Ava called in sick to work on Wednesday. Then Thursday. Then Friday.
She spent three days in her apartment, curtains drawn, phone on silent except for calls from her parents. The messages from church members had finally slowed to a trickle, but the damage was done. Her inbox was full of concerned prayers, thinly veiled judgment, and a few messages of support that somehow hurt worse than the condemnation.
She hadn't called Liana back.
Every time she picked up her phone, every time she started to dial, she thought about her mother's face. The devastation there. The tears. And she thought about her father, who still didn't know who would be told before Saturday's dinner, who would look at her with those disappointed eyes that had haunted her since childhood.
She thought about losing them. About Sunday dinners ending forever. About being cut off from the only family she'd ever known. About becoming like Liana—free, but alone.
On Friday evening, her mother called.
"Ava." Her voice was careful, controlled. "Your father knows."
Ava's stomach dropped. "How did he—"
"I told him. Last night. He needed to know before tomorrow's dinner." A pause. "He wants to speak with you, but I asked him to wait until after you've met Thabo. I thought it would be better if you could show him that you're making the right choice."
"And if I don't come to dinner?"
The silence on the other end was answer enough.
"Your father is a good man, Ava. A godly man. But even his patience has limits. If you don't come tomorrow, if you continue to choose this path..." Her mother's voice cracked slightly. "There will be consequences. Do you understand?"
Ava understood. She understood perfectly. Come to dinner and pretend to be interested in Thabo, or lose her family forever.
"I'll be there," Ava heard herself say.
"Six o'clock. Don't be late. And Ava—" Her mother hesitated. "Wear something nice. Something respectful. No pants."
The call ended.
Ava sat on her couch, phone in her lap, and felt the last piece of her resistance crumble. She was going to dinner. She was going to meet Thabo Mthembu. She was going to play the role of the dutiful daughter one more time.
And in doing so, she was going to lose Liana.
Her finger hovered over Liana's contact. She should call. Should explain. Should at least say goodbye properly.
But what could she say? *I'm sorry, but I'm choosing them over you. I'm sorry, but I'm not brave enough. I'm sorry, but their approval matters more than your love.*
All of it was true. All of it was unbearable.
So she didn't call. She just sat in the growing darkness of her apartment and felt herself disappearing.
---
Saturday arrived with brutal sunshine and clear skies—the kind of perfect spring day that made Ava's misery feel even more pointed. She stood in front of her closet, staring at the dress her mother had bought her for Easter. Navy blue, modest neckline, hem below the knee. The uniform of a good Christian daughter.
She put it on.
Did her makeup carefully, conservatively. Hair pulled back in a neat bun. Minimal jewelry—just the small cross necklace her parents had given her for her confirmation. She looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. She looked like she had in high school, before university, before she'd discovered who she actually was. Before Liana.
The drive to her parents' house in Soweto took forty minutes. Forty minutes of Ava's mind screaming at her to turn around, to go to Liana instead, to choose love over fear. But her hands stayed on the wheel, following the familiar route home as if pulled by an invisible string.
Her parents' house looked exactly as it always did—neat lawn, painted trim, her mother's garden blooming with late spring flowers. A BMW was parked in the driveway that Ava didn't recognize. The Mthembus were already here.
Ava sat in her car for five full minutes, trying to breathe, trying to find the courage to either go inside or drive away. In the end, it was the front door opening that decided for her. Her mother stood framed in the doorway, watching. Waiting.
Ava got out of the car.
"You look lovely," her mother said as Ava reached the door, but there was no warmth in her voice. Just an assessment. Approval that Ava had dressed appropriately, that she was playing her part.
Inside, the house smelled like her childhood—her mother's cooking, furniture polish, the faint scent of the lavender oil her mother put in the diffuser. But it feels different now. Like a place she was visiting rather than somewhere she belonged.
Voices drifted from the living room. Her father's deep rumble, another male voice she didn't recognize, and a woman who must be Mrs. Mthembu. Ava's hands were shaking. She clasped them together, took a breath, and followed her mother into the room.
Three people looked up as she entered. Her father, sitting in his usual chair, his face carefully blank but his eyes hard. A woman in her fifties with kind eyes and an elaborate head wrap. And a man about Ava's age, standing near the window, who turned at her entrance.
Thabo Mthembu was handsome in an understated way—tall, slim build, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt that suggested someone who worked in an office. He had a gentle face, wire-rimmed glasses, and when he smiled at her, it reached his eyes.
"Ava," her father said, his voice formal. "Come, meet Pastor Mthembu and his son Thabo."
Ava moved into the room mechanically, shaking Mrs. Mthembu's hand, murmuring polite greetings. When she reached Thabo, he extended his hand and she took it. His grip was warm, firm but not aggressive.
"It's nice to see you again," he said. "Though I'll admit I barely remember you from when we were children. I think I was too busy reading to notice anyone."
There was humor in his voice, self-deprecating and gentle. Despite everything, despite the circumstances, Ava found herself responding, "I remember. You were always in the corner with a book."
"Some things never change." He smiled again, and Ava felt a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly took her breath away. This man was nice. He didn't deserve to be part of her parents' scheme to "fix" her.
"Let's eat," her mother announced, her voice too bright. "Everything's ready."
Dinner was elaborate—her mother had clearly spent days preparing. Roast chicken, pap, chakalaka, salads, fresh bread. All of Ava's favorites, as if good food could smooth over the fact that this entire evening was built on a lie.
They sat around the dining table, Ava finding herself directly across from Thabo. The conversation flowed around her—Mrs. Mthembu talking about church activities, her father discussing business with Pastor Mthembu, and her mother playing the perfect host. Ava pushed food around her plate and tried to look engaged.
"So, Ava," Mrs. Mthembu said, turning to her with a warm smile. "Your mother tells me you're a lecturer at the university? That's wonderful. What do you teach?"
"Business studies. Mostly organizational behavior and business ethics."
"She's excellent at it," her father said, and there was pride in his voice despite everything. "Top ratings from her students. She was just put forward for a research grant."
Ava had forgotten about the grant. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd cared about such things.
"That's impressive," Thabo said. "I work in finance myself. Corporate auditing. Not as noble as education, but someone has to make sure the numbers add up."
He said it lightly, inviting her to engage. Ava managed a small smile. "Someone definitely has to. Especially with some of the corporations I teach my students about."
"Oh? Bad examples?"
"The worst. Makes for good cautionary tales though."
Thabo laughed, and the conversation continued, flowing into safer territory—books, current events, mutual acquaintances from church. Thabo was easy to talk to, Ava realized with growing dismay. He was smart, funny in a quiet way, clearly well-educated. In another universe, in another life, they might have been friends.
But this wasn't friendship. This was an audition. And everyone at this table except possibly Thabo knew it.
After dinner, her mother suggested Ava show Thabo the garden. "It's such a beautiful evening," she said, in a tone that made it clear this wasn't a suggestion.
Ava led Thabo outside, hyper-aware of her parents and his mother watching from the window. They walked the perimeter of her mother's garden in silence for a moment, the setting sun painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
"This is awkward," Thabo said finally.
Ava looked at him, startled by his directness.
He smiled ruefully. "I'm not an idiot, Ava. I know what this is. My mother's been talking about you for weeks. And your mother—" He paused delicately. "She's been very enthusiastic about arranging this dinner."
"I'm sorry," Ava said quietly. "I didn't want—I mean, this wasn't my idea."
"I figured. You've looked like you wanted to bolt since the moment you walked in." He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Look, I know we barely know each other. And I know this whole setup is—well, it's old-fashioned at best. But I'm not opposed to getting to know you. If you're interested."
Ava stared at him. He was being so kind, so reasonable. It made everything worse.
"Thabo—"
"You don't have to answer now," he said quickly. "I'm just saying—maybe we could have coffee sometime? No pressure, no parents watching, just two people having a conversation? And if there's nothing there, that's fine. We can both tell our parents we tried and move on with our lives."
It was such a reasonable proposition. So measured and mature. And it made Ava want to scream.
"I can't," she said.
"Can't have coffee?"
"Can't—" She gestured helplessly. "Any of this?" I can't do this, Thabo. I'm sorry, but I can't."
His expression shifted from friendly to concerned. "Are you seeing someone?"
The question hung in the air. Ava could lie. Could say yes, let him think there was some boyfriend somewhere, let him be the one to back out gracefully. But she was so tired of lying.
"Yes," she said. "But it's—it's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Ava looked back at the house. Through the window, she could see her mother and father watching them. Waiting to see if their plan was working. Waiting for Ava to fall in line.
"It doesn't matter," she said, the words tasting like ash. "It's over."
"That doesn't sound like you want it to be over."
"What I want doesn't matter."
Thabo was quiet for a moment. Then he said gently, "That's a sad way to live."
The kindness in his voice nearly broke her. "I should go back inside."
"Ava—"
"Please. I just—I need to go inside."
She walked back toward the house without waiting for his response. Behind her, she heard him follow, but he didn't try to stop her or continue the conversation.
Inside, four expectant faces turned toward them.
"Well?" her mother asked, too eager. "Did you have a nice chat?"
"It was fine," Ava said flatly.
"Just fine?" Her father's tone held a warning.
"It was nice, Mrs. Mokoena," Thabo interjected smoothly. "Ava and I had a good conversation. I'd like to take her for coffee next week, if she's available."
Ava's mother beamed. Her father nodded approvingly. Mrs. Mthembu clasped her hands together in delight.
And Ava stood there, watching her future being arranged around her, and felt the cage door swing shut.
"That sounds lovely," her mother answered to her. "Ava would love that. Wouldn't you, darling?"
Four pairs of eyes fixed on her. Four people were waiting for her answer. Four people who would accept nothing less than yes.
"Yes," Ava heard herself say. "That would be nice."
The word echoed in her head. Nice. Such a hollow, meaningless word. Nothing about this was nice. Nothing about this was anything except a slow death of everything she actually wanted.
The Mthembus left an hour later, after more tea and small talk and plans being made. Thabo gave Ava his number, told her to text him to set up the coffee date. He was polite, friendly, appropriate in every way.
And Ava hated him for it. Not because of anything he'd done—he'd been nothing but kind. But because he represented everything she was being forced to become.
After the Mthembus' car pulled away, Ava's parents turned to her.
"Well done," her mother said, and there was relief in her voice. "You see? That wasn't so difficult."
"Thabo is a good man," her father added. He'd barely spoken to Ava all evening, but now he looked at her directly for the first time. "A godly man. The kind of man who can help you find your way back to righteousness."
"Papa—"
"No." His voice was firm. "You will listen. Your mother told me about your—" He struggled with the word. "Your confusion. This relationship with this woman. And I want you to know that I am praying for you, Ava. Praying that God will deliver you from this temptation."
"It's not a temptation, it's—"
"It is a sin," her father said flatly. "And we will not discuss it further. What we will discuss is your future. Your proper future. With a man who can give you a family, a respectable life, a place in our community."
"What if I don't want that?" The words slipped out before Ava could stop them.
Her father's face hardened. "Then you are not the daughter I raised. The daughter I raised knows right from wrong. Knows her duty to her family and her faith. The daughter I raised would not throw away everything we've given her for some perverted—"
"Daniel," her mother interrupted softly. "Please."
He stopped, but his eyes blazed. "You will see Thabo again. You will give this a proper chance. And you will end whatever it is you have with that woman. If you do not—" He paused. "If you do not, you will no longer be welcome in this house."
The words fell like stones. Final. Irrevocable.
"Do you understand me, Ava?"
Ava's throat was tight. She couldn't speak, could barely breathe.
"Do you understand?" her father repeated.
"Yes," Ava whispered. "I understand."
"Good. Then we won't need to have this conversation again."
He walked out of the room, his back rigid with disappointment and anger. Ava's mother lingered for a moment, her hand reaching out as if to touch Ava's shoulder, then falling back to her side.
"It will get easier," she said quietly. "Once you let go of this fantasy, once you give Thabo a real chance, you'll see. This is for the best."
She left too, and Ava stood alone in her childhood living room, surrounded by family photos and religious plaques and all the trappings of a life she no longer recognized as hers.
She pulled out her phone while shaking hands. No messages from Liana. Of course not. Liana had said to call when she'd made her decision.
And Ava had made it.
She'd chosen survival over love. Safety over truth. Her family's approval over her own heart.
She'd chosen the cage.
She typed out a message to Liana: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You were right. I wasn't brave enough."
She stared at the words for a long moment, then deleted them without sending them.
What was the point? Liana already knew. Had known all along that this was how it would end.
Instead, Ava just wrote: "I went to the dinner. I'm sorry."
She pressed send and walked out of her parents' house into the darkness.
Behind her, through the window, she could see her mother moving around the kitchen, putting away dishes, returning the house to order. Everything back in its place.
Including Ava.
She got in her car and drove back to her empty apartment, and she didn't let herself cry until she was safely inside with the door locked behind her.
Only then, alone in the dark, did she allow herself to acknowledge what she'd just done.
She'd killed the best thing in her life.
And for what? For her parents' approval? For the comfort of staying in their good graces? For the illusion of being their perfect daughter?
Her phone buzzed. A message from Liana, just two words: "I know."
Then, a moment later: "Goodbye, Ava."
And that was it. Two years of love, of laughter, of stolen moments and whispered promises, reduced to two words.
Goodbye.
Ava curled up on her couch and cried until she had no tears left. And when she finally stopped, when the apartment was silent except for the sound of the city outside, she realized something.
She'd chosen the cage.
But she was still just as trapped as before.
The only difference was now she was alone in it.