I sat outside, phone clutched tight, Naledi across from me holding her breath.
"Mama Noma?" I repeated. "You were alive?"
"I barely made it out. The fire burned down everything — files, walls, even names. But not all of us died."
The wind picked up. Leaves scraped the roof like whispers.
"Why now?" I asked.
"Because your name is loud again. You're in the news. And someone… someone from the department called me yesterday. They asked about you. By your real name."
My throat tightened.
"No one knew that name."
"They do now," she said, voice breaking. "And the man who's asking is not just curious. He's dangerous. He's not just after you. He wants to silence the story."
I hung up slowly, nausea curling in my stomach.
Naledi didn't need to ask. She could see it in my eyes.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know yet," I whispered. "But someone from the government knows who I am. Who I really am."
Back inside, we pulled out the notebook.
A list of names we'd left behind. Girls from the orphanage. Workers. Staff. Anyone who may have survived.
Zukhanyi's original name: Nomathemba Dlamini.
Erased… we thought.
"We need to be ready," Naledi said.
"We already are."
"No," she said, more firm this time. "I mean really ready. Backup storage, emergency cash, exit plan if this gets worse."
I didn't argue.
Over the next two days, we moved R5,000 into emergency funds and hid it under the chicken coop.
We transferred R8,000 to Lutho's name to use in case we had to vanish.
Naledi created three fake identities using her old street connections — new names, new IDs, new bank cards.
She looked at me while laminating the new documents and said, "If we ever run again, we run together this time."
The article had started a fire in more ways than one.
We received an anonymous offer:
A woman named Miss O claiming to represent an international charcoal distributor in Kenya.
She wrote:
"We want to invest in female-led, eco-conscious coal production in Southern Africa. You fit the model. Quiet, strong, self-made."
Naledi grinned. "If she's legit, we expand."
I nodded. "If she's not, we vanish."
The meeting was set in Pietermaritzburg. Neutral. Busy. Public.
Naledi went alone.
I stayed behind, just in case.
She returned that night.
Face glowing. Eyes burning.
"She's real."
"Miss O?"
"Yes. Her full name is Olwethu Mambazo. She runs three charcoal networks across East Africa. She read our story and tracked us through trade links. She wants us to supply bulk orders — start small. If we meet demand, we scale."
"How much is she offering?"
Naledi smiled.
"R20,000 for the first shipment."
I exhaled. "We've never handled that much."
"We will now."
But while we celebrated…
Mama Noma called again.
Her voice was shaking.
"They found my son. Told him to warn me. If I speak again, I disappear."
"Who are they?"
"They didn't give a name. Just one word…"
"What word?"
"…Ashes."