I walked straight past my sobbing ex-mother-in-law and into the main house. The lawyer was already waiting in the study, sweat beading on his forehead.
My ex-husband, Khotso, grabbed my arm. "You're not family. Get out."
I shook him off. "I am family. Your father married me three months ago in Cape Town. In secret." I dropped the marriage certificate on the desk. "Check the date. Check the signature."
His new wife, Lerato, screamed. "This is fake! He was with me!"
The lawyer cleared his throat. "Mr. Molefe senior left specific instructions. The will reading happens now, with all parties present. Including Mrs. Molefe." He looked at me.
Khotso went white. "Mrs. Molefe? She's my ex-wife!"
"She's his widow," the lawyer said, opening the sealed envelope. "And according to this, she inherits the house, the business, and full custody of his assets. You get... " He paused. "You get the R2000 he left you for 'beer money'. His words."
I didn't smile. I didn't have to. The red heels said enough.
"But there's a condition," the lawyer added, looking up at me. "You only keep everything if you stay in Thulamela for one full year. If you leave, it all goes to charity."
One year. In the village that buried me alive.
Khotso laughed. "She won't last a week."
I looked out the window at the crowd of villagers still at the gate. My ex-friends. My ex-family. All waiting to see me fail.