Two months passed in a haze of pretending.
October brought jacarandas in full bloom and wedding planning that Ava hadn't agreed to but was happening anyway. Her mother had started collecting bridal magazines, leaving them strategically placed whenever Ava visited—on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, even once on Ava's old bedroom dresser. Mrs. Mthembu had begun talking about venues at church gatherings, casually mentioning how difficult it was to book the good ones. Thabo continued to play along, their coffee dates becoming weekly performances for parents who saw what they wanted to see.
And Ava? Ava was drowning.
She hadn't gone back to Liana's apartment since that devastating night when Liana had sent her away. Had not sent another message. What was the point? Liana had been clear: change everything or stay away. And Ava hadn't changed anything. She'd just kept sinking deeper into the life her parents had designed, like someone caught in quicksand which'd stopped struggling because the effort of fighting seemed worse than the slow suffocation of giving in.
Her apartment felt more like a prison cell than a home. She barely slept. When she did, she dreamed of Liana —dreams where they were together, happy, free— only to wake up alone in the pre-dawn darkness. She'd lost weight, her clothes hanging looser. Her colleagues had started asking if she was feeling alright. Even her students noticed, commenting that she seemed distracted.
The irony wasn't lost on her—teaching about authenticity and integrity while living the biggest lie of her life.
It was a Friday evening when Ava's phone buzzed with a message from her mother: "The Mthembus are coming for Sunday lunch. Wear something nice. We need to discuss wedding dates."
Wedding dates. As if Ava had already agreed. As if her consent was a formality rather than a requirement.
Ava stared at the message until the screen went dark, then set her phone face-down on the couch. She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep pretending. But she also couldn't seem to find the courage to stop.
That night, she dreamed of Liana. They were at the Drakensberg again, hiking through mountains, Liana's hand warm in hers. In the dream, Ava felt light, free, unencumbered by expectations or fear. When she woke alone in her sparse apartment, the weight of reality crushed back down on her chest.
She pulled out her phone and opened the photo gallery, navigating to the locked folder she still hadn't deleted. Photos of her and Liana—Laughing at the market, kissing under jacaranda trees, just existing together in ways that felt impossible now. She lingered on one photo—Liana asleep in bed, reaching toward Ava's side even in sleep.
This was what she'd given up. This love, this connection, this version of herself that only existed with Liana.
For what? For her parents' approval? For Sunday dinners that felt like interrogations? For a wedding to a man, she'd never love?
But the alternative —losing her family forever, being cut off from everything she'd ever known— still terrified her too much to act.
---
Sunday lunch was exactly as excruciating as Ava expected.
The dining table was elaborately set—her mother's best china, flowers as a centerpiece, enough food to feed twice as many people. The Mthembus arrived promptly at noon, Mrs. Mthembu carrying a store-bought cake and wearing a satisfied smile that made Ava's stomach turn.
"Ava, darling, you look lovely," Mrs. Mthembu said, though Ava had made no special effort with her appearance. She'd pulled on a conservative dress and brushed her hair. That was it. "Doesn't she look lovely, Thabo?"
"Very nice," Thabo said dutifully, his eyes meeting Ava's with a look she couldn't quite read. Sympathy? Resignation? Understanding?
They sat down to eat, and the conversation flowed around Ava like water around a stone. Wedding venues. Guest lists. Whether December or January would be better for the ceremony. Flower arrangements. Color schemes. Everyone talking about Ava's wedding as if she weren't sitting right there, as if her silence was agreement rather than paralysis.
"We were thinking the church, of course," her mother said, passing the roast chicken to Pastor Mthembu. "First Light Baptist has such a beautiful sanctuary."
"The very place where you were baptized," Mrs. Mthembu added, looking at Ava with expectation. "Such a meaningful location for your wedding. Where you began your journey with Christ, and where you'll begin your journey as a wife."
Ava pushed food around her plate, unable to eat. The chicken felt like sawdust in her mouth. Across from her, Thabo was equally quiet, mechanically cutting his meat into smaller and smaller pieces.
"We've been looking at dates," her father said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone he used when making pronouncements. "December 20th seems ideal. Just before the holiday, when family can travel. Not too hot. Perfect timing."
"Perfect," Mrs. Mthembu agreed enthusiastically. "And that gives us six weeks to finalize everything. The invitations will need to go out immediately, of course—"
"Ava, what do you think?" her father asked, his voice carrying an edge that suggested this wasn't really a question. "December 20th?"
All eyes turned to her. Waiting. Expecting an answer that would confirm their plans, their vision, their control over her life.
"I—"Ava's voice came out strangled. She could feel her chest tightening, could feel panic creeping up her throat. "I need to use the bathroom."
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor and fled to the bathroom. Locked the door. Pressed her back against it and tried to breathe.
This was her future. Sunday lunches where her life was planned without her input. A wedding she didn't want. A marriage that would kill her slowly. Years and years of pretending, of dying by degrees, of losing herself piece by piece until nothing remained of who she actually was.
She looked at herself in the mirror—eyes red, face pale, the woman staring back a stranger. When had she become this person? This hollow shell going through the motions of a life that belonged to someone else?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out with shaking hands.
A text from Thabo: "Meet me in the garden in 5 minutes. We need to talk."
---
Thabo was standing by her mother's roses when Ava slipped outside, the afternoon sun hot on her shoulders. He looked tired, older than his twenty-seven years, his shoulders slumped with the weight of expectations.
"I can't do this anymore," he said without preamble, without even looking at her. "And neither can you."
"Thabo—"
"They're planning our wedding. They've already picked a date—December 20th, as you heard. They're going to announce it in there over dessert, make it official, start calling people tonight. "He laughed bitterly, finally turning to face her ."And we're just going along with it. Two grown adults letting our parents arrange our lives like we're characters in some Victorian novel."
"What are we supposed to do?" Ava's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Tell them the truth. Both of us. Together or separately, I don't care. But we have to stop this before it goes any farther. Before invitations go out and deposits are made and we're so trapped we can't escape without destroying everyone."
"You don't understand what that would cost—"
"Don't I?" Thabo's voice was sharp, cutting. "You think I don't know what it's like to hide who you are? To pretend to be someone you're not just to keep your family happy? To look at yourself in the mirror every morning and wonder who the hell is looking back?"
Ava stared at him. Really looked. And saw something in his eyes that she recognized—the exhaustion of pretending, the weight of living a lie, the desperation of someone drowning.
"Thabo—"
"I'm gay, Ava." The words came out rushed, desperate, like they'd been held back too long and finally burst free. "I'm gay, and I've been hiding it my entire life because I'm terrified of what my mother would do if she found out. Terrified of being disowned, of losing everything, of being alone. And when she suggested I court you, when your parents were so eager, I thought—I thought maybe I could just do it. Just marry you and live a lie and make everyone happy. We could be companions. Friends, make it work somehow. But I can't ."His voice broke. "I can't do what you're doing to yourself. I can't watch you die slowly and help them kill you. And I won't."
Ava felt tears slip down her cheeks. All this time, she'd thought she was alone in this. But Thabo was trapped too, in his own way, fighting his own battles against family expectations.
"I don't know how to be brave enough," Ava admitted.
"You start by making a choice. Right now. Today. Choose her. Choose yourself. Choose anything except this slow death we're both dying. "He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Ava, listen to me. If you go back in there and let them announce this wedding, you'll never escape. You'll be married in six weeks. And then you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been if you'd just had the courage to say no."
"But my family—"
"Might reject you. Yes. I know. It's brutal and it's unfair and it's going to hurt like hell. But Ava—they're already rejecting you. They're rejecting who you actually are in favor of whom they want you to be. That's not love. That's control."
Before Ava could respond, the back door opened. Her mother stepped out, her expression tight with disapproval and concern.
"What are you two doing out here? You've been gone for fifteen minutes. Dessert is ready. We have important things to discuss. "She looked between them, suspicious. "Is everything alright?"
Important things. Like Ava's wedding. Like the future they'd planned without her consent. Like the announcements they'd make over cake, sealing Ava's fate.
Ava looked at Thabo. Saw him give a tiny nod—do it, his eyes said. Be brave.
Then she looked at her mother. At the woman who'd raised her, who'd sacrificed for her, who loved her—but who loved the version of Ava that didn't exist more than she loved the real one.
And something inside Ava finally snapped.
"No," Ava said.
Her mother blinked, confused. "What?"
"No. I'm not coming back inside. I'm not discussing wedding dates. I'm not marrying Thabo. "The words felt like jumping off a cliff, like free-falling through space with no idea if she'd survive the landing. "I'm not doing this anymore."
"Ava Mokoena, you will not embarrass this family—"
"I'm gay, Mama." The words were out before Ava could stop them, before she could second-guess or rationalize or find another excuse to stay quiet. "I'm a lesbian. I love a woman. Her name is Liana, and I've been in love with her for two years. And I'm not going to marry Thabo or anyone else just to make you happy."
Her mother's face went white, then red, cycling through emotions too fast to track. Behind her, Ava could see her father appearing in the doorway, the Mthembus crowding behind him, everyone drawn by the raised voices.
"What did you just say?" her father's voice was dangerously quiet.
Ava turned to face him, to face all of them. "I said I am gay. I'm in love with a woman named Liana. And I'm done pretending otherwise. I'm done hiding. I'm done living a lie to make everyone else comfortable."
The silence that followed was deafening. Ava could hear birds chirping in the distance, could hear a car passing on the street, could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Then her father spoke, his voice cold and final: "Then you are no longer our daughter. Get out of this house. Get out now."
The words should have destroyed her. They should have brought her to her knees. But instead, Ava felt something unexpected: relief. The secret was out. The worst had happened. And she was still standing.
"Okay," Ava said quietly, with a calm she didn't feel. "I'll go."
She walked past her parents, past the Mthembus who were staring at her in shock and horror, past Pastor Mthembu who looked like he might start praying over her right there. She grabbed her purse from the living room, ignored her mother's sobs, and walked out the front door without looking back.
Behind her, chaos erupted—her mother's wailing, Mrs. Mthembu is shocked exclamations, her father's angry voice demanding everyone calm down. But Ava kept walking. To her car. Down the street. Away from the house, away from the life they'd tried to force her into.
She was shaking so hard she could barely get the key in the ignition. When she finally did, when the car started and she pulled away from the curb, she started laughing. Or crying. Or both. She couldn't tell anymore.
She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
Now she just had to figure out what came next.
---
Ava drove without thinking, operating on the autopilot, but her car knew the route by heart. Twenty minutes later, she was parked outside Liana's building, staring up at the familiar window like a drowning person staring at shore.
She sat in her car for ten minutes, trying to gather courage. What if Liana had moved on? What if she'd spent the last two months building a life that didn't include Ava? What if she opened the door only to tell Ava it was too late, that she'd waited long enough, that Ava had missed her chance?
But she had to try. She'd just burned down her entire life. She had to at least try.
She got out of the car on shaking legs and buzzed Liana's apartment.
"Hello?" Liana's voice, cautious and surprised.
"It's me." Ava's voice cracked. "I told them. I told my parents I am gay, that I love you, that I'm not marrying Thabo. They disowned me. My father told me to leave and never come back. I have nowhere else to go. "Tears were streaming down her face now. "Please. Please let me in."
The door buzzed opens immediately.
Ava took the stairs two at a time, not trusting the elevator, needing to move, to burn off some of the adrenaline coursing through her. When she reached Liana's floor, the door was already open and Liana was standing there, tears streaming down her face.
"You did it," Liana whispered, her voice full of wonder and disbelief. "You actually did it."
"I did it." Ava walked straight into Liana's arms and felt like she could finally breathe after months of suffocating. "I chose. I chose you. I chose me. I chose us. I chose freedom even though it cost me everything."
They held each other in the doorway, both crying, both overwhelmed by the enormity of what had just happened. Ava could feel Liana's heartbeat against her chest, could smell the familiar scent of shea butter and printing ink, could feel herself coming back to life after months of feeling dead inside.
"What happens now?" Liana asked when they finally pulled apart enough to look at each other.
"Now I move in with you. Now I build a life that's actually mine. Now I stop hiding and start living. "Ava cupped Liana's face in her hands. "Now I get to love you openly. No more sneaking around. No more lies. No more pretending. Just us. Just this. Just real."
"Just real," Liana agreed and kissed her.
And standing there in Liana's colorful apartment, surrounded by evidence of a life fully lived, Ava felt something she hadn't felt in months.
Hope.
Terrifying, exhilarating, impossible hope that maybe—just maybe—she was going to be okay.