spoke Xhosa.
You became what they needed — not who you were.
But now, we both know… you were never meant to survive in that skin.
You were borrowed.
I am blood.
Thank you for getting me here.
But now, it’s my turn to live.
With love,
Oyena
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The next letter was addressed to Martin and Lawrence Bermingham.
The Letter (To My Legal Parents)
> Martin. Lawrence.
You gave me a house.
But never a home.
I know you loved “Aurora.”
But I am Oyena.
And if you can’t love her too — then we’ve both been pretending.
I no longer want to fight about who I am in your house.
I am asking you — as your legal daughter — to release me.
If you don’t, I will find the woman who signed my life away at birth.
I will go to court.
I will live in a shelter if I have to.
But I will not die in this pretty cage.
I deserve to live.
Fully.
Freely.
Truthfully.
Goodbye,
Oyena (never again Aurora)
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She left both letters on the dining table.
By the vase they always kept perfectly arranged.
Nothing in this house had ever been allowed to fall out of place — until now.
She walked out carrying one backpack, a clay pot wrapped in cloth, and a name no longer denied.
The gate clicked behind her like a final breath.
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