The house in Kanyanya was too quiet that morning.
The envelope was gold-edged, thick like royalty. Sandra
stared at it from across the table as if it were alive.
It hadn't been expected. No call, no warning. Just a boda
guy at the gate, smiling like he had no idea what he was delivering. She had
opened it slowly, expecting another threat. Another photo. Another flash from
the shadows.
But this… this was worse.
An invitation.
She read the words again, her eyes tracing the calligraphy
like it would somehow change if she blinked hard enough.
Ø
"You are invited to an intimate reconciliation
dinner.
Hosted by Ms. Shinta Kawalya
7:00 PM, Pearl Edge Rooftop Lounge, Kololo.
Dress code: Black and Gold."
Her fingers gripped the card too tightly. It bent slightly.
But she didn't let go.
Reconciliation?
With who?
Shinta?
Why now?
She hadn't spoken to her since the boardroom silence, since
Victor's lie, since everything cracked. Since James whispered, "Don't let them
see you cry," and then walked away anyway.
Sandra's eyes stayed fixed on the invitation. Her thoughts
didn't move. But her heart did.
Immy entered the room carrying a basket of laundry.
"What's that?" she asked.
Sandra held the card up wordlessly.
Immy wiped her hands on her leggings and took it.
She whistled. "Kololo? That place with the glass ceilings
and fake palm trees? Wah! This is not a cheap event."
Sandra's lips twitched but didn't form a smile.
"Shinta sent it," she said finally.
Immy's face shifted. "Eh."
They both knew what that meant.
"What do you think?" Sandra asked, even though she wasn't
sure she cared.
"I think…" Immy said carefully, "it could be real. Maybe she
wants to make peace. Maybe things went too far and she feels guilty."
"Shinta?" Sandra raised an eyebrow.
"I said maybe," Immy replied with a shrug. "I mean… what's
the worst that could happen?"
Sandra didn't answer.
She already knew.
Later that afternoon, her phone rang.
James.
She didn't hesitate. She picked.
"You got the invite," he said. No greeting. Just facts.
"I did."
"Don't go."
Silence.
"I'm serious, Sandra. This isn't a dinner. It's a setup."
"I know."
"Then why are you still considering it?"
"Because I need to know," she said. "If I don't face it,
I'll carry it longer. And I'm already too tired."
James sighed. That deep, tired sigh he only used when he was
worried but trying not to show it.
"I'll be there," he said.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
Click.
The line went dead.
But her pulse didn't.
Hours later, Sandra stood in front of the mirror, adjusting
a black dress that didn't feel like it belonged to her.
It was simple. Elegant. Modest. But somehow, it made her
feel more exposed than if she had worn nothing at all.
Immy came into the room holding gold earrings.
"Wear these," she said. "They soften your face."
Sandra nodded. Her voice had been quiet all day.
James hadn't called again. And she hadn't expected him to.
But she knew he would come.
Because if anyone understood walking into fire, it was James
Mugeni.
They arrived at the Pearl Edge Rooftop just before seven.
The city below was glowing like a sea of lights. Kololo's
air was cooler than Kanyanya's, sharper. Cleaner. Pretending to be kind.
The rooftop was decorated like a wedding reception. Candles
on every table, fairy lights twisted around railings, soft jazz playing in the
background.
A waiter in black escorted them to their table. Long. Draped
in gold cloth. Name tags at each seat.
Sandra's said "Ms. S. Namatovu."
She sat. Immy sat beside her.
Victor was already there. Drinking wine. Smiling like he'd
won something.
Shinta stood at the head of the table, wearing a deep purple
gown, elegant and tight. Her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her
eyes.
"Sandra," she said warmly. "I'm so glad you came."
Sandra nodded stiffly. "You asked."
"Yes. And you answered. That means more than you know."
Sandra didn't reply.
The guests settled. Waiters moved like shadows. Champagne
glasses clinked. Small talk bounced between seats like ping pong. Victor made
jokes about board meetings. Shinta laughed, perfect and sharp.
Immy whispered, "This is nice, eh?"
Sandra nodded. But her stomach felt wrong.
Halfway through dinner, the lights dimmed.
A small stage lit up at the far end of the room. Empty.
Until it wasn't.
A man stepped onto it slowly, as if testing the floor.
Sandra's fork froze mid-air.
The man spoke.
"Good evening."
She knew the voice before she saw the face.
Her father.
David Namatovu.
Alive. Breathing. Smiling nervously into the microphone.
"I want to thank Ms. Kawalya for organizing this evening,"
he said. "I wasn't sure I'd ever get this chance."
Sandra's blood stopped.
James appeared beside her.
No one had seen him enter. But he was there now. Standing
tall. Tense.
He leaned down.
"We're leaving."
But Sandra didn't move.
Her father continued.
"I made mistakes. Many. But one of them… was not explaining
to my daughter why I disappeared. Tonight, I hope to change that."
Flash.
A camera.
Then another.
Sandra turned.
Two men near the door, both holding cameras, phones raised.
She whispered, "There are journalists here."
James nodded. "They were always here."
Another flash.
Victor sipped wine like he was enjoying a play.
Sandra stood up.
Shinta rose too.
"I thought you wanted closure," she said sweetly. "This is
it."
Sandra walked away from the table, hands shaking.
James followed her just few steps behind.
When,
They reached the elevator.
I...
"Don't say anything," Sandra whispered.
"I wasn't going to."
He pressed the button.
The doors opened and
They stepped in.
Silence.
The elevator then
moved downwards.
In side, Sandra finally spoke.
"Why didn't you stop it?"
"I tried."
"It wasn't enough."
He didn't defend himself.
He knew better.
She stepped out on the ground floor and walked into the
night.
James Mugeni didn't follow this time.
He knew this walk.
He'd done it too many times himself.
Alone.