#Chapter113 Too Late
Black.
The colour of coal.
The colour of night.
The colour of pain. Darkness.
The very same colour that tore them apart. And today, it was the colour she wore right before his memorial service.
She crouched down beside the vanity, staring blankly at the wedding pictures that littered the top. Now that she thought about it, their love story was scandalous; a young, black, Zulu woman who ran off with a white man during the apartheid regime.
Her peers were not happy, the remaining of her family were disappointed. But none of that mattered. She was n love with the man, and he loved her just as equally if not more.
