The morning after the dinner scandal was too quiet.
Not just in the house in Kanyanya—but in Sandra's soul.
She hadn't slept.
Her dress from the night before still hung over the back of her chair, wrinkled and stained with silence. Her gold earrings were in a small saucer next to her phone, which had buzzed so many times it was now vibrating against the table like it was nervous. The screen kept lighting up with notifications, message after message, like flies circling a wound.
She hadn't opened a single one.
Not yet.
She sat on the edge of her bed, feet flat on the cold cement floor, eyes fixed on the wall as if it would speak. A half-full glass of water sat on the floor next to her feet. Her lips were dry, but she hadn't touched it. Not since she came home.
Not since the rooftop.
Not since the world turned.
Her laptop remained open on the table.
Still logged in to J&M Holdings' internal email.
At exactly 7:12 a.m., a new message landed in her inbox.
She didn't need to open it to know what it was.
Still, her hands moved.
Slow. Mechanical.
She clicked.
> Subject: URGENT – HR Notice Regarding Internship Status
From: Human Resources, J&M Holdings
Dear Ms. Sandra Namatovu,
Due to the recent controversy surrounding your family background and the public media exposure following last night's event, we are forced to place your internship under immediate temporary suspension, pending internal review.
During this time, please refrain from accessing J&M internal systems, including your company email and portal login credentials.
You will be contacted once the review process is complete.
Thank you for your understanding.
Sincerely,
HR Manager
J&M Holdings
Sandra stared at the message. Then re-read it.
There was no warmth.
No apology.
No concern.
Just the same cold distance they always used to remove people quietly.
Like dirt swept under a carpet.
Her hands dropped from the keyboard slowly.
She didn't cry.
Not because she wasn't broken.
But because she had already cried too many times for things she didn't choose.
This?
This she saw coming.
She just hoped—deep inside her—that someone would stop it.
That James would say something.
That he would speak.
But he hadn't.
And that silence was louder than the entire press combined.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, a headline popped up in a notification from one of Kampala's biggest gossip sites.
> "Sandra Namatovu: Who Is She Really? Daughter of a Fraud? CEO's Intern or Secret Lover?"
She closed the notification and powered off the phone completely.
Her body moved on its own.
She stood, walked to the bathroom, splashed water on her face.
She avoided the mirror.
She didn't want to see what she looked like.
Didn't want to see shame that wasn't hers.
The knock on her door came late in the morning.
Soft. Uncertain.
It was Immy.
Sandra didn't say anything.
Immy opened the door slowly, stepping into the room like it belonged to a stranger now.
"You haven't eaten," she said.
Sandra didn't respond.
"I made tea," Immy added. "And mandazi."
Still, nothing.
Immy placed a cup on the table beside Sandra.
She lingered for a moment.
Then she whispered, "I didn't know it would be like that."
Sandra's eyes finally moved.
They landed on Immy's face. Searching.
"You knew Victor was planning something."
"I didn't know he'd bring your father."
"But you knew he was watching me. You knew what he was capable of."
Immy's silence was an answer.
Sandra turned away.
"I should have listened to James," she said. "He told me not to go."
Immy's voice cracked. "I just… I thought if you saw him again, maybe you'd get closure."
"Closure is not something you throw at someone in public with a camera in their face," Sandra replied.
"I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry after," Sandra said.
Immy stepped closer.
"I didn't want you to get hurt."
"You just didn't want to be the one to hurt me," Sandra corrected. "But you were."
Immy's hands shook slightly.
Sandra stood up.
Her eyes moved to the suitcase in the corner. She hadn't packed yet, but she knew she would.
"Where will you go?" Immy asked.
"I don't know."
"You can't just disappear."
"I can. And I will."
Immy's voice trembled. "Sandra, please. Don't go like this."
Sandra walked past her to the table. Tore a page from her notebook. Wrote one word.
> "Done."
She placed it next to the untouched cup of tea.
Then she opened her closet.
Started folding clothes.
Calmly.
Immy stood frozen.
Watching everything slip away.
---
Meanwhile, James was in his office.
Kololo looked dull through the glass. Even the clouds seemed tired.
His phone vibrated every few seconds.
He didn't answer.
He sat at his desk, scrolling through the headlines.
Page after page.
Photo after photo.
That one frame—Sandra standing frozen beside her father as the cameras flashed.
His stomach turned.
He had seen it coming.
He knew Shinta was planning something.
He had tried to stop it.
But not loud enough.
Not fast enough.
He should have shut it down.
He should have pulled her out before the first flash.
But he didn't.
And now she was burning for it.
The door opened.
Victor walked in, smug.
"I warned you," he said. "She was a risk."
James didn't look up.
Victor continued.
"She's gone. HR sent the letter. No more intern drama."
James finally looked up.
"I said suspension."
"Semantics."
"No," James said firmly. "You don't decide termination."
Victor laughed. "You still protecting her?"
James stood.
Slow. Controlled.
"If she's gone—so are you."
Victor stopped smiling.
For the first time, his eyes narrowed.
"You're letting emotions cloud—"
James cut him off.
"I built this company. You helped. But don't forget whose name is on the title deed."
Victor left quietly after that.
James sat back down.
He closed his eyes.
And for a long time, he said nothing.
---
That evening, James drove to Kanyanya.
No driver.
No bodyguard.
Just him.
Immy opened the gate, looking small. Tired.
"She's not here," she said before he could speak.
"When did she leave?"
"An hour ago."
"Where?"
"She didn't say."
James stepped into the house.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
He saw the paper on the table.
One word.
> "Done."
He sat down slowly.
The weight in his chest was not new.
He had carried it for years.
But this time, it had a name.
And that name had walked away without looking back.
He stayed in that house for over an hour.
Saying nothing.
Thinking everything.
---
And somewhere far from the city, Sandra sat on a bus.
A bag beside her.
Phone off.
Notebook on her lap.
She looked out the window, eyes tired but dry.
This was not defeat.
It was distance.
Because sometimes you didn't need to fight.
Sometimes, you just needed to leave.